Steve convinced me to audition for a group called the Impulsive Brass Band. He said that it wouldn't be so hard because I had already made it into the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra for clarinet. However, the horn was different from a clarinet in every way imaginable. We walked into the room to sign up and parted ways. Steve had two cases for his trumpet and Eb cornet. A line of people with instrument cases lined up at a table labeled "Impulsive Brass Band Auditions", so I followed them. With their confident strut, they seemed like they owned the building. One of them looked down at me with obvious contempt.
"Do you really have to walk with your feet so far apart? It's annoying when people do that." I kept my mouth shut. Another said "Can you move any slower?" another said. They hurled insult after insult. The ensemble would find it hard accept me. Having been recently diagnosed with cerebral palsy, I felt relieved that my movement problems had a name. However, I don't have the courage to share it. Since it is fairly unusual to diagnose this at my point in life, I felt alone. I didn't have any of the support from childhood. I wanted to cry into Steve's arms and have him tell me everything was all right, but something told me I had to move on. I reached the table after he left. I picked up a form. I filled it out as follows:
First and Last Name: Caitlin Netherfield
Age: 19
Instrument: F horn
Years of Experience on Instrument: 6
Residence Coordinates: 69, 153.79, 144
"Do you really have to walk with your feet so far apart? It's annoying when people do that." I kept my mouth shut. Another said "Can you move any slower?" another said. They hurled insult after insult. The ensemble would find it hard accept me. Having been recently diagnosed with cerebral palsy, I felt relieved that my movement problems had a name. However, I don't have the courage to share it. Since it is fairly unusual to diagnose this at my point in life, I felt alone. I didn't have any of the support from childhood. I wanted to cry into Steve's arms and have him tell me everything was all right, but something told me I had to move on. I reached the table after he left. I picked up a form. I filled it out as follows:
First and Last Name: Caitlin Netherfield
Age: 19
Instrument: F horn
Years of Experience on Instrument: 6
Residence Coordinates: 69, 153.79, 144
Occupation: Music teacher at Mindcrack MS/HS
Race: Human
Any Medical Concerns? Read the attached list.
I wrote a quick list of my medical issues and attached it to the form because this section only had two lines. I guess not many people with medical issues audition for the Impulsive Brass Band. I was given a number and told to go to a room, but that piece of information got lost in the whirlwind around me. The bright lights, ticking clock, the stench of various perfumes in the air, and chatter of people made my eyes sting. I wanted to run. I felt like I was surrounded by an army of creepers. The clock ran like a metronome and none of the other sounds followed the tempo. At that point, my emotions and rationality fought over the reins. I tried to breathe, but the air came in as a wheezing gasp. I tried to press the trigger that released the medication, but my hands shook too much. I saw Steve in the crowd and tried to signal him. He ignored me. I tried again, failed, and pursued him into the audition room. He sat down to play his selections. A bright, penetrating tone projected out of the bell of his trumpet. I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Do you mind?" He apologized for the interruption and continued playing. I could die now and his concern was the audition? I left him to his current priority--with a plan. Unfortunately, my number was next. I couldn't play like this! I made my way to the audition room and placed my music in front of me. I puffed on my inhaler until I could breathe normally and began to play my selection. The judge seemed by the delay. It did not come out the way I wanted it to, yet I played on. I was told to live on, so I might as well play on. The audition concluded with a strong low note. I felt tired after the audition, but also satisfied. This would be mine. I would claim my own identity in this brass band.
Race: Human
Any Medical Concerns? Read the attached list.
I wrote a quick list of my medical issues and attached it to the form because this section only had two lines. I guess not many people with medical issues audition for the Impulsive Brass Band. I was given a number and told to go to a room, but that piece of information got lost in the whirlwind around me. The bright lights, ticking clock, the stench of various perfumes in the air, and chatter of people made my eyes sting. I wanted to run. I felt like I was surrounded by an army of creepers. The clock ran like a metronome and none of the other sounds followed the tempo. At that point, my emotions and rationality fought over the reins. I tried to breathe, but the air came in as a wheezing gasp. I tried to press the trigger that released the medication, but my hands shook too much. I saw Steve in the crowd and tried to signal him. He ignored me. I tried again, failed, and pursued him into the audition room. He sat down to play his selections. A bright, penetrating tone projected out of the bell of his trumpet. I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Do you mind?" He apologized for the interruption and continued playing. I could die now and his concern was the audition? I left him to his current priority--with a plan. Unfortunately, my number was next. I couldn't play like this! I made my way to the audition room and placed my music in front of me. I puffed on my inhaler until I could breathe normally and began to play my selection. The judge seemed by the delay. It did not come out the way I wanted it to, yet I played on. I was told to live on, so I might as well play on. The audition concluded with a strong low note. I felt tired after the audition, but also satisfied. This would be mine. I would claim my own identity in this brass band.
Our results came a week later. I made it as the fourth horn out of four; Steve landed the piccolo trumpet part and the position of principal trumpeter.
"You have a good low register and...you're not egotistical.", he commented. "It takes a player like you to be able to carry the horn section."
"Thanks. Your high register and leadership style will make a great principal trumpeter." I took out my horn to practice. For once, I belonged somewhere and I wanted to prove it. I ran through a random piece of sheet music. Steve turned out to have the trumpet part for the same piece, so we practiced together while skipping over multi-measure rests. We complimented and constructively criticized each other along the way.
"Firm up on that note."
"Your high A is at least ten cents sharp. Don't overblow."
"Don't shove your hand into your bell so far."
"That's forte, not fortissimo."
"That's the note!"
"Much better!"
When our impromptu rehearsal ended, I asked Steve if he wanted to have dinner at Tomato Garden with me tomorrow. It wasn't much considering what he had done for me, but I had to do something. He mumbled something indistinct and I wasn't exactly sure how to take that.
When our impromptu rehearsal ended, I asked Steve if he wanted to have dinner at Tomato Garden with me tomorrow. It wasn't much considering what he had done for me, but I had to do something. He mumbled something indistinct and I wasn't exactly sure how to take that.
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