"Can't you play anything without making a scene or knocking over your music stand? Even Hot Cross Buns would be nice," Kent chided me like I was six years old and woke up after wetting the bed for the millionth time. "You shouldn't be in this orchestra and your band does terribly every single competition. I mean, they were lucky to get bronze!" He went on berating me and the Mindcrack bands. My face flushed, my eyes stung, and I felt a lump form inside my throat. Kent had insulted me before, but not like this. This cut more deeply. I wanted to retort, but the words never came to mind.
"Shut up, Kent. Even if Steve knocks over his stand sometimes, he's still a good musician. You're just an egotistical trumpeter," Mark retorted.
"Says another trumpeter!" Kent was at it again. "And your notes are mushy and inarticulate!"
"Please direct your attention to Kent, the bringer of big egos!" Every wind player and percussionist applauded. Some cellists, violists, and second violins joined at the peak. Mark gestured towards Kent as if he were an idol. I laughed, which lifted my spirits. The first violins turned up their noses and complained loudly about how stupid wind players are just as Mark raised his sword. Unlike them, the second violins backed Mark up with retorts of their own. A cellist threw his bow at Kent. The flute section talked amongst themselves saying "That was so inappropriate! Kent is just horrible." A bassoonist mentioned the possibility of Kent having Asperger's Syndrome. Some of my students have the disorder, but they don't act like Kent. Caitlin turned towards the trumpet section after fixing her reed for the tenth time.
"Stand down, Mark. There is no need to let a nuisance like Kent get to you. Kent, stop belittling others. Even if Steve's band isn't the best, they still try their best to play. You're not exactly principal yourself. Ella is. She would never belittle her section like that. Steve, don't listen to Kent. His ego is so big it distorts his self-image." Calls of assent rose from the other sections. Mark likened Caitlin to Venus, calling her the bringer of peace. After the traumatic ICU visit, she bounced back and came to my aid. No one had ever done that for me before. Come to think of it, I needed her as much as she needed me, if not more.
We started playing "The Planets" when the conductor cued us to start. Epic swells from the trumpets, trombones, and horns culminated into a bright and aggressive section. I articulated them staccato and not marcato, but I went on. In the second movement, The lines sickeningly swirled on the page; some notes seemed to pulsate at the rate my head throbbed. A wave of nausea washed over me when I came to a divisi. I played what I could while focusing on the two measures with all of my might. When a rest appeared, I counted in my head. The angelic choir of flutes came in. Third clarinets backed them with low notes. They could use more dynamic contrast. I came in once again for the subsequent movements. During the Jupiter movement, I pushed too much air through my horn and drowned out the tuba. Other trumpets did this as well. When the conductor cut us off, Ella advised us to write a lower dynamic at the part we blasted; I did so gingerly to avoid knocking over my music stand again.
After listening to the flutes, I realized how horrible I really felt. It may have been my imagination, but my skin looked to be tinged green. My stomach churned as if someone were attempting to make butter inside of it. The room seemed to spin and distort. I couldn't play through the piece anymore because I was so nauseous. I tried to keep the contents of my stomach where they were. Charlie, our C tuba player interrupted rehearsal by raising his hand.
"Steve doesn't look to good. He might puke on his music stand at any minute." Charlie voiced his honest concerns. I felt myself gag. It was twenty minutes away from break and there was no way I could make it if I played any more.
"I don't care." The conductor raised his baton and we played again. I dropped my trumpet and placed my hand over my mouth while writing in my music. I spurted vomit through my fingers for the next five minutes and ended up getting violently sick on an unoccupied patch of floor. Mark and Ella were taken aback. Kent made exaggerated airing out motions and pinched his nose. The conductor stopped and called a janitor. He asked me to go home and rest until I was better. I got to my feet and started on the journey home. About a kilometer from the building, I realized that I felt too weak to walk home. I sat and cried helplessly with my head between my knees. When I got my phone out to text Andrew about the incident, a message from Caitlin appeared.
Caitlin: How are you doing? I feel bad about what happened.
Me: Horrible. Don't feel bad. It was my fault.
Caitlin: It isn't. Your ability to push through a bad situation is admirable.
Me: But I can't go on. >:(
Caitlin: Let Andrew know about this.
Me: I will.
Me: I threw up at rehearsal.
Andrew: Did you make it to a bathroom or wastebasket?
Me: I made it to somewhere other than my music stand.
Andrew: Was that somewhere a waste receptacle?
Me: It was the carpet.... :,( So embarrassed.
Andrew: I can see why. Try taking peptic syrup as it states on the package before rehearsal.
Me: Can you pick me up? I don't think I can make it to my house.
Andrew: I'm with another patient, but Sofi might be able to help.
I already take peptic syrup before performances, but it seems to be helping less and less. I don't know what is causing this problem, but I wish it would stop.
Dr. Chen: How is Caitlin doing?
Me: Good, but I'm not so well myself. Ever since she joined the MCSO, she just blossomed.
Dr. Chen: Good to hear that! What plagues you?
Me: I threw up forcefully at rehearsal. It's happened before, but not like this. It's getting out of hand.
Dr. Chen: That is a cause for concern. I'll see if I can squeeze you in sometime.
Me: Thanks.
Sofi arrived on a pig with a carrot on a stick. She asked me if I needed a ride. I went on the pig, which trotted gently along, but made considerable progress. I suddenly felt sick again and begged her to stop. Reluctantly, the woman in pink obliged and I vomited into a trash can. I took some peptic syrup and we resumed riding. Her auburn hair and emerald green eyes glistened in the sunlight like a newly polished horn. She intimidated me and had no intention of making me feel at ease. When she arrived at my home, I dismounted. I heard her mutter something about hitting Andrew--and I wasn't entirely sure if she was joking.
I sat down at my computer to see if any students or parents emailed me. Naturally, some people did.
mp3523@mindcrackemail.org: When is the concert?
Me: Tomorrow at 7:00
roadrage@minecraft.net: YOUR A HORRIBLE TEACHER AND SHOULD BE FIRED. YOU'RE DESK IS DISORGANIZED AND YOU DONT EVEN BOTHER TO ANSWER IN COMPLETE SENTENCES! MY CHLD GETS BAD GRADES BECAUSE OF YOU AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!
Me: He earns grades. He doesn't get them.
I closed my computer. The light felt better here, but I wanted to sleep. The scenery faded into black as I drifted into a deep slumber.
Caitlin appeared in a flash of white light. She wore a long white dress with a gold belt and her hair was in a loose bun with tendrils of hair framing her face. The sight not only stunned me because she looked absolutely beautiful, but because Caitlin can barely tolerate anything more than a ponytail at the nape of her neck for more than half an hour. In a similar way, Andrew does not like it when food touches on his plate; adamantly he claims that a "haphazard pile of chaos" is "not edible".
She leapt gracefully and bounded with great agility. Naturally, I followed. That's what made me realize it was a dream. Real Caitlin expended so much energy walking she would need to lie down for an hour after walking a long distance, supporting me during combat, or standing for a particularly long music selection. Even then, she avoided combat due to the risk of being an easy target during a seizure, having an asthma attack from sustained exertion, or not being able to run fast enough from a zombie. Dream Caitlin was not bogged down by asthma, epilepsy, and cerebral palsy. The dream version could move as she pleased with almost no effort. We could have many adventures together, side by side.
I saw several glimpses of a normal Minecraftian life with this apparition as my guide. Visions of wedding, a family, and growing old together passed by. Seeing Caitlin run after two little boys and laugh tugged at my heartstrings. Would she be able to do that? I saw us dancing together in our old age and laughing at each other's jokes effortlessly. Then, the memories turned bittersweet. I saw figures dressed in black surrounding a nether brick coffin. They tossed flowers into the coffin as if to form a bed for the deceased. Caitlin stepped into the coffin and closed her eyes, but I only noticed now that she had blue eyes instead of black.
That was Vivienne, not Caitlin. I had no idea I grieved her death until now. Since I had forgotten that name long ago, I subconsciously expected Caitlin to be Vivienne. I wanted her to be the fearless, headstrong trumpeter I had in my head. Instead, I got a shy, awkward clarinetist/hornist. At that moment, the funeral melted into a hospital setting. I saw hospital staff rushing around trying to intubate Caitlin. Tears welled in her eyes. What started out as a bad cold quickly turned into pneumonia. I remember startling the receptionist and rushing to Caitlin's side. I would have gladly slain another Ender Dragon with my bare hands, but seeing her fight her own body made me feel powerless. I hate it when bad memories make my dreams weird.
When I woke up, I noticed that I had wet the bed. Part of me thought Way to go, idiot. You forgot to put on a diaper. Another part of me thought You should have outgrown it by now.
Failure.
Loser.
You'll never measure up to your brothers.
*smack*
He fell on his face again.
I was about to cry when Caitlin walked in. When she noticed, I looked down at my soaked pants. I buried my face in my hands and let loose a sob. The memories came back.
You'll never learn.
Just try harder and you'll get it. Everyone else does.
It's so much work to be your friend.
Who could forget how to tie their own shoes?
Idiot.
You need sped.
It's not your fault.
I understand.
The last two cut through the storm like an Efficiency V diamond pickaxe through iron ore. Caitlin volunteered to wash the sheets. She put the wet sheets in a cauldron and added a mixture of potions while I watched. At that point, I felt...something I had never felt before. I can't describe it precisely.
Then, I remembered that I had mined a diamond and I knew how to use it.
(A/N: It's a long post. The story kept getting more interesting, so I had to keep writing. Give me feedback with the newly added reactions!)
After listening to the flutes, I realized how horrible I really felt. It may have been my imagination, but my skin looked to be tinged green. My stomach churned as if someone were attempting to make butter inside of it. The room seemed to spin and distort. I couldn't play through the piece anymore because I was so nauseous. I tried to keep the contents of my stomach where they were. Charlie, our C tuba player interrupted rehearsal by raising his hand.
"Steve doesn't look to good. He might puke on his music stand at any minute." Charlie voiced his honest concerns. I felt myself gag. It was twenty minutes away from break and there was no way I could make it if I played any more.
"I don't care." The conductor raised his baton and we played again. I dropped my trumpet and placed my hand over my mouth while writing in my music. I spurted vomit through my fingers for the next five minutes and ended up getting violently sick on an unoccupied patch of floor. Mark and Ella were taken aback. Kent made exaggerated airing out motions and pinched his nose. The conductor stopped and called a janitor. He asked me to go home and rest until I was better. I got to my feet and started on the journey home. About a kilometer from the building, I realized that I felt too weak to walk home. I sat and cried helplessly with my head between my knees. When I got my phone out to text Andrew about the incident, a message from Caitlin appeared.
Caitlin: How are you doing? I feel bad about what happened.
Me: Horrible. Don't feel bad. It was my fault.
Caitlin: It isn't. Your ability to push through a bad situation is admirable.
Me: But I can't go on. >:(
Caitlin: Let Andrew know about this.
Me: I will.
Me: I threw up at rehearsal.
Andrew: Did you make it to a bathroom or wastebasket?
Me: I made it to somewhere other than my music stand.
Andrew: Was that somewhere a waste receptacle?
Me: It was the carpet.... :,( So embarrassed.
Andrew: I can see why. Try taking peptic syrup as it states on the package before rehearsal.
Me: Can you pick me up? I don't think I can make it to my house.
Andrew: I'm with another patient, but Sofi might be able to help.
I already take peptic syrup before performances, but it seems to be helping less and less. I don't know what is causing this problem, but I wish it would stop.
Dr. Chen: How is Caitlin doing?
Me: Good, but I'm not so well myself. Ever since she joined the MCSO, she just blossomed.
Dr. Chen: Good to hear that! What plagues you?
Me: I threw up forcefully at rehearsal. It's happened before, but not like this. It's getting out of hand.
Dr. Chen: That is a cause for concern. I'll see if I can squeeze you in sometime.
Me: Thanks.
Sofi arrived on a pig with a carrot on a stick. She asked me if I needed a ride. I went on the pig, which trotted gently along, but made considerable progress. I suddenly felt sick again and begged her to stop. Reluctantly, the woman in pink obliged and I vomited into a trash can. I took some peptic syrup and we resumed riding. Her auburn hair and emerald green eyes glistened in the sunlight like a newly polished horn. She intimidated me and had no intention of making me feel at ease. When she arrived at my home, I dismounted. I heard her mutter something about hitting Andrew--and I wasn't entirely sure if she was joking.
I sat down at my computer to see if any students or parents emailed me. Naturally, some people did.
mp3523@mindcrackemail.org: When is the concert?
Me: Tomorrow at 7:00
roadrage@minecraft.net: YOUR A HORRIBLE TEACHER AND SHOULD BE FIRED. YOU'RE DESK IS DISORGANIZED AND YOU DONT EVEN BOTHER TO ANSWER IN COMPLETE SENTENCES! MY CHLD GETS BAD GRADES BECAUSE OF YOU AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!
Me: He earns grades. He doesn't get them.
I closed my computer. The light felt better here, but I wanted to sleep. The scenery faded into black as I drifted into a deep slumber.
Caitlin appeared in a flash of white light. She wore a long white dress with a gold belt and her hair was in a loose bun with tendrils of hair framing her face. The sight not only stunned me because she looked absolutely beautiful, but because Caitlin can barely tolerate anything more than a ponytail at the nape of her neck for more than half an hour. In a similar way, Andrew does not like it when food touches on his plate; adamantly he claims that a "haphazard pile of chaos" is "not edible".
She leapt gracefully and bounded with great agility. Naturally, I followed. That's what made me realize it was a dream. Real Caitlin expended so much energy walking she would need to lie down for an hour after walking a long distance, supporting me during combat, or standing for a particularly long music selection. Even then, she avoided combat due to the risk of being an easy target during a seizure, having an asthma attack from sustained exertion, or not being able to run fast enough from a zombie. Dream Caitlin was not bogged down by asthma, epilepsy, and cerebral palsy. The dream version could move as she pleased with almost no effort. We could have many adventures together, side by side.
I saw several glimpses of a normal Minecraftian life with this apparition as my guide. Visions of wedding, a family, and growing old together passed by. Seeing Caitlin run after two little boys and laugh tugged at my heartstrings. Would she be able to do that? I saw us dancing together in our old age and laughing at each other's jokes effortlessly. Then, the memories turned bittersweet. I saw figures dressed in black surrounding a nether brick coffin. They tossed flowers into the coffin as if to form a bed for the deceased. Caitlin stepped into the coffin and closed her eyes, but I only noticed now that she had blue eyes instead of black.
That was Vivienne, not Caitlin. I had no idea I grieved her death until now. Since I had forgotten that name long ago, I subconsciously expected Caitlin to be Vivienne. I wanted her to be the fearless, headstrong trumpeter I had in my head. Instead, I got a shy, awkward clarinetist/hornist. At that moment, the funeral melted into a hospital setting. I saw hospital staff rushing around trying to intubate Caitlin. Tears welled in her eyes. What started out as a bad cold quickly turned into pneumonia. I remember startling the receptionist and rushing to Caitlin's side. I would have gladly slain another Ender Dragon with my bare hands, but seeing her fight her own body made me feel powerless. I hate it when bad memories make my dreams weird.
When I woke up, I noticed that I had wet the bed. Part of me thought Way to go, idiot. You forgot to put on a diaper. Another part of me thought You should have outgrown it by now.
Failure.
Loser.
You'll never measure up to your brothers.
*smack*
He fell on his face again.
I was about to cry when Caitlin walked in. When she noticed, I looked down at my soaked pants. I buried my face in my hands and let loose a sob. The memories came back.
You'll never learn.
Just try harder and you'll get it. Everyone else does.
It's so much work to be your friend.
Who could forget how to tie their own shoes?
Idiot.
You need sped.
It's not your fault.
I understand.
The last two cut through the storm like an Efficiency V diamond pickaxe through iron ore. Caitlin volunteered to wash the sheets. She put the wet sheets in a cauldron and added a mixture of potions while I watched. At that point, I felt...something I had never felt before. I can't describe it precisely.
Then, I remembered that I had mined a diamond and I knew how to use it.
(A/N: It's a long post. The story kept getting more interesting, so I had to keep writing. Give me feedback with the newly added reactions!)
I like it!!!! It's very interesting!
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