It was April. April, and I sat on the floor of the band room with my reed lying in front of me and Chandler clutched in my hands. Around me was the familiar comforting noise that resounded in the band room before a concert. In the audience was my parents and my friends, all of which I had told numerous times to come and come and come and see my solo! Because I had a solo! A real solo! It was still only two measures, that hadn't changed at all, but still…but still! Oh the fun of playing it in band everyday, those weeks. The band director would say, "Flutes, flutes! You have to know the tempo! Kathryn plays it for you in her solo right before that, that's what you're supposed to play as well!" He'd say. I'd grin shyly and try to look modest, though inwardly I was secretly gloating. Only a step closer to the orchestra, Chandler would say. Today, two measure solos. Tomorrow, maybe they'll be one bar long. And soon…and soon the entire orchestra will be ours! Chandler's oboey ambitions mirrored my own. I was this little freshman oboist who dreamed of an orchestra, dreamed of a place where playing the oboe really mattered. Where I could be heard and needed and used often, where the fact that I was an oboist would be splendid to all members of the orchestra, where trumpets were minimal and I the most important. Great ambitions for a little freshman, I know. But they resounded in my head every day, and every day I looked to that hopeful future.

Chandler was a student oboe who had the same ambitions I did…to rise out of that state of being a student oboe destined for a life in the high school band, in the hands of mediocre oboists. Oboes, you see, aren't content with mediocrity or student levels. Chandler was just like any other oboe in that sense…he wanted to be the best, the one with all the solos, the center focus in every single orchestra existing. And the two of us were swept right along in this sudden torrent of ambition freshman year. I would rise up from what my mom was saying, from her trying to put me down. I'd find an orchestra where Chandler and I would really matter. I'd be not just the oboist but the oboist, destined to do great and wonderful things. Chandler and I together…we'd take the world. And even the harshness of reality wouldn't stop us…we'd overcome that too!

And this small, two-measure solo was the first step on our road to greatness.

And so there we were together in the band room, preparing to take that first step. We'd also be playing some stuff from Miss Saigon, a musical I really liked, and I had a soli with the clarinets that was really cool. Not as cool as my solo, of course, but it was good! It was really good. Very pretty…I loved that show. I was looking forward to doing that, too!

Let's get ready, then! Chandler said. Warm up, because we're going to do this tonight and it's going to be perfect. I wholly agreed with that sentiment as I tuned and warmed up on the floor of the band room, taking a moment to note how I really liked sitting on the floor of the band room. We warmed up insanely, and even with my storebought reed…it was sounding pretty good.

Soon the time came when we walked out onto that stage and assembled. My heart was racing…we'd do the first two songs, then we'd have to leave for a bit while the wind ensemble did some songs, then we'd come back on for the piece that I had my solo on. I wasn't playing it yet, but already I was getting worked up. Right now we were playing Miss Saigon…and I really liked that musical. Yes…Miss Saigon.

The song began, and it was fun and it was pretty and going well. Then came my soli with the clarinets…

Fine, fine, fine, fine…MONSTER SQUEAK

What the heck?

For some strange reason beyond my comprehension, my perfectly fine reed gave a loud, monster squeak at the very last note, which was a nice, inconspicuous B-flat. How…what…how did that happen? I'd played that soli a thousand times before and every time it was perfectly good! And it was really easy, too.What was up with that? Where did that random squeak come from? I was totally puzzled and confused, but played the rest of the song nevertheless.

"Did you hear that?" I demanded of one of my flute friends as we left the stage. "Did you hear my MONSTER SQUEAK during Miss Saigon?"

My friend, not being a perfectionist like I was, just laughed. "Yeah, I did." She answered. Dangit! I was hoping she hadn't! "But that's okay, I'm sure no one else did. You worry too much, you know? It was just one squeak."

Yeah, one squeak. One squeak that was not supposed to happen! And with the solo coming up and all!

Nevertheless I returned to the seats we had to wait in, and then waited until we had to go back on for the piece. I held Chandler tight in my hands. Oh don't worry, He said. It'll be fine! Just fine, you watch.

I hoped so! I took my place in the chair and arranged my music, staring at it, staring at it with an intensity so great that I was sure the paper was just going to burst into flame just because I was staring so much.

Don't worry! Chandler ordered.

The piece began. The piece continued. The trombones made their entrance…

Ready or not. Here goes nothing…

And…

What?

What, no!

Why wasn't it slurring?

Why wasn't the G coming out right?

Where did that E natural go? Why did it waver like that? Why wasn't it slurred in with the rest of the measures as it was supposed to be? It was only two measures! What on earth could go wrong with only two measures?

Evidently something! Evidently a lack of slurs and a wavering E natural and…what? It sounded terrible! It sounded so weak and unsure. I mean granted I was nervous, I was so incredibly nervous, but even without that! Did my nerves show through that much? Did my nerves get the better of me and make my sound reflect how scared I was? Oh no, no no no, this wasn't supposed to happen!

Oh no, Chandler echoed my own thoughts. Something's wrong with my low notes, do you see that? It's not just you. He assured me.

No no no…what the heck cold have gone wrong?

I spent the rest of the concert trying to figure it out. And I still couldn't.

I was an oboist. I was ready and I was cut out to be an oboist. I knew that, Chandler knew that, and both of us against my mom knew that. As I sat there,I knew in my head and all around that I was still determined and really, really wanted to be an oboist.

And...what did this mean? Was the band director not going to give me any more solos after this because I messed this up? But I was good, I really was, and I knew I could do it.

But how could I possibly be an oboist if I was too nervous to play solos?