The Weekend in Room 512 | ONC 2023

9. Ethan | cadenza

But as the conductor started, the sound of my peers playing in unison only intensified the anxious thrum in my chest.

The thing about Romance in F Minor was that there were a couple of places with rests and two very large breaks in between, but it was also an easy place to get distracted and miss your cue. Luckily, the beginning rest that spanned 23 bars was, in theory, a good place to calm the beginning nerves. Unluckily for me, 23 bars felt like an eternity with my overthinking brain. I waited as the rest of the orchestra played, slowly counting the beats in my head and remembering the music clearly. The beginning was always easier to remember, but after the seventh page is where I continuously messed up during practice. It was after the second longer rest, which involved trills and complicated bow work that I could never fully remember.

As I made it through the first part and waited for the second resting point to be over, my mind struggled to remember the notes; what I could remember was being jumbled up. Had this scale been first or second, where was I supposed to play pianissimo?

So lost in my head, I almost missed the conductor's cue, playing the next bar a half beat off. The raised brows of a few of my classmates made it worse as I played catch up. And because it was rushed, my notes were flat when they needed to be sharp, the bow direction was completely off, and it took forever for me to find where I was in the piece.

At another short rest, I glanced back at Kelly, who did give me an encouraging smile like she promised, nodding her head to the tempo to keep me in check.

I made it through most of the piece, with a few notes flat in certain areas, but nothing as catastrophic as earlier.

I felt like such an idiot, even more so as the audience rose to their feet and clapped after the performance. It was well deserved for the rest of my peers, but I knew none was for me.

Alan returned to the stage to thank everyone before they moved on to other pieces that the rest of our orchestra would perform. Alan had made it so I could come off stage and allow each section to receive a solo after my piece. Our flutist and trombone player had their pieces after us, which meant I had to sit alone backstage with my racing thoughts as they finished their piece.

By the time the concert was over, the flurry of students had returned backstage to store their instruments. I had put mine away a while ago, too ashamed to look at it anymore. As Kelly and the rest of the strings returned, I had put the case on my shoulders, eager to get the hell out of there. There was no way they'd appreciate the mess I caused on stage.

"Ethan," Kelly called out, hastily putting her instrument in her case to meet up with me.

I couldn't look at her or the other violinists behind her. Nor could I even make eye contact with the rest of the chamber orchestra. I couldn't do anything right. If only I had practiced more like I should have or continued to badger Mr. Hiroshi to let Kelly or the others take my place. At least if I had been second or third chair, I could've blended in instead of having my mistakes on full display.

Her hand touched my shoulder, and I resisted jerking away. "Ethan, it's okay. You did great."

"We both know that's a lie," I spat.

"Ethan," Alan called out, making a beeline toward me. Our other classmates cleared a path, not even pretending to be distracted in a conversation to witness whatever Alan had to say to me.

"I told you not to put me as the soloist," I cried out, shoving my fist into Alan's chest. Though not strong enough to hurt, it probably wasn't best to be hitting a professor. "I shouldn't have even been here."

Kelly reached out again, but I jerked away. "Ethan, please."

Alan stepped in front of me. "Son, you sounded fine. It was a minor mistake; it was barely noticeable. It's okay."