This was a life changing moment. I was just another number to them, as I stood here sweating furiously in my tux.
"We will now see anyone with the last name beginning with L through O. Once again, if your last name start's with an L or an O, they are ready to see you now."
There was five of us that stood up, instruments in hand. The one towards the O side of the line was pretty cute. A brunette with a nose ring and an asymmetrical hair cut. But what punk girl that plays the clarinet? Punks are normally play bass or percussion. We all were nervous, but I was a walking disaster. The last thing that this girl would want to see. Okay Phil, drop the bullshit at the door and go in that room with confidence. I know I can do this, I've been to group auditions before, and I've gotten into regional orchestras without problem, this is just another audition... even if it is for your dream school.
I walked in confidently and assembled myself in line. There were three professors at the table at the base of the auditorium, all tweed wearing; exactly what you would assume a music professor to look like.
"Recite your names."
I couldn't be bothered to learn the others kids names, except the cute punkish girl's name was Marissa.
"Phil."
I mumbled that off almost unintelligibly, but I think they got the point.One of the professors adjusted his tiny glasses.
"Okay, now let's all start with scales. We all want to make sure that you know your key signatures. Jason, let's start with you. Play us an B major scale."
Jason took a breath and started to play, he was adding vibrato on to everything and elongating the scales for added emphasis. This jerk is showing off for no reason. I couldn't believe he was trying to be a diva during a fucking scale. Calm down man, save that for your audition at least. Jason even was pitchy! How do you botch that?
"Thank you Jason, Well done".
Well done?
"Phil, play an A minor scale if you would be so kind."
I took a breath and adjusted my reed. I was going to present them with a standard quarter note, eighth note scale, without any bells or whistles or anything.
I started to play, and I kept it at a slow tempo, makeing sure I think through, and sink the landing of each note, and during my second to last note I got cut off.
"That will be enough, you may leave."
"What?" I said incredulously. "How did you let that guy finish?"
One of the more paunchy professors stood up.
"Because although his presentation was uncommon, he didn't cut short one of his notes by an entire thirty-second note. That will be all."
"Sir, i'm sorry. As you can imagine i'm very nervous, can I at least play my audition piece?"
As I was saying this a vein on his neck watching twitching.
"No. First off, I don't need to see what you can do, I already know that the youth orchestra I conduct has a better sense of timing than you do. Secondly, You can go home right now, and pracitce for eight hours a day for a year. Then, you can come back and try again. Don't waste all of our time with your unworthy audition. Good day."
I shot Marissa a quick look, and she returned a look of disgust at me.
"That son of a bitch!"
I screamed as I woke up to my audition piece in the overheard sound system of the University of Denver hospital room. Anytime I heard Stravinsky it made me furious, which they had coming through their shitty internal, tin can speaker soundsytem. This is why I don't listen to music in general anymore. That moment was the last nail in the coffin for my self-esteem.
The nurse was jostled by my screams.
Fucking kid nearly gave me a heart attack!
She grabbed on to the chair she was sleeping in, I could see her nails digging into the armrests.
"Listen kid, you have to get out of here, we let you sleep in today, but on all accounts you are ready to be discharged." She threw the clothes at the foot of my bed.
"I'll leave now, but you need to get up and go."
I fought off my heavy eyelids, but I was clearly weighed down by the drugs and moving at a snail's pace.
"Is uh... is someone here to take me home?"
The nurse shot a quick look at the ground. She didn't even want to look at me and tell me face to face.
"Sorry kid. There is a bus off of Colorado on the other side of I-25; get home safe okay?"
She walked out of the room and shut the door. I begrudgingly stumbled out of the room and after an elevator trip down two flights to collect myself. I ended up in the main courtyard of the University where that fateful day my confidence died a couple years back. The discharge orders were clear, stay away from any type of drug use or toxic chemicals. They were clear about any potential "adverse" effects that were unknown given my condition.
"No exterminating for two weeks at least!"
It's a damn shame that I will absolutely ignore that order. I have my bills in additon to mom's to worry about so I really can't afford to not work. I started trudging through the campus, making my way to the bus stop, when I thought, maybe with my new found abilities, I should go visit my favorite teacher.
I walked toward the imposing concrete building with the jazz figures etched on the side. They were supposed to look like musicians, but ended up looking like the Kokopelli figures in my quirky Aunt Cindy's apartment. Chills came down my spine as soon as Istood before the doorway of the building. It was a foreboding, castle looking structure. I took a deep breath and walked in. The secretary's eyes jumped out of her head when she saw the blood stained, and god knows what else stained jumpsuit.
Ugh, who is this creepy guy and what does he want?
"Can- can I help you with something?"
I could hear her voice trembling with fear. I look like I have been through completel hell and back.
"Oh, sorry, I'm fresh from studio art class where we were recreating Pollock pieces. I'm looking for Professor Sampson. My -uh- family wanted to make a donation to the Centennial Philharmonic Youth Orchestra. "
Yeah, that'll work.
She still looked ate me like I was trash, but at least she picked up the phone. "Hi Dr. Samson, I have someone here to see you who wants to make a donation to the philharmonic." She shot a look at me.
"What's your name?"
"Oh, sorry, it's.... Phil Larson."
"His name is Phil Larson. Mmhm. Okay, sounds good."
"Dr. Sampson will see you now. Up the stairs, second door on the left."
"Thanks."
Alright, heading up to see this son of a bitch that set me down this spiraling k-hole of depression. I'll finally be able to tell him off.
Sure, it is pathetic that I needed to psych myself up , but normally i'm not the angry type. I'm the let -it-eat-away-inside type of person.
I opened up Dr. Samson's door and was surprised to see a young blond boy in there, just finishing up a private lesson.
"Excellent lesson today Cooper, glad to see you took my suggestions to heart!" Dr. Sampson squeezed and rubbed into Cooper's right shoulder.
He said that he wouldn't touch me anymore. I didn't like that camping trip and he knows it.
Cooper looked extremely uncomfortable and made didn't bother to pack up his instrument as he quickly got out of the room.
"Bye Dr. Sampson!" Cooper's eyes widened in fear as he ran past me.
"Don't you just love kids? I've been a director of the CPYO for ten years, and every year I am blown away by them."
What a horrifying double entendre.
"Anyway, Ms. Macmillan was saying that your family wanted to make a donation to the CPYO? To what do we owe the pleasure; Mr. Larson, was it?"
"I, uh, Yes. Mr. Phil Larson. My family has admired your work for a long time."
"Oh! Well, i'm flattered. Please sit down Mr. Larson."
As I sat down in his office across from him he sized me up. A little older and chunkier than what I usually like... too bad.
Was he just eye fucking me?
"What happened to your shirt?"
I forgot how ridiculous I looked.
"Oh, right. Fresh from art class, my apologies."
"Ah! Good to see students being so involved in their passions that they completely disregard everything else."
He sat back at the desk, interlocked his hands and started rubbing his thumbs.
"How do you know my work then?" Dr. Sampson smiled at me and rubbed his stubbly beard, he was either very curious, or mildly curious and mildly attracted.
"Well Dr. Sampson, we have encountered each other previously. I'm not entirely sure if you remember me or not. But we first met about three years ago, at an audition. Do you remember anything yet, you smug self-righteous fuck?"
He stood back up in an attempt to exert power, in a very old man cliche he started wagging his finger at me.
"Now hold on a damn second!" He raised his voice and change the pace of his finger was for emphasis; almost as if he were conducting his own body language.
"Who do you think you are, coming in to my office and talking to me like that?"
He went on an egotistical rant that I'm sure would have annoyed me and only further prove how much of a dickhole he is. Instead of listening to him, though, my eyes were wandering across his office. It was a fairly predictable, mahogany furnitured pompous office that you would see at any school. Around his desk he had a smaller collection of older instruments that are mounted for display. It looked like some cheap ass hall of instruments at the Met, except a lot less captivating.
"Are you even listening to me young man?"
Oh, so he treats everyone like children, not just actual children.
He looked at me again with an intense focus.
Is he one of my students that I spent extra time with, could he be one of my special students that I don't recognize?
I stood back up to him in defiance and my voice became raspy with anger, I couldn't hold back how I felt.
"So, just to be clear Dr. Sampson, you don't remember telling someone that they should drop everything and practice for a year for eight hours a day?"
Dr. Sampson looked bemused for a short time, but then it changed to completely disinterested.
Oh, it's this again?
"Why don't you losers just give up and leave me alone? Did you ever think that maybe , just maybe you weren't meant to play an instrument?"
I couldn't believe what he was saying.
"You mean you've said that before?"
"Kid, I say that to everyone I don't want in my program."
"What the hell kind of person are you to do that? You ruined me you fucking sociopath!" How could one person, not acknowledge this horrific type of behavior? This man is initiating lifelong inadequacies, and he doesn't even give a shit?
"Listen, Phil, don't put that all on me, you were involved too. In case you forgot you were the one that screwed up your audition. Not me."
He looked agitated and took a moment to regain composure. I on the other hand, started to tear up and shake in anger like a whiny little bitch.
Dr. Sampson got up from his chair and walked over to me slowly and methodically. He grabbed a shoulder of mine and wiped a tear from my cheek."Listen Phil, I think I know something that would make you feel a lot better." His hand ran down my back.
He is cute when he gets vulnerable, he reminds me of the CPYO kids. A little different, but, good enough I suppose.
What could make me feel better at all right now? Then it hit me all at once. Oh my god. Claytons horrified face, camping trip, he called me cute. This guy is a fucking pederast!
I pushed him away with all my strength."Stay the hell away from me you sick bastard!"
I grabbed the mounted piccolo from his desk stand.
"These piccolos aren't the only thing you like blowing is it you twisted fuck!?"
I have never been this angry and disgusted in my life.
I swung the piccolo as hard as I could and it hit him square in the jaw. It felt extremely vindicating, I saw him spit blood out of his mouth as he fell. He was on the ground. Something needed to be done about this poor excuse of a man, and I was the lucky bastard to do it. With each hit I levied, I screamed at him with everything I could muster. This felt right. It feels like something I've seen and lived a thousand times before.
"Who.
Do.
You.
Think.
You.
Are?"
I snarled. I was wailing on him with this dumbass "antique" of his, that I'm sure he valued more than any of the lives he's ruined.
This felt great for me; not so much for him. I concentrated on his ribs only because I knew how much it would hurt him later. I've lived through that agony and now he will. My arms were sore and dead tired. I couldn't stop though. It felt too good. I was lashing him in the same way I'm sure he's lashed dozens of kid's faces with his flaccid dick.
I threw the piccolo at his face and grabbed the nearby wirey music stand, folded it up and started whipping him across the chest. Then I pried his mouth open. I pushed his gums gently apart, then I forced it through the flesh and the tips of it were protruding through his cheeks.
"Here is what's going to happen. I'm going to keep beating the shit out of your flabby disgusting self, and you're going to not tell anyone. I know about what you did to those kids, and I know what you did to me and I'm not letting you get away with either of these things anymore."
The Dr. looked at me with a sadistic twinkle in his eye.
"You, really think you can get away with this? He said in an exasperated manner. The blood pooled up in his mouth and outlined every tooth. Dark red Spit bubbles were forming in his mouth and they were popping up at me.
"When I take your laptop out of here, with all the details of whatever child porn ring that you run, you bet your ass I'll get away with it."
That's when the door opened, and the secretary screamed.