((A/n: Wow, I'm slow at updating, aren't I? Very busy I am. But here I go...I'm going to see if I can get started with this story again))
Up until then, I had been using an oboe that went by the name of Frederick, or Fred. Fred was the oboe I had been using since I started way back in fourth grade. Fred was a good oboe, but he was often flat and sometimes his notes wouldn't work. And not to mention that sometimes only his high notes would work and nothing else would.
The affair between Chandler and myself started in October of that year. One day, I went into the instrument closet in search of my own oboe. However, I couldn't find him, which was extremely annoying. I pawed through the abundance of flutes, and pushes aside a mound of clarinets. It was then I spotted a case. . . one that I hadn't noticed before.
I knew at the outright that it wasn't a clarinet case. Clarinet cases have this distinct shape and feel. . . this wasn't a clarinet case. I pulled it in front of me and opened it. . . and indeed, I was right. Inside this case was an oboe, far different from Fred. It was slimmer somewhat, and it had more keys. I looked at the oboe for a minute, but then spotted Fred. I put the oboe back and replaced it behind the clarinets, making a mental note that if I ever needed an oboe if Fred was in the shop, I could use this one I found.
I thought nothing of it. I just used Fred from then on.
But then about two weeks later, Fred had one of those infamous things he tended to do. . . he refused to play above A flat. Which meant that I'd have to take him to the music shop again for a tune up. And that would leave me oboe-less for several days. . . and that was bad! Because I still had lessons with Mr. P and band! But there was no way I could play with Fred like this.
So I sent Fred off to the music shop, keeping his reeds with me. The next day in band, I remembered that oboe I had found. The random one, buried behind all the clarinets away from all the rest of the band. Hey, I thought, I could use that one.
Going into band I dug the oboe out and walked over to my seat with it. I assembled the oboe, noting with some satisfaction that it had the low B-flat key, which Fred didn't. Then I took one of the reeds, raised it to my lips, and played a regular B-flat.
I was instantly struck by the fact that it sounded about ten times better than Fred did on his best day. I looked at the oboe, running my hands down it, seeing now that it was wooden. . . as opposed to Fred, who was plastic. I had heard that wooden oboes were good. . .
I played in band that day, and by the end of the day, I was amazed by the change. This oboe I had been playing on was fabulous! It played so much smoother than Fred ever did, all the notes worked, and I sounded so much better than ever before. In fact, I sounded so good that I actually couldn't wait to get home and practice! And that hadn't happened in like. . . ever. This new oboe was just. . . it was perfect.
Three days later, I had named the oboe Chandler, after a character in a book that I had read. Chandler. . . that was his name. And oh, how I loved this oboe! It was, I decided, the oboe I was going to play the concert in. And if that went well, I'd use this oboe for every concert after that forever!
I felt bad about abandoning Fred like this. Once I got him back from the music shop, I left him and home and only used him to practice on when Chandler was in school. But the affair had started and there was no way to stop it.
From that day forward, no longer was I just plain Kathryn the oboist. I became Kathryn and Chandler. . . and so it would be so, for a very long time.
The next thing that happened was at lessons in November. I was playing one of the concert band songs, with Chandler, of course. I was playing exceptionally well that day.
"What do you think about wind ensemble?" Mr. P asked me randomly.
I shrugged. "It's good, I guess. . . I hope I get in next year, if that's what you mean." Oh, how I wanted to be in next year! That would be great. . . being in the higher band. It would be a good start on my renewed interest in being an oboist. Professional, that is. I was going to do that now.
"How would you like to play some songs with them at the Christmas concert?"
"What?" I exclaimed, turning to look disbelievingly at Mr. P. "You mean, play with them? Like, now?"
"Of course that's what I mean!" Mr. P waved a hand dismissively. "You're pretty good, you know, definitely good enough to do that. And the songs for the concert aren't that hard. . . I think you could manage it. So what do you say. . . do you want to?"
I couldn't believe I was hearing this. "You really want me to do it?" I asked incredulously. Really. . . was I that good? I didn't think so. I mean, I had horrible teachers through middle school, never took private lessons or anything. But. . . was I really as good as they always told me I was? Or was it just Chandler?
"Yes, I do," Mr. P nodded. "Do you want to?"
Did I want to? What a question! Suddenly I went from being the completely overlooked oboist in middle school to a pretty good oboist in high school, being asked to play with the higher band when I was only two months into my freshman year! I couldn't believe this was happening!
Perhaps it was a work of the Angel of Music. . . in my mad Phantom obsession, I had grown to believe in this spirit that was of inspiration to musicians. Maybe he had a hand in this? Maybe me and Chandler were blessed. . . I didn't know.
"Yeah," I said finally, a grin suffusing my face. "I'd love to do it!"
"Great!" Mr. P said. "I'll get you the music and give it to you, okay?"
"Okay!" I replied.
I left that lesson feeling happier than I did in a long time. This was indeed a new start for me. My first step on the road to becoming a professional oboist. . . which I was just deciding I was going to do. And I was good enough to play with the advanced band.
Freshman year. . . not even three months in, and already all these things were happening.
Kinda made me wonder what the rest of the year was going to be like.
