Within Us

Chapter 1

Inspirational quotes, everywhere, on the walls, ceilings, and even on the goddamn floor. I never felt so intimidated before. I already wanted to go home. I had always dreaded this moment but here I am at Solo & Ensemble in the room with a judge and a piano accomplice. The judge looked to be in his 50s-60s, wearing glasses, and didn't even look up at me as he was still grading and making comments about the previous person that was just here. The pen dances and twirls on the paper moving gracefully, making lines that we humans call words. Glancing at the posters, they were all generic inspirational quotes like

"Impossible = I'm Possible" and "Whatever you do, don't stop playing".

My eyes wander back to the music that was sitting on the stand, begging to be looked at.

I'll only be looking at you for the next 4 straight or so minutes so why the rush?

I counted in my head and tapped my foot to the tempo as I counted the notes and rhythm over and over again. If I had to be truthful to myself, I really haven't been practicing much. I looked over it a couple of times but rarely took my trumpet home to properly practice it. I've been reading romance books and worrying about how to write my college essays and. .and. . . my train of thought was cut off as the instructor spoke in a very raspy voice,

"Good evening Mr. Anderson".

It was honestly my duty as a student to introduce myself as the first thing but I didn't. "Good evening" I simply said as my mouth went dry.

My eyes couldn't stay in one place as again it wondered and landed on the small stack of papers to his right. The papers were those he graded for each student that walked into this room. I wonder how many of those papers are superiors. . .or poor. . . I hope I don't get poor.

"So you will be performing, let's see". He pauses as he adjusts his glasses with the knuckle of his index finger".

Hope you'll go easy on me.

"Stream Prelude correct?" He asked while getting my comment paper ready to write down all my musical sins.

I tried saying 'yes sir' but all I can do is nod. The piano lady looked at me and smiled but that didn't really make me feel any better.

"Alright, ready when you are," the instructor told me and rested his head on one of his fists.

We made quick eye contact, my eyes darted to my music quickly.

"M-may you count me off"? I asked as my own tongue tripped on my words.

You idiot! Why didn't you practice more instead of reading about fictional character's relationships? UGHH.

He nodded once at me. I raised my trumpet in a playing position. A little above parallel since I was used to holding it like so in marching band. "5...6...5,6". I took a quick breath. I was off playing while tapping my right heel to the tempo as I breezed through the first 2 strains with ease but when I reached the double-time section, I panicked, my mind wandered off as my body was working on muscle memories...or what little I had since I VIRTUALLY DIDN'T DEDICATE ANY TIME TO PRACTICING. I must have been playing off tempo or too slow or out of tune or...just so coma-inducing that he stopped me by gesturing the cutoff sign with his fist. The piano lady had also stopped playing and didn't even look at me. She was looking at the instructor and his stern face

."Let's start strain 3 again and we'll keep going," He said in an unimpressed tone.

I couldn't bring myself to say yes and just nodded as my palms got extremely sweaty. He counted me off but I stumbled my way through the strain just like how I stumbled on my words a few moments earlier. I want this nightmare to end but he didn't stop me. He didn't even look at me anymore as he was writing down comments on my sheet. Ones that surely are along the lines of 'practice the 16th notes' or 'dedicate more time to practice more'. I recovered a bit on the last few lines.

The coma-inducing sounds that I produce came to a stop at the last note. The leg that was keeping tempo was twitching up and down. He gave me some comments which made me feel like a criminal on trial and the judge is giving the list of my crimes. When will this torment ever end?

After we said our thanks and quick goodbyes, I stood up with the music and my trumpet and walked out. I held the door for the next person to walk in who happened to be a darkly hazel-colored girl that seemed to be in senior year like me.

"Thank you" She replied, shooting me a quick smile before walking in. I didn't even reply.

It was a long ride home since it was a different school. My brother, Darryl, drove while speaking on the phone with a friend.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'll be there tomorrow. . . No, it will just be . . ."

What a loudmouth. Don't you have any decency with your passengers?

stared out the window and watched as the world blurred as we drove and came into focus when we slowed down. It was around 10:23 pm and there were still countless cars going about. I just hope I didn't get below a good rating. It was the last thought I had on my mind as I drifted off to nothingness which we called sleep.