Progress (Steve)

I really needed to blow off steam, so I headed into the woods to punch zombies in the face. I took my sword as well, but I just honestly needed to use my body. A zombie came up behind me and I kicked it in the stomach before bashing its face in. Another came from the side. A blow to the throat knocked its head clean off. I heard the sound of arrows flying. One went screaming past my ear. I deflected a few with my sword; one arrow bounced back in such a way that delivered a fatal blow to the skeleton. Knowing that Caitlin is an archer, I harvested the arrows. She isn't much into combat, but arrows are one of those things one can never have too much of. While I was at it, I scored a few gold and iron ingots for my band program and for Alice's treatments.

The cancer spread...that far...to her central nervous system...and I never noticed. When she fainted or complained of headaches, I assumed it was from a lack of food. When she was tired, I assumed it was overexertion. I noticed that her nails curved inwards, enough to hold a drop of water. However, I never bothered to express concern because I didn't think I had the time to do so. How ignorant could I have been? I could have allowed her to obtain treatment earlier had I recognized the symptoms. I knocked off a few more zombies' heads. If I couldn't fight the internal monsters, at least I could fight external ones.

I went back home, heated up three toaster waffles, and rummaged through the fridge for syrup. Since I didn't find it, I settled for grape jelly. At least, with Caitlin not here, she can't tell me not to eat grape jelly waffles. Still, I was worried. She's lost a lot of weight under the various stressors of life and her health may take a downward spiral if we're not careful. I turned on the TV to distract myself.

Caitlin was on the screen with her hands neatly folded in her lap. She looked so composed on screen, so much so that the average viewer might not know just how much she struggled each day.
       "...I just hope my dress won't fall off." Caitlin laughed, but I could still see the anxiety in her eyes.
       "Isn't that a nice problem to have?" If you knew half of what Caitlin endured in order to be like that, you would think that it is most definitely not a nice problem. "And last rehearsal with the Impulsive Brass Band, you guys had a rearrangement in seating? How does it feel to be the principal hornist?" She never told me that!
       "Yes, we did. Being the principal hornist is no doubt different from my previous position in the ensemble, but I am confident that I can lead our horns so that we can put on the best show possible."
       "And to think that Steve told you that you could never play horn!" Wow. The reporter looked familiar: That was Brianna Turner from the cheer team. She hasn't changed at all. "Who would have said that to a principal hornist?"
       "Well, back then, I was just an awkward freshman in high school. I had to experience everything I did before I could get to this point. Initial failure is not always a measure of how you will perform later, but is a springboard of sorts that can get you where you want to be." Caitlin continued. "And back then, Steve was just some stupid jock who wanted to push me around. He needed to have his conscience knocked into place in order to be who he is today. It's funny how life works out the way it does. My point is, people change over time and there's really nothing we can do about it." One of the things I simultaneously love and hate about Caitlin is her honesty about what she sees in others. Where someone else would have hailed me as the spleef rink's hero, Caitlin called high school me a stupid jock. In all fairness, though, it was true.

I checked the clock. It was about 4:00 AM (so much easier than the tick system), so I went on Twitter and saw this explosion of memes featuring me in a variety of situations. Kyle posted a video loop of me in a news feed with the reporter saying "The concertmaster looks pleased with himself" and me lowering my trumpet after playing my solo. Of course, Kyle tagged me, saying "It's our famous band teacher! Hi!!!" Too bad he's a senior. I'm probably going to bawl like a baby when his name is called at graduation.

Still, even with the onslaught of emotions, I needed to teach. I headed over to Mindcrack after filling my coffee cup, catching the delicious scent of the roasted beans. I added a splash of milk and some sugar. There's nothing like lightly sweetened coffee in the morning before a big day. My bands have a concert, I'm getting married in three days, and final exams are forebodingly creeping up on my students. Because this is just simply not the day for a panic attack, I took my prescribed medication and proceeded to go about my day.

The intermediate band filed in. I pulled out my score and let them set their embouchures, warm up, and tune (read: play obnoxiously high notes). After I got them to settle down, I had them actually tune to an A for the woodwinds and a B flat for the brass instruments. Since our timpani pretty much had a mind of its own, I assisted in that tuning. My middle school students have not yet mastered the art of quiet timpani tuning so that task was quite a noisy one.

Alice's absence pervaded the air like a thick mist. The trumpets milled around awkwardly; without her quiet leadership, they were lost. Even the firsts noticed something was amiss and they weren't usually the most aware of what was going on around them. The woodwinds whispered amongst themselves. The percussion section stood as still and silent as stone. An unusual solemnity washed over the rest of the brass section. How am I supposed to deliver the heartbreaking news that Alice has cancer? Being a teacher, I knew that tragedy would strike my students one day or another. I just didn't expect this.

I wished, more than anything, that I could have held Alice's hand during her first round of chemotherapy. I wanted to tell her not to be scared and let her cry on my shoulder. Just thinking about it, the familiar scent of bleach filled the air around me. I wanted to tell Alice that she was doing well and that she was strong, to get something for her to eat that didn't taste disgusting, to argue with insurance companies about payment plans. I wanted her to ask me if everything was going to be alright and tell her that everything would be, even if I didn't know the outcome.

Mostly, I just wanted to be the father Alice never had. I met him during a parent-teacher conference and he seemed, with regard to Alice's wellbeing as a human, apathetic at best. He just wanted her to crank out a good GPA, even at the expense of her health. As much as I respect performance of any kind, that kind of mindset is what shatters students' hearts. Even if I can repair hearts with music, I know they'll never be the same again. I took a deep breath, pulled out my device, and decided to break the news with three words.
         "Alice has cancer."

Shock and confusion passed over my students' faces. A flute, Hannah, asked if she would be okay. With that question, the questions came pouring in. They wanted answers, but they needed comfort. I told them what I could and decided to go on with rehearsing what they will do onstage. Part of being a good performer is putting on a brave face even when you feel anything but. I felt just as shaken as they did, but I still had to lead. We took our seats and listened to the middle school choir.

I saw Alex singing her heart out with the chorus. The glee on her face could light up the darkest mineshaft. I saw Adrian on the other side of the choir singing much more confidently than he ever done before. He wasn't shoving his face in his music. Around me, the lights faded away until one remained to single Alex out.

The hero's heart is heavy.
It bears the weight of all
The sorrows of his people
When he must bear his own.

Alex faded out. Caitlin would be so proud if she heard Alex's solo. Her voice was powerful but maintained a certain level of gentleness. Not only did she sound great, the lyrics hit home with me. It was as if the music department was trying to get into my head. The time came for the beginning band to perform their piece. Alex and Adrian came down from the risers to join the rest of the trumpets. Even without any percussion, the band stayed with me. I liked the piece better without percussion anyway, The flutes played their line more or less in tune despite having learned how to tune the day before. Kaito nailed the bass line. Before, he wouldn't even try it. I was immensely proud of him.

The intermediate band played after that. They played a jazzy piece that showcased our saxophones and their talents. Saxophones are an underrated section. Part of the reason why they are often the worst section in some bands is because the directors simply don't know what to do with them. They choose pieces with the most redundant, anticlimactic harmony lines and never give the saxes any reason to improve. Improvement never occurs in a vacuum. It is something that needs a catalyst, an incentive.

The day continued on as I did roughly the same things with the high school band. Kyle missed his timpani solo. (How dare you. We worked on this!) We had to run through that part again and resolve a few tuning issues in the flutes. Other than that, the high school band performed well. I conducted the orchestra and band in a symphonic piece of the orchestra director's selection. I was pleasantly surprised by the sound that came out of the strings and how they conducted themselves under my direction. They snapped to attention and watched me in a way that just doesn't happen with the orchestra director.

As the rest of the day progressed, I got prepared for the concert. My hair was all over the place, so I ran a brush through it. I plastered the flyaways with water and took another look at my reflection. The man looking back at me had a confident countenance, one that masked any trace of worry with the sparkle in his eyes. This was the guy who tuned his brass band to a B flat at every concert and strode onstage radiating confidence.

I entered the band room to find a few students milling around and playing some scales. Kyle tuned the timpani so it wouldn't be on completely different notes during the concert. More students poured in later. I told them to leave their cases against the wall to minimize tripping hazards. After leading them in some long tones and tuning, Alex raised her hand.
         "Do you want me to go with the choir or you guys for the start of the concert?"
         "You choose." Alex thought about this for a moment, looking at her choir music and then at Adrian. Both of them are on par with each other with regards to technical trumpet skill, but Alex has the edge of confidence. Still, I respected the fact that Alex's heart resided in her voice. Alex chose to stay with the band.

The flow of the concert allowed me to hear--truly hear--everyone's progress, not only musically, but in all other areas as well. Kyle's heart was truly in the music and Andreas lead the flutes with his quiet confidence. Both of them made grilled apple turnovers for after the concert; I could tell from the scent in the lobby and the foil package marked "From Kyle and Andreas". Alex proved herself a serious vocalist with her solo and chose to support her friend instead of doing what she really wanted to do. That takes some serious character to do. Adrian had some newfound confidence and looked me in the eye instead of shoving his face in the music stand. Kaito contributed to something bigger than himself and went from barely tolerating the din of the band room to being a frequent contributor to the noise.

And me? My previous self thought of nothing but his own image, how he measured up against everyone else. He was an insecure, conniving, hedonistic shell of a human, just some, in Caitlin's words, "stupid jock" who aimlessly chased the spotlight. I wanted to be the hero I always saw on TV, the one in shining armor who defeated his enemies effortlessly, sword in hand. Later, I've come to realize that some heroes wear skirts and leg braces while slaying the monsters of ignorance and laziness one brain at a time.

According to Plan (Alice)

Never in my life did I think I'd be poked and prodded with so many needles. Never did I think I'd have cancer. Never did I'd see so many nurses in one place.

Never did I think anyone would care about me so much.

The burning sensation of chemotherapy running through my veins startled me. I was still sleepy from the other medicine, but powering through sleep deprivation is a skill I have honed over the years. A nurse gave me a book of classic fairy tales. I turned to one about a boy who found a magical golden creeper idol in a tree and used it to become a prince by getting a very serious princess to laugh. I wanted a nice girl to do this for me. I've found a few girls at Mindcrack to be cute, but I'm scared to tell them about it. For one thing, I'm not pretty, talented, or clever enough to fake being the two. For another, they may find it weird for a girl to be attracted to other girls.

I found another one about a girl so small she could fit in a dandelion. The illustration looked suspiciously like my private teacher. The story also reminded me of my mother when she was nice, the days when she would do pretty much anything to get a laugh or a smile out of me. I remembered when she bandaged my knee after I tripped killing a zombie and stealing its boots. I grew into those boots eventually and I'm proud of them. They're a reminder that somewhere, someone cares. I'm not sure who, but someone does.

My mom actually used to care about me, before everything went downhill when, in the fourth grade, we lost most of our money and I had to start working. She began to demand more and more from me. Since I barely slept because she started screaming for pain meds in the middle of the night, my grades began to decline, which caused her to start berating me for those.

89...88...87....86

The trend continued from there. I started playing trumpet because I thought I'd be good on that instrument. When I missed a note, she would tell me it was terrible. I ended up giving up in seventh grade, thinking I could never be good enough, not just for the trumpet, but in every area of life as well. No college wants a student with my GPA, so I'll most likely end up scrubbing tables for the rest of my life.

An intense wave of nausea crashed into me. I've heard of chemotherapy having these effects, but experiencing it still shocked me. I made my way to the bathroom and expelled the contents of my stomach into the toilet. After going back to my bed, a nurse reassured me that this was normal. She brought me a glass of water, a boiled egg, and some rice topped with nori. I bit into the egg and the rice, which tasted like metal. I spit it out. How do eggs taste like metal of all things? Again, a nurse reassured me that this was normal. If this is normal, I'd hate to experience something abnormal. The nurse returned with another tray of food: apple juice, a bowl of cream of wheat with some brown sugar, and some strawberries. Though I was still thrown off by the metallic-tasting eggs, I spooned some cream of wheat and brown sugar into my mouth. The sweetness distracted me from the unsettling feeling in my mouth. I ate a strawberry, its acidity a welcome contrast to what was in my bowl. Though hospital food was supposedly not all that good, I felt as though I had eaten like a queen when I was done.

Pleased with this, the nurse took my tray and another nurse took me for more testing. I've haven't gotten around to memorizing their names yet, but I do know their different persons like the back of my hand. The one who escorted me to the testing room was plump and had skin the color of oak planks. I looked at her name tag and found that her name is Angela. She took my blood and told me that everything was going more or less as planned.

When I was going back to my room, I felt the world being pulled from under my feet. Angela caught me and returned me to my bed. Although I wanted desperately, to sleep, I got to folding cranes. I wanted to honor my teacher by practicing her art. Everything is going according to plan, Angela had said to me. This certainly wasn't in my plan, but I know the nurses are working hard to keep me--and everyone else--healthy and happy to the fullest possible extent.

Misfortune and Mistreatment (Caitlin)

Well, my head's wrapped and covered in wires. I'm not supposed to do combat or anything that makes me sweat. That wasn't really a problem because I don't sweat easily. I'm not much of a fighter either. I'm more of the person who runs far away from danger, hides, and cries a lot until someone rescues me. A lot of my haters say they support all races, ages, genders, and orientations. I could see that they deliberately left out personality types and political ideologies to have a basis for attacking me.
         "Any questions?" The technician packed up as my class filed out the door.
         "Yes. How am I supposed to teach my private students, get interviewed, and perform at a concert like this?"
         "Wow, you're busy!" She looked surprised. "How do you do all that?"
         "I love it. It may make my life shorter, but it makes my life worth living. I'm also getting married in a week."
         "To who?" The technician's eyes lit up.
         "You've probably seen him on TV. I'll give you a hint. His name is Steve."
         "The sleazy talk show host?" She raised her eyebrows disapprovingly.
         "No. The slayer of the Ender Dragon." The technician nodded, indicating her understanding, and then stared at me in disbelief. "I know. I'm the luckiest woman in the world, doing what I love with the man I love."

         "Indeed you are!" she exclaimed, though her countenance said otherwise. Her job mandates that she see the worst aspects of peoples' lives, so I wasn't all that surprised by her response. She left after that, presumably to wrap someone else's head.

Teaching the guitar class went reasonably well, considering that I know very little of the instrument's workings. It gave me more of an opportunity to have students solve problems on their own and on the fly, which is something every musician needs to learn how to do. I played a concert with the orchestra yesterday with a very chipped reed and managed to play decently. Speaking of playing decently, my students were making some excellent progress.

Adrian has an ongoing stroke of misfortune, it seems. According to what Alex said to me, he apparently got so nervous he wet his pants and started crying shortly before the fall concert. Fortunately, he was able to go onstage after a change of clothes and and some encouraging words from another band member. However, he is nervous that it will happen again during the next concert. I will find ways to remedy his anxieties shortly. Given that Adrian is such a nice kid, I want him to have better luck in the future.

Kaito had an excellent performance and was beginning to make a few friends in band. I noticed that he was talking more and his verbal abilities showed a great improvement. This transfer of skills is not uncommon either. Alex got (begrudgingly) better at singing harmony and letting others have a crack at the tune. She made about five new friends as well. Carmen will be the youngest participant in Minecraft's solo and ensemble in just a month. Naturally, I'm incredibly proud of her.

And Alice? Alice is at the hospital awaiting psych evaluations. I don't know what she was doing all the way in another universe, but she is safe and that's what's important. I'm so glad the doctor decided
 against meeting her mother because, to put it nicely, she doesn't care about Alice at all. Everything she says to Alice is one big middle finger to her face.

Not only does she abuse Alice, she had the nerve to accuse Steve of cheating on me with this supermodel who neither of us know about other than how she threw her drink in a bartender's face because it didn't taste right. How she would even remotely appeal to Steve as a person I don't know. We are still trying to clear up that scandal and explain to the public that Steve would do nothing of
the sort.

Speaking of that, the interviewer came in and asked me about the incident.

         "It would be very out of character for Steve to do such a thing."
         "How would you know that?"
         "I live with him. Trust me, I'd know if he were doing things like that." Since I was unwilling to be questioned further, much to the reporter's dismay, he moved onto another topic.
         "What do you have to say about brass instruments and toxic masculinity?"My sixth graders could easily ask better questions than this
         "Although instrument tends to reflect personality, I don't think it shares any connection with such a concept." I tried not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the question. After a few more questions about why I was so passive and disengaged, I was about ready to cry. Why is it that, if I erred on the side of aggressive, I'd be more readily understood than if I were more reticent?

Carmen came in with her solo and ensemble piece. Not only do I want her to do well, I wanted her to be the best. Being nine years old, she may not be taken as seriously. Taking that and her visual impairment into account, she has more than her work cut out for her. We worked on cleaning up the runs and articulations. Crossing the break is a rough spot for her as it is for every clarinetist, so we got that squared away. Her piece of choice was very fast and technical, which is the type of piece she plays best. At the end of the lesson, she asked me what the wires were for. Instead of flipping out and being snarky as is commonly suggested, I said that my neurologist wanted to study my brain and use the information to benefit me. I was glad that Carmen asked. It's way better than staring.

Nathan came in with his band music and his solo and ensemble piece. He had a slow, lyrical piece that Steve picked out for him. I suggested that he do a bit of vibrato on the longer notes.
          "I thought vibrato was for flutes!" Nathan seemed amused by the notion of vibrato on horn.
          "Oh, trust me. it's for every instrument!" Upon trying it, I heard this awful jackhammer sound. After telling him to smooth it out, he switched to a slower, but still choppy, vibrato. We worked more some stylistic things such as where to push and pull. He showed very little interest in the wires on my head (or much of anything besides not fracking high notes, for that matter). After a few questions, he left.

Now that that was squared away, I clambered into bed and closed my eyes. The sweet release of sleep washed over me. After that, I woke up. Steve was working with some students from another school on lip slurs and fingerings. He would meet me at the performance venue.

Upon meeting at the venue, Steve gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and we divided to warm up in our different sections. The horns were playing lip slurs and scales. We ran through the parts where I had my solos, which turned out terrible. But a bad run through means a good concert, right?

After a group run through in which Steve forgot to come in, it was time for the concert. We made our way onstage with Landon carrying my stand as well as his own. He made no noise, even with the tap shoes. We played our opening number as if it were audition day all over again. This band was responsible, not only for much of my growth as a hornist, but as a person as well. I gained confidence I didn't even think was possible. I made a friend I never thought I'd have.

As the rest of the concert progressed, I thought of how each song reflected the player's personality. Mark made the audience laugh--and he did the choreography, which meant that he was getting a raise. The other solo numbers suited their performers just as well. After that, Landon switched instruments and tapped while playing trumpet, an impressive feat. He even, despite my advice, did a back flip with his trumpet in hand. With that, we had intermission. That was odd, seeing that we have played all of our listed  numbers.

My phone rang, thing had a phone call. Due to my last experience with a phone call during intermission, I felt incredibly nervous. My hands shook so much I could barely hold my phone. I took a deep breath and answered.

         "Hello?"
         "This is Dr. Shelder. Alice Alder is under our care. Since we couldn't get any word from her mother, we decided to contact you." Oh no. Oh no. How was Alice? Was she okay? "Well, we have some bad news."
         "Alice's blood work results look pretty odd. For one thing, her blood cell count is very low across the board and she's displaying several symptoms of anemia. The most severe is shortness of breath. She got winded walking to get food, which is odd given that she is accustomed to physical labor." Alice did seem to have poorer breath support lately. "We ran some further testing and concluded that Alice has ALL."
        "What is that?" I wanted to sound more intelligent, but my head was spinning with worry. How did I not notice the symptoms?
         "Acute lymphocytic leukemia. Even worse, it spread to her central nervous system. She said she wasn't feeling well today and then had a seizure. We transferred her to neurology just now. She has no diagnosis of epilepsy, is that correct?"  Dr. Shelder talked about treatments, survival rates, and a whole host of other things, but I didn't really hear the rest. Steve came to ask me what was wrong. I wanted to speak, but I couldn't form the words. Even if I could, I felt like I would vomit if I opened my mouth. I continued silently to the rest of the performance.
          "Since our musicians are so talented, it is my pleasure to embarrass them publicly. I meant praise their talents. Let's start with Miss Caitlin Netherfield." Wait, what? Why am I getting commended in front of a crowd? Still, I didn't feel compelled to celebrate. Alice's life was on the line. "You could feel the emotion in her first solo as if she were really auditioning to be with us." The others received their praises, and, though I smiled, I felt like I didn't really mean it. After the applause died as the last member was acknowledge, I ducked into a small room backstage and called Alice's mother.
         "Such a bad child for running away. Doesn't she know what's good for her?"
         "She's been hospitalized for depression." I added that you caused in my head. However, this was not a time for spite.
         "Hospitalized? For depression? That insensitive little brat should realize her place in the world." Alice is the furthest thing from an insensitive brat. She has the strongest work ethic of anyone I know, student or teacher.
         "Anyway, the doctors found out she has ALL, acute lymphocytic leukemia. It spread to her central nervous system and..." I did not want my voice to break. Not now. I needed to sound strong and professional.
         "And what? And she finally realized what it's like to be me taking several pills a say just to not feel like I'm on fire?" That was it. No one uses disability as an excuse for mistreating my students.
         "I'd be more concerned about the fact that Alice has cancer and could possibly die than whatever's going on with you at the moment. Do you think that I, someone with epilepsy, wanted her to know what it's like for me to have a seizure? Of course not. Those things are terrible. You have been nothing but petty and downright abusive."
         "I'm reporting you for malicious speech." She hung up frantically before I could say more. I've never felt more angry. What drives someone to belittle another person like that, especially their own child? 

What I Know Emotionally (Steve)

Everyone filed in on time. We were working on the B flat scale. It will be their first scale--and it won't be their last. Kaito is still on the pentatonic scale. However, since the euphonium parts for the winter music don't go above concert F, I wasn't too concerned. Alex had the clearest intonation out of all of them, probably from all that singing she does.  The others fell somewhere in between. Caitlyn could tongue precisely, but had trouble with fingers. Adrian was struggling very much with the B flat scale. I took him aside for one on one practice.
         "I just can't get it." He looked defeated.
         "Why not?"
         "I just...can't. This is hopeless." No, it was not. It took me three weeks to get a sound--any sound at all--out of a trumpet. I am not let letting any of my students feel hopeless because they struggle with a scale. Noting that Adrian's face was rather tense, I told him to relax.
         "See if that helps." Adrian played again. I stopped him because he was tensing on the higher notes. It did help. "You got it!"
         "I did?"
         "Yes. That was the best you ever played it." If Caitlin were here to see this, she'd be so proud.

I went on to help Kaito. He seemed to be struggling with the G. I noted that he was pressing the same valve again and again with a blank expression. That was odd. If he stimmed with his instrument, it was usually with the third valve (not the second) and with an intent look on his face. I assisted him with the fingering and air. He moved up with some fracking. However, that was to be expected from all of our brass players at this level.

We moved on to sightreading the piece. Since they apparently had no idea how to subdivide, I ran through everything at a slower pace. That improved things. The flute feature got lost due to the flutes not counting. We worked on that together. They were a little better. It may not have been much better, but it was better. I furthered their improvement to where they were playing a recognizable line and then put it into context.

One of the things I teach is that good should never get in the way of great. Especially at the start of one's musical career, music is all about improvement and advancement. No one can graduate from music like they can from school. We're always looking for ways to put on better shows and wow the crowd. The Tchaikovsky concerto in D major was considered impossible at one point and now it's standard repertoire for every professional violinist worth their salt.

But that's not going to work with my students. Most people are more concerned with their own headache than a widespread famine a million chunks away. I told them they could do it because I knew they could. For the most part, they already had the basics of the piece. It will take them a while to take to the feel of it, but that's an issue across the board for Mindcrack's bands in general. It's all about the right bubble in the right column nowadays. The more academic direction this school is taking might boost our rank, but it's going to strip our students and teachers of their essence.

We counted and clapped some things together, getting that squared away. I worked on getting the right notes from the brass. Alex, with her singers' ear, had very few problems. I had to correct a few of her fingerings, though. Adrienne, however, struggled with distinguishing between half steps and whole steps...or between any pitches at all. Using the tuner app on my phone, I "helped" her distinguish pitches. She was mostly fine with that. I moved on to fingers. Upon closer observation, I realized that she was only partially pressing her valves. I told her to press harder. Her fingers bent backwards at the tips. Yikes. How did I not notice that until now? I didn't know how to help at the moment, so I just moved on. Kiyoshi was in need of a new reed. I helped Aisha with her posture. Everything else was fine, but her posture ruined it. (Darn it, Aisha! I TOLD YOU NOT TO SLOUCH.)

After another run-through, the bell rang. My beginners all filed out having worked very hard. The guitar class will come in and I'll introduce the to their first chord after the break. During the break, students move about as they please to either get things done or not get things done. Of course, like clockwork, Alice came in to practice her symphonic band stuff. I prepared a lunch for her because she would not eat the rest of the day otherwise. I wanted Alice to have her health. Without her health, I didn't know what her mother would do to her. I had the pleasure (rather, displeasure) of meeting her yesterday. She told me that I deserved to die and that I should take, in her words "that little nymph of yours" (referring to Caitlin) with you.

How does Alice live with that? I'm surprised that she hasn't run away, slipped into drugs, or done anything of the sort. After eating the sandwich, she rinsed her mouth with water and began her practice. I noted that she had a tendency to stop phrases in frustration even though her playing was perfectly fine. She came over to me to and asked if there was something wrong with her playing. From what I heard, she was a little flat on one of the low notes, but what middle school student isn't? Alice played for me and she was perfectly fine. I let her know this.
         "I need to tell you something." Alice had a franticness in her eyes.
         "Tell me the thing." Everything that I know emotionally about my students will help me be a better teacher. Seeing that Alice was our best second trumpeter in the middle school band, her role was integral to our band.
         "Well, the reason I didn't play all that well last year was because my mother keeps calling me a tone deaf half wit and it really hurt because it was true at the time. She told me to stop practicing because, in her words, it was clear that I was never going to improve. Even if it's not as true now, it still hurts." She extended her arms forward and I saw that they were covered in fresh slashes. I'd know that sight anywhere. I wanted to break down and cry, but that wouldn't help Alice. I texted the school administration and told them about my concerns. That girl needs a psychologist and she needs one now. I'm not going to waste any time because waiting could mean that I wake up finding a sword in her ribs.

Don't Do It (Steve)

"It's just a seizure." A lot of people said that to me. "She'll get over it in time." I don't think they understand what it means. I mean, losing control of one's body must be terrifying. Caitlin was still flopped over my lap fast asleep. I washed the vomit out of her hair only five minutes ago. My head still felt like it was spinning. Reassuringly, Caitlin shifted as if to let me know she was okay. Her breathing got erratic, so I took care of that. I decided to talk to Farkas again. He would know what to make of my current situation. Apparently, things were hitting Anna pretty hard.

I found her hunched over the toilet after getting back from a quest. People don't know this side of having a loved one with a brain tumor. They think they do, but they don't.

Oh. Well, I'm sorry. I didn't really know what else to say. Did I really need to burden him with my situation on top of that?

But that's enough about us. What about you guys?

I don't want to talk about it. Well, really, I did.

That's a sign you should. 

Fine, but know that I'm not trying to pit my struggle against yours.

I know that. Tell me.

Well, it's about Caitlin, but not really. My anxiety is through the roof right now. As I was dealing with another one of her seizures, I threw up. Being unable to think, I just did stuff with muscle memory. I still feel like my head is going to fly off its axis.

I know how that feels.

And these people kept dismissing it. Then again, I bet a lot of people have trouble imagining things from our side. The infographics are helpful, but they don't portray emotion. It's like comparing a MIDI file to sitting in the orchestra yourself.

Ugh. Well, I hope everything goes well.

Nathan showed up before I could respond. We ran through some lip slurs. Nathan was obviously not having lip slurs today. I suggested he switch mouthpieces. He switched to one with a smaller cup size. That improved his lip slurs dramatically. We worked on marching band music together. Noticing that he was dragging, I put on the metronome. He struggled with the higher notes, probably because his lip slurs were bad that day. After the lesson, I noticed a blue, pink, and purple button on the ear of his cat-shaped backpack.
         "What's that?"
         "It's a bisexual pride button."
         "Are you bisexual?"
         "...Yes. Probably because I'm so indecisive." He laughed. It's always interesting to learn about students' lives beyond the horn "The only downside is it's kind of an idiot magnet. Someone overturned my wheelchair--with me in it--while yelling 'Disabled LGBT lives matter!' Hypocrisy much?" I hate it when people do that. It's irrational and it hurts people, so why do people do it? "By the way, you're a much better band director than the one at my school." After Nathan had left, I noticed that he managed to take away some of my tension.

I decided to get back to messaging while entering grades for my students. Caitlin was still fast asleep. She reached out in my direction, so I sat closer to her.

A lot of people think I'm a hero who took on a burden, but they don't take into account what Caitlin does for me. She loves me to the point it's safe to bet that she'd take a sword or a bow for me (though I wouldn't let her do that) and reassures me when I'm anxious. More than that, Caitlin saved my life. I thought I would die on my quest to slay the Ender Dragon. I intended to die disguising a suicide as a heroic quest, but Caitlin healed me and enabled me to complete my battle. Has Anna ever made you feel that way?

In a way, I guess. She helps me sleep. :)

That's always nice. 

I closed my computer and took the towel off of Caitlin's hair. It was almost dry, but it was still somewhat damp. I ran my hands through her hair (1) because I like the way it feels and (2) to help it dry. I found a note and read it.

Don't try to stop my next seizure. If it kills me, that's fine, because it's what everyone wants anyway.

My eyes started filling with tears. That is not what anyone wants! Think of your sixth graders and how you completely changed their character for the better in a year. Think of your private students and the skills they have developed thanks to your careful attention and heartfelt praise. You play second, third, or fourth better than most people play first. That's not something a lot of people can do well.

Think of me. Why would I have taken you with me if you did not matter? You gave my life meaning. You sustained my breath and made it worth breathing. Why didn't you tell me you felt this way? The tears started falling from my eyes, one after another. I ended up breaking down and sobbing. I have only one of you, you know. You sustained my breath and made it worth breathing. You are my companion, my duet partner, and my confidante.

My mind travelled back to my suicide attempt. A cursory glance would make the average person fear for Caitlin's life, but the one who was dying was me. I thought a bottle of pills would fix my problems. If I was dead, things couldn't get any worse, right? Wrong. Things couldn't get better if I had died. I never want that to happen to Caitlin. Alex would be devastated. Her smile can brighten anyone's day. I'd hate to see it wiped off her face. I'm already worried about Alice because hardworking people with low self-esteem rarely break, but it is very difficult, if not impossible to build them back up when they do.

Please don't do this to me.

Don't do it.

Inspiration (Matilda)

Of every teacher I have ever met, I have never met someone like Caitlin Netherfield. Her pedagogy style is simple, yet sophisticated in a way that I can't quite place. She speaks softly, yet everything else about her speaks volumes. If she walked into a room, no one would take notice. However, if you took the time to notice her, you would meet the kind of person one seldom meets, like a queen disguised as a peasant.

Caitlin sat before me with Steve at her side. They exchanged a few embraces and affectionate gestures. They were cute together, honestly. Although they were polar opposites in some ways, they were markedly similar in others. For one, they both loved music. They had the same warm empathy and love for others as well as for each other. However, I got the sense that they sometimes-no, frequently-forgot to love themselves.

We talked about our experiences working with different high schools.
         "It was a battle of ego. All the time." Steve looked defeated. I guessed that his device did not have the plural for "ego" installed. "I made them do a silent rehearsal." I have met several flute sections like that and they came in all levels and sizes, but mostly in large high school bands. They were exhausting and downright annoying. I have been in them in the high school and even professional level. It's less common on the professional level, but it still happens. "And you?" He gestured towards me.
        "The oboes were a little dicey, but the flutes were absolutely wonderful. They were rather personable and polite. I'd dare to say that they were a little too polite. Their lack of confidence resulted in intonation problems."
        "My woodwinds were all yelling at each other." Caitlin spoke up.
        "Which school did you go to?"
        "Skull Crusher High School."
        "Sounds like them."
        "Not only that, but one student said I was 'disturbing everyone' by doing this." She demonstrated her hand flap for me. I thought it was fairly innocuous, considering other things I've seen from other teachers. One of them chased her students around the track with a creeper as a warm up. The news was covering that for weeks on end. Those motions are fairly effective in releasing hand tension, the enemy of all woodwinds. I was surprised she didn't tell the students to do it. "Do you know anyone from the Skull Crusher band named Kathryn? On flute? She's the one who said I was disturbing everyone." That's my student!
       "She will hear from me during her next lesson." I took a sweet brown roll and spread butter on it. It is very out of character for Kathryn to openly disrespect a teacher, especially one like Caitlin. Across from me, she took a soft white roll, made a pocket of sorts in the center with the butter knife, and filled it with jam. She looked markedly better, but still tired. When she yawned, Steve placed an arm around her. Caitlin's unease melted away like butter.

I planned to leave, but I heard a loud yelp and a crash. Caitlin was shaking on the ground. I had one unprovoked seizure before...and only one. I was in high school at the time. I remember feeling like all the energy had been drained from my body. Caitlin, on the other hand, dealt with it on an almost daily basis. I rushed to her side hoping to be able to do something. Luckily, I did. I made sure people didn't shove old wallets or dirty sneakers in her mouth (and it's usually old wallets or dirty sneakers for some reason?) while Steve took care of the rest. His concern would touch the hearts of even the most cold, calculating people.

Each neurological lightning bolt racked her little frame. Seconds stretched into eternities as I watched every uncontrolled movement. Would she be okay? As if to mock my concern, things died down and then started up again. It had been five minutes. I wondered if Caitlin would be okay. Luckily, Steve was adept at functioning under extreme stress. Not only that, his compassion held. I moved more onlookers on and thought about the numerous teachers I have seen taking stress out on their students when it was really themselves they were mad at.

Caitlin inspired me. She really did--and not due to her disabilities. She inspired me because of her character. I knew she would not use her seizures (or anything else) as an excuse to treat others poorly or perform halfheartedly. If she said something hurtful, she owned up to it and apologized every time. I wished I could be more like that. I thought I had to scream at people to get them to respect me as a high school section leader. When she had command of the Mindcrack band in Steve's place, she barely spoke above a whisper the entire time, yet she managed to command respect. They played the best they ever had during that concert.

I wish I could say the same about myself.

Pedagogy (Caitlin)

Want to know what you're missing out on by rejecting Kaito Hiyashida?

He's a nice kid who wants to learn. I spent the first lesson teaching him how to properly support a euphonium (because those things are heavy!) while getting to know him. He is very interested in music and doesn't like loud noises. (This will be a challenge.) His favorite color is green and he can use a sword pretty well judging by the videos he showed me. Kaito was impressed that I learned some Japanese for him. I was surprised that this is not the norm for other teachers. I used the correct honorifics and found out a few things about him based on the 250 word core noun/verb package on his device. He seriously needs an adjective and adverb pack. A keyboard would do him good too.

After that, I ended up on the floor utterly disoriented and terrified. I vaguely remembered water running through my hair and tasted something acrid in my mouth. Was that blood or vomit? I felt like all the energy had left me. I felt the sheets against my body and let sleep take over. If I can sleep, I can pretend everything's okay for a while.

I woke up in time to go to our respective places at different schools. Steve offered to carry my things until we parted, for which I was grateful. I needed all the energy I could muster. I had the privilege of working with Skull Crusher High School's low brass and upper woodwinds. Skull Crusher High School was known for their band program. They had, so I heard, 5 piccolos (!!!), 22 flutes, 9 oboes, 17 clarinets, 6 trombones, and 5 tubas. I took my stuff and made my way down the path with a map in tow. I took back my things and set off.

Rule #1 of going places with cerebral palsy: Do not overload yourself with heavy stuff, especially if you don't need it. Unfortunately, I needed my clarinet, euphonium (which comes in a wheeled case but STILL), sheet music, a tuner, health stuff, food for the day, and a flute I borrowed from Matilda. I practiced a bit of flute now and then, but I was not much good at the instrument. I was on par with a skilled high school student musically with regard to my abilities as a flutist. I played on Rosalie's flute and got pretty good at it. She rarely practiced and never really cared what I did with it any of her stuff. I would have continued on flute if I could really nail those high notes.

I tripped on an errant stone and fell on my face, collapsing under my pile of stuff. Luckily, I didn't break anything, but it still hurt. I picked up everything and continued on my path. I cleaned off my wounds at a nearby well because showing up with blood running down one's knee is generally considered unprofessional. We all have things to do and places to be and, when we do them, we should do them well. I have to work much harder than most people and that's okay. Doing what I love makes me willing to put in the effort.

I saw the school building. Its imposing structure is reminiscent of a college rather than a high school. Pulling out the map, I plotted my steps. I was exhausted just from walking there. How was I going to get through teaching two groups? The low brass welcomed me. I led them in a few scales. After tuning to a B flat, we ran through some of the music. I had to correct trombone positions the entire time. We exchanged a few jokes, worked on pedal tones and lip slurs, and all around had a great rehearsal. After that, I turned my attention to the upper woodwinds.

This was a totally different atmosphere. Right away, I could see competitiveness, perfectionism, and a desire to lead unlike the low brass whose members just wanted to crack fart jokes and were pretty laid back as far as I could tell. I tuned the woodwinds to an A. One of the members thought we were extremely sharp. I then realized that my tuner was set to A445! After re-tuning to A440, we played scales. Because none of them were following me, I cut off and they all started yelling at each other. I tried to get their attention. I waved my hands to stave off the tension I felt in my throat. One of the flutists looked disgusted. The others didn't seem to notice or care. The flutist spoke.
         "No offense, but you look like you have a disability when you do that." I bet she wouldn't have said that about my use of a cane. She didn't seem to care about the bandage on my knee or placement of my feet on the floor. "You're seriously disturbing everyone."
         "Shut up, Kathryn. How would you know what that's like?" Another flutist, a boy, rolled his eyes. Apparently, she must be like this all the time.
         "Well, I have Type 1 diabetes and I don't have my insulin pump hanging out." Wow. I thought a fellow disabled person would have more compassion and understanding than that. Well, to each their own, I suppose.
         "Sorry if I was making anyone uncomfortable." I stopped, seeing that my hand movements were rather unusual. "Let's continue. Pull out your contest music." The flutes were a half step off from each other on the G flat. I tuned each of them and only one was in tune. Only one. Really? After some frantic adjusting, the lot of them all sounded better. I demonstrated phrases on my instruments as needed. We ran through the sixteenth note passages and discussed alternate fingerings. The clarinets and I had an interesting discussion on reeds. Some of them used the prescribed cedar reeds and others used oak reeds. A few used birch reeds. Most used spruce reeds. One of them was surprised I used sugar cane reeds because they're normally seen as beginner reeds. I think you should use what suits you regardless of what others think. I let them take a break and get lunch.

As I opened my lunch, I couldn't help but ruminate over Kathryn's words. Why is it that someone who should understand my experiences on a deeper level would mock a simple idiosyncrasy of mine with such overt hatred? Carmen and Nathan never said things like that. Kaito understood it fully and Adrian was used to it. I tried to think about what made Kathryn so judgmental of a few simple hand movements when she knew what disability was like. Is it that people are compelled to pit others' impairments against each others' and their own? But why?

Why is it so easy for people to hail me as an idol when I go out with my cane and then despise me the moment I flap my hands?

I Knew He Liked Me All the Time (Caitlin)

I was finally well enough to join practice with the other Impulsive Brass Band members. Since I'm a little short of breath, my solo didn't turn out as well as I had hoped. The others, however, said it was the best I had ever played. If that was truly the case, then I am a terrible hornist. I continued playing in the background as the mediator between harmony and bass line. Musical tunes are totally different from what most concert musicians are used to playing. For example, I Hope I Get It is not all that technically demanding in and of itself, but failing to convey the emotions makes the tune meaningless. This is why we listened to the song again and again, so we could deliver the best performance possible, like an actor auditioning for a play.

As professional musician, we the sentiments in the song with the characters. I remember walking into auditions a nervous little thing with my horn case in hand. I remembered Landon telling me "Why do you have to walk so wide?" If you had told me at that moment that he would have been one of my closest friends, I would have scoffed at the notion. I noted the man sitting next to me. He praised my skill. It's funny how things end up how you least expect them to. In high school, Steve told me that I would never be able to play horn. I told him that I could never respect or admire him. The ring on my finger told me that both of us ended up wrong.
         "All right, good." Our conductor praised us. "But good can't get in the way of great. From the top. A five-six-seven-eight!" Our percussionists came to the front to do the choreography. It's kind of odd to address three guys as the "first group of girls". We like making the audience laugh, though. It's an Impulsive Brass Band thing, kind of like how the stoic faces of the violins are a Symphony Orchestra thing. "I need Mark Navoa, Luke Cabot, Anthony Zhao and Victor Messina to come with me for Dance Ten, Looks Three auditions. Landon LaCoste, Sawyer Patton, and Hiroki Sato, go meet the guy over there for I Can Do That. The rest of you, break into sectionals." I went with the other French horns: Tadashi Inomoto and Julian Anderson. Tadashi led us in our little flourishes. I played my solo.
        "That was good, but we need more from you." I kept pushing the air through. "More." I pushed everything out. "MORE." Tadashi was impatient.
        "That's all I have for now." I coughed, lowering my horn. Do I take my inhaler and risk more seizures? Probably not. It'll go away in time.
        "That will do for now." Tadashi continued with our sectional with the other songs.

We met as a group. Tim caught me in an awkward moment when I accidentally called myself a carrot. Here I am, trying to look competent, and I go and call myself a carrot. Kaito Hiyashida will start with me in a week. It's been a while since I played euphonium, but I can manage. The case is very heavy, though. As in Carmen's case, ten different music teachers (I counted as his mother listed them off.) flat out refused to teach him because of his disabilities. Naturally, she was bewildered and frustrated. Some of them said they "lacked certification in teaching students with autism and/or apraxia". Really? I had a student with similar disabilities in one of my classes--in my first year as a teacher. I didn't accommodate the student out of some sort of heroic drive or burst of altruism despite what other people might think. I just did it because that student wanted to learn. That is the basic task of every teacher: to teach those who want to learn and get those who do not to want to learn.

Steve's solo came out clear and authentic. He sang through his instrument, full of emotion as always. Yesterday, he came home in tears trying to suppress them. It hurts seeing him like that, especially because it contrasts with his confident, optimistic nature. I suppose that, if people look at you and all they see is a hero, that interferes with their seeing more. Most people have been, not only a hero, but a victim, a villain, a sidekick, and an extra in the course of a lifetime. The more people I meet and the longer I have to get to know them, the more of that I see. The lyrics of Paul's solo seem to fit Steve in a way that the others just cannot emulate. What does he want from me? What should I try to be? Those are questions he asks on a regular basis. Monsters in sight? He's a warrior. Confused students? He's a teacher. I feel terrible about myself? He's a lover. There are many roles he has to play, so it's no wonder that he worries about what people expect from him.

We went back to my solo. I pushed as much air as I could through my horn, determined to make myself heard. I really needed this job. The others rejoined us gradually. Luke Cabot and Hiroki Sato joined us. They looked hopeful and optimistic, still. I mean, there were more solos in Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love. We had Nothing too. Anthony Zhao, Victor Messina, and Sawyer Patton followed afterwards. They looked defeated. After we finished, I heard Mark Navoa and Landon LaCoste coming into the room high-fiving and beaming with the brightest smiles I have seen.
        "You got it?"
        "I knew he liked me all the time!" With his newly-fixed horn and trumpet, Landon butted in and sang the line.
        "Ditto!" Mark joined the other flugelhorns.

We ran through I Hope I Get It again. I did my solo. Tim yelled for everyone to "shut up because this is a rare and elusive event." That was true. It was rare that I played solos and even rarer that it was just me. I played out, making the most of my feature. I really needed this job. I piled every bit of audition anxiety I've ever had into the solo. After that, we moved on to Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love. We omitted the speaking parts of the monologue at the beginning, but kept the other dialogue. I played the "four foot ten" bit because I'm the closest out of all of us to four foot ten. I pretended to be sassy and confident, not sure if I was convincing enough.
        "Netherfield gets another solo. That's not up for negotiation. Good job on the dialogue." He turned towards me. "Inomoto, don't play quite so loud. LaCoste, Patton, Lowell, same to you. Zhao, you're blatting. Schneider, we already talked about this. That's an F, not an A. For goodness' sakes, articulate! You guys sound like a high school band...and that's an insult to high school bands." We ran through everything again, making sure our articulations were top-notch. Well, I guess he liked me all the time.

Who Am I Anyway? (Steve)

Several people asked "Where's Caitlin?" during rehearsal. I didn't have the word "anemia" on my device, so I said she was sick. We really need our fourth horn back, not only for musical reasons, but for reasons that even the most eloquent of writers fail to explain fully. Caitlin laughs like a bell. It is the genuine kind of laugh that comes from only the purest forms of pleasure. The fact that it is a rare sound makes it worth hearing even more. The trombone section is well-aware of this.

The other trumpets were in sectionals. I led them in our A Chorus Line music. We skipped the step, kick, kick, etc. parts and moved straight into music. I was surprised that Landon LaCoste had joined us for trumpet sectionals.
         "Aren't you supposed to be with the horns?"
         "My horn fell apart while I was practicing. It's at the shop. That and they want me on trumpet for this song. I have the fourth horn part." I took the fourth horn part. "Make sure that gets to Caitlin."
         "Thank you."

I led them in a few scales and lip slurs, then pointed out some important spots in I Hope I Get It. When we got to the slow part, we all played together despite the fact that it was a solo. We did the same for I Can Do That and Dance Ten, Looks Three. During I Can Do That, Landon tapped the steps out in his tennis shoes to prove, indeed, that he can do that. He said his steps were a terribly shoddy, but I saw no flaws. I was beginning to enjoy this guy, honestly.

We practiced more and more as a section until the whole band united. We read it together. The bass line didn't come out nearly enough. I could tell that everyone felt Caitlin's absence. She was probably asleep at home, probably thinking that no one thought anything of her. There was a fourth horn solo that went unplayed. Andrew decided to deliver the iron infusions at home due to her low energy levels. I kept playing, trying to keep my worries out of my head.

I felt like my head was spinning. My heart was trying to break out of my chest. Holding the phrase in front of me was unusually difficult. It wasn't a technically demanding piece, especially not for someone at the professional level. Still, I pushed on. I felt like ice water ran through my bloodstream. My hands were shaking. What was I feeling? Was I going to die? Am I feeling sensations that aren't there? But I'm feeling them all the same. Where are they coming from?

I tried to play the notes, but my breathing got more tense as the rehearsal progressed. Mark took things into his own hands for me. He asked me to come with him. I wanted to go, but anxiety chained me to the floor. I felt my seat getting wet and heard it spilling off the edge. When I realized what I had done, I fled the room. I've haven't had a daytime accident since I was ten. Even then, that one was at home and it's one bathroom to six people. Everything felt like it was swirling around me. I could hear him telling me to breathe deeply. I tried, but the air wouldn't come in. I tried again. Things started to stabilize.
         "All right. In for eight, out for sixteen." Mark's voice was clearer. I kept breathing. "Let's get you cleaned up." He gave me a pair of pants. (Why in the world would he have access to extra pants?) I went to the restroom, dried myself off, and changed into the new pants. I took my old pants and rinsed them in the sink. I continued with rehearsal. We were watching the original songs to get a feel for what we were supposed to perform.

During I Hope I Get It, we all started singing along. It was funny as well as painfully relatable for all of us. Caitlin would make a good Tricia in that horn solo. She's not used to playing exposed solos, but she is definitely good enough to do them. I think it would be a good, much-needed confidence booster for her. We all started singing along. One of the trombones jokingly suggested that we form a choir. A mostly bass/baritone choir? With some tenors who could maybe sing alto? And one soprano? How in the world would we balance that? I know! We can make Caitlin belt her face off all the time.

Dance Ten, Looks Three garnered many laughs from us. Mark volunteered to play it on flugelhorn or trumpet, depending on what would work better. He said he would do the choreography if he got a raise for it. Luke, our new trumpet, wasn't sure this would go over well with the audience. However, Mark has a knack for making people laugh and Dance Ten, Looks Three is the song to do that.

I got the solo as Paul in I Hope I Get It. We listened to that section again and the lyrics resonated with me so much I couldn't help but listen. Who am I anyway? Am I my résume?...What does he (or she) want from me? What should I try to be? Being the slayer of the Ender Dragon doesn't make me invincible. Being hailed on the streets gets lonely. They only know what I did, not how I did it. There are several articles on why I chose Caitlin of all people. Some say it was because I wanted more money. (If I wanted money, I wouldn't be a teacher.) Others said I just pitied her and wanted to improve my image. That was partially true, but, if I only pitied her, I'd have wanted her off my back so I can pursue music on my own. However, from the moment she first displayed fondness for me, I knew it was meant to be. I love her with all of my heart. I really do. She loves me back. Why can't people just accept that? Why is it that, because I'm famous, I suddenly have ulterior motives? Is that who I really am, just a caricature of the highlight of my life? That is a picture of a person I don't know.

A lot of people are jealous of me. I don't blame them. They compare my highlight reel to what they experience behind the scenes. If they knew what I was really like, would they still adore me? No. They wouldn't. They don't love me. They only love the hero they think I am. It's very lonely, being famous. For every million people screaming my name, there's one who has the slightest inclination to get to know me for, well, me. Like Caitlin. If I came home in tears, I know she would wipe them away with her delicate fingers and give me a hug. She doesn't ask for much, just some cuddling and good food. I'm always happy to provide those for her. There's Andrew too. He saved my life. My friend, Luke (another Luke, not our new trumpet), died in combat before my eyes. I couldn't live with myself after that, as in, I was just about to drive a sword through my chest when Andrew walked in on me and indirectly telling me that I can. Mark is another prime example. This guy helped me navigate orchestra life and now we're friends.

Still, it hurt knowing so many people just wanted my fame or power and not, well, me. Some think that of Caitlin. They call her manipulative and conniving, preying off of my generosity. And guess what? Some of the people who said that were also the people who called her too nice. Their inconsistency Anyway, that couldn't be further from the truth. She is almost totally altruistic, sometimes at the expense of her health and safety. Manipulating would be very out of character for Caitlin. She would sooner throw a bucket of lava on me than do that. Come to think of it, I don't even think she knows how.

So, who am I anyway?

What She Needs (Steve)

          "Nooooooooo." It's 8:00 in the morning. Caitlin rose reluctantly as I helped her slip into some clothes. I poured some cream of wheat into a bowl and asked her to eat it. She pushed it away. That was odd. Normally, she loves cream of wheat. I offered it again. She pushed it away again. Right. It needs toppings. I found the sugared strawberries and placed them in a bowl near the untouched cream of wheat. I did the same with some brown sugar. Caitlin still would not eat. "I'm not hungry."
          "You need to eat." Cream of wheat contains iron, so it would help to build her blood. "So eat."
          "I told you I'm not hungry." Caitlin would not eat. "I'm tired. I want to go back to bed." Food would help her energy levels. I shoved a spoonful of cream of wheat with a strawberry into her mouth. She swallowed reluctantly and then got to her feet, saying she felt dizzy. I supported her and allowed her to sleep some more. I ended up giving the cream of wheat to our dog, Hutch. Hutch leapt onto the bed and curled up near Caitlin where she slept. I decided to text Andrew.

Me: I'm really worried about Caitlin.
Andrew: What is the problem?
Me: More like an onslaught of problems.
Andrew: Bring her in.

I picked Caitlin up and, to my surprise, she did not stir. I carried her to Andrew's office. Several other patients waited there. Andrew came in to see us. I woke Caitlin, who looked at me annoyedly.
          "What seems to be the problem?"
          "I'm tired and I have this never-ending headache." She rubbed her eyes, struggling to stay awake. Andrew turned to me.
          "Well, why would I need to do testing on her?" I handed him a list of symptoms.
          "A technician will be in to see you. This looks pretty bad." The technician came through the door as promised with vials. Caitlin tensed and insisted on burying her face in my shirt. I could see why. She has an intense, persistent fear of needles. Where it comes from I don't know. Caitlin released me, shielded her eyes, and braced herself for the needle. After saying she didn't feel well, she vomited on the technician and fainted. Apparently, the technician was used to this. She took the vials unperturbed and left to clean up. A janitor came in to clean the remainder of the mess. Caitlin lay there, collapsed into my arms. Andrew came back to take a look at her, noting her unusual pallor and lethargy. "It's most likely anemia. The tests will come back with low iron levels. I guarantee it." Caitlin shifted. Andrew handed her a bottle of iron supplements. "Take two each day starting now. You may get a bit of an upset stomach, but that's normal. Take them with food in your system and up your intake of iron-rich foods like meat, spinach, and cream of wheat." Caitlin nodded and rubbed her eyes. I took her home to let her get some rest.

The next day, she didn't even wake up. Her test results came back and, sure enough, she did have anemia. Well, thank you Respect Ability Minecraft. Your words hurt more than someone's feelings. I sat up stroking Caitlin's hair, which smelled like strawberries. Her little hands felt cold, so I rubbed them. I entered some grades for my students and let Caitlin sleep on me the entire time. It made her feel safe and, more than ever, she needed that. I just hoped that I could provide it day in and day out.

The Princess and the Knight (Alex)

Feeling the rush of the air, I found a tree, climbed it, and nailed a zombie in the head. A skeleton wanted to duel with me; I dodged each arrow using the steps I learned in dance class. I fired a few arrows and it collapsed into a pile of bones. I collected the bones because I sometimes sell raw materials to save up for nice things like new tap shoes or a phone upgrade. I saw a very young boy as I climbed down the tree. Normally, kids this young aren't out at these hours. If they are, they're usually fully armored and have their parents with them. Such was not the case with the boy I saw. He looked lost too.
         "What's your name? Your age?"
         "Tommy. I'm 3 years old. What's your name?" He looked confident. I liked that.
         "I'm Alex." I paused. "Do you know where your parents are?"
         "They sent me all by myself. I need to find Ainsley."
         "Who's Ainsley?" I was very curious at this point.
         "She goes to my preschool."
         "Well, I don't know an Ainsley. Can you describe her?"
         "I think that's her." He led the way and found a girl his age accompanied by a guy who looked to be her father. I went up to him. He explained that he was Ainsley's brother. Ainsley faced Tommy with a kind of glowing satisfaction. They started yelling at each other. Phillip, Ainsley's brother, succeeded in dissolving their argument.
         "Alex." Phillip turned to me. "Can you tell me where Caitlin Netherfield is?"
         "I can take you to her house. She's probably sleeping, though. What do you want her for? If you're one of those people who told my vocal teacher to kill herself, I'm planting an arrow through your head."
         "Let's not get hasty." He explained himself. "Landon LaCoste told me to go check on Caitlin because of that nasty Twitter feed." I knew that guy. He filled in for Miss Caitlin for my vocal lessons. The last few lessons I had, she was more tired and pale. She started wearing more dark red clothes, but I could still see the stains seeping through.
         "Okay." I led the way.

Seeing that going there would be a long way off, I stopped at a little shop. I knocked on the door. Alice, who had her arms full of stuff, let us in. We met her boss, Rose. She seems to be a nice person and a good shop owner at that. Alice laid out some sleeping bags for us and gave us some chicken and wheat soup. Ainsley devoured her soup eagerly. She decided that she liked Minecraft. Tommy picked at it apprehensively. Phillip and Alice ate with care.

When it was time to go to bed, Phillip read a bedtime story to Ainsley. I had heard this story from my own father numerous times. Though I knew the plot by heart, I decided against spoiling it. It was a story about a knight saving a princess from a dragon. However, the princess was discontented with herself. She wouldn't eat or speak for the longest time. The knight worked tirelessly for the princess despite this--or because of it. I'm not entirely sure which. Eventually, the princess fought dragons alongside the knight.

And how did she get there?

The knight gave the princess nearly all of his time. He invested in her day in and day out expecting nothing in return. The princess's slow, but sure progress is what the knight waited for. He slowly coaxed her out. She was like a shy ocelot that always ran from you, but, with little bits of fish, she eventually grew into the kind of cat that hides under your chair when it's scared.

The next day, we set out again after a breakfast of cinnamon rolls and sausage. I showed them the way. I hoped Miss Caitlin was okay. For someone reason, the kindest, most talented people are the most self-critical. I saved some food for all of us, but I reserved the strawberry squares for my teacher since I know they are her favorite. Alice decided against coming along because she needed to make a bit more to save up some money for herself. As she lifted a jar, I noticed a small slash across her wrist reflected in the glass.

When I came through the door, my legs stopped me in my tracks and my gaze was fixed on the most a scene I will never forget. There were several blood-stained rags on the floor. I saw my teacher with holding out her arms, which were dripping with blood. It was spurting in one place. She struggled to maintain consciousness. I covered Tommy's eyes, shielding him from the sight. Ainsley ran into Phillip's arms. A frantic Steve ran getting more rags and what looked like an antiseptic solution. He looked like he was about to cry, but he hid it well. He applied pressure to the wounds and dressed them with care.

Tommy talked with Ainsley about something called gender dysphoria. Apparently, he had a friend, Luke, who used to be called Lucy. That will throw any kid off. Ainsley has two moms. I hope she doesn't get harassed about her parents like I sometimes do. People will look at my father suspiciously, even when he does nothing out of the ordinary. They keep asking me where my mother is when I don't have one. I don't even know how I was born in the first place.
          "Get Alice." Steve looked at me pleadingly. Alice had declined to go, but I ran. I wanted to be anywhere but here. I wondered why I even wanted to see Miss Caitlin in the first place knowing that I would see her in this state and that I could nothing to help. She helped me during track with some breath-saving hacks. I used them as I ran, but even so, even the greatest athletes fatigue when pushed to their limits. I saw two men sitting on a bench with their arms around each other. They identified themselves as Fenris and Hawke. They were a couple--and a cute one at that. I wanted to chat, but I needed Alice. After more running, I found her cracking eggs to make more strawberry squares. I grabbed her arm and just ran.
           "What do you want?" Alice was irritated, but not out of breath. Harvesting raw materials can make an athlete out of anyone.
           "Steve needs you!" I explained the situation at hand. "All he told me was 'Get Alice' and didn't explain why."
           "Sounds like him," Alice grumbled. We ran together.

When we got back, Steve was delighted to see us! He told me to address him by his first name outside of school since we know each other fairly well. Fenris and Hawke had followed us back. They were concerned about me and Alice, so I gave my shorter explanation of Minecraft culture. Emancipated children as young as age ten are fairly common, but less so in more urban areas. Now that I was in middle school, I had more liberty to be out and about as I pleased. I could go on overnight expeditions on short notice as long as I was within 10,000 chunks of a familiar place. They left after Alice gave them the coordinates to Rose's shop.
           "I need the money to get my trumpet cleaned," she explained. Steve took us in and see Miss Caitlin. She looked tired and paler than wool laying in bed, but she was as pleased to see me as ever. I could smell healing potion on her breath. It smelled like fruit. My teacher wrapped her arms around me, wincing from the sting. Seeing a teacher hurt, especially one you like, is one of the most upsetting things in life.

Alice brewed potions and prepared Miss Caitlin for a third draught. She drank. I offered her a bite of strawberry square, which she took gratefully. Phillip gave me the book and I read the story of the princess and the knight again. Ainsley and Tommy sat on the floor waiting for the story. Phillip sat near them. Steve sat on the edge of the bed waiting to hear the story. I had a new audience.

Once upon a time, a princess lived her life in a tower with six mean older sisters who tormented her from day to day. She would have escaped, but a terrible dragon guarded the tower. The princess had seen a lot of men and women come and go attempting to bring down the beast. (Cue the funny picture of some armored people running away from the dragon, which looks a lot like the Ender Dragon.) She was unsure if her rescue would come. A gallant knight showed up to fight the dragon. The princess thought nothing of him, but she noticed that he was different. The knight wasn't looking for glory or fame. He wasn't really looking for anything other than a good fight.

And that's what he got. The fight took hours into the night. Neither knight nor dragon showed signs of tiring. The dragon swooped down after the knight, who took a hit. However, he got back to his feet and continued the fight. The princess watched from the tower window, wondering why he chose this dragon of all dragons to fight. Perhaps he'll choose one of my sisters as a wife, she thought as the battle continued. The princess hoped to see more, but her sisters told her to wash their clothes before the knight even grazed the dragon's skin.

When all her chores were finished, the princess continued watching the knight. The knight fought rather unusually. However, he vanquished the dragon in no time. The knight made his way over to the tower. The princess pulled out a book, hoping that he would not notice. However, the knight did notice. He loved the princess greatly, so much that he carried her out of the tower all the way back to his house. 

As time progressed, however, the knight grew concerned for his princess. She would not eat or speak, let alone display affection. However, the knight was persistent. He knew the princess had a a kind heart. The princess grew to trust the knight. She still did not talk, but she cried on his shoulder, laughed with him, and tended to his needs dutifully. Eventually, the princess grew more and more confident and she was able to sustain longer conversations. She and the knight got married shortly and ended up starting their own kingdom where they ruled as kind, just, and well-liked leaders. The end.

I closed the book as my teacher yawned and slept. Steve came up to me, thanking me fervently for my bravery.
          "Bravery? I was scared out of my wits."
          "But you showed up anyway. That takes guts, Alex." I noted that he had a more efficient, streamlined communication device. "It is hard to see the people we love suffer and harder still to continue to love them." That was kind of hard to understand, considering that suffering has a tendency to unite a group and make allies in ways that a peaceful life cannot.
          "How so?" I thought suffering was a way to create, test, and sustain love, not break it apart.
          "I took away Caitlin's reed knife. She protested, saying that factory-made reeds don't play as well as handmade ones. I don't love her music nearly as much as I love her, though." He paused, making sure I had processed that. "You know those cuts you saw? She inflicted those on herself. Every single one of them." The image of spurting blood came to my head again, making me feel kind of sick.
           "Why would she do that to herself?" We spend a lot of our lives trying not to get hurt, so why would anyone do it to themselves? That I could not understand.
          "You know how you scratch an itch?" Okay. What did that have to do with anything? "You scratch an itch to distract yourself from the sensation by giving yourself something stronger to feel." Oh. That makes sense. "It doesn't really help. It's just a diversion. If you scratch too much, you do damage. Those cuts are a means of scratching a mental itch, so to speak. Well, it's more like a never-ending wave of agony. When the blade penetrates her flesh, it prevents her from feeling the pain inside. It's hurting her. I want it to stop as much as you do, but please understand that she doesn't want to do it. She just wants the pain to stop." But what was causing her pain?

Looking at the Twitter feed and then looking back into Steve's eyes, now with tears falling from them, I felt angry. The mean Twitter people can say "It's just words," but words hurt. Words kill. If they saw my teacher face to face in this state, I bet the lot of of them would fake sympathy for the sake of their image. They're all a bunch of cowards. I decided to leave because I just couldn't take all of this in one day.

When I got home, my father looked concerned. Immediately I started crying into his arms, telling him everything. He rubbed my back through the entire thing and assured me that everything was going to be okay in one way or another. He brewed me some hot chocolate with pink marshmallows in my favorite mug, the one with the flowers and hearts. This warmed me from the inside. My father always knew what to say or do in any situation.

After that, I took my shower with the vanilla soap and changed into my pajamas to hear the story of the princess and the knight again. I will never tire of that story no matter who tells it.

Cruelty From The Weak (Caitlin)

I faced the cameras once again, steeling my nerves to what I felt. I had to read the Twitter feed aloud. I hoped I would find some interesting things about music or a humorous Tweet from Nathan. Nathan does something called Tweet-bombing in which he finds live Twitter feeds and says something funny that relates to the content at hand. I opened my computer, allowed the makeup artists to touch up my face, and I was live.

I scrolled through the feed, the majority of which consisted of the following:

• Telling me that I "did disability wrong" 
• Insults directed at my pedagogy methods 
• Death threats directed at me and Steve (He has nothing to do with this, so why???)
• Death threats directed at my students, but mostly at Alex 
• People telling me to kill myself
• Accusations of abusing my students 
• Nathan saying: I'm not sure if making me play a ton of scales counts as abuse, but it certainly comes close.😛 #kidding #ClarinetCaitlin 
• Steve trying to explain that I'm "just that way" and that death threats won't help anyone
• Landon usings sword emoticons and equally aggresive words to fight off the ahters
• Mark saying weird things that make no sense
• Nathan joining in the fight with this gem: @RespectAbilityMinecraft Apparently, being a kind disabled person is ableist. That frame of mind makes me really embarrassed for you guys.

As I found more and more death threats, my heart sank. I was failing my community and to set a good example for people like me. My voice broke as I read the death threats. Why does everyone want me to die? The crew looked at me semi-concernedly and continued doing their thing. The reporter asked me what I thought of the Tweets. I took a deep breath, put on my concert face, and replied.

          "This is honestly rather heartbreaking. I never expected to be attacked this severely over my personality. I mean, not everyone is the assertive type and I think a community that, quote, 'promotes diversity and celebrates the abilities of all people', end quote, should be able to respect that. I was wrong. You were the ones who tore me down and threatened to kill my students." I cited something in the feed."They have, to my knowledge, done nothing to harm you, so please leave them alone. Harming my students will not do anyone any good. These Tweets hurt real people. They hurt me. They hurt my students, especially Alex, who seemed to endure the brunt of the impact. Such is the utmost act of cowardice." Mental note: Hug Alex when you see her. She'll need it. "Furthering your personal or collective values should not come at the expense of hurting other people. I hope Respect Ability Minecraft and all others who insulted me remember that." The cameras shut off.

When I made my way back to the set, I found Steve waiting for me.

         "I thought you were working with those students who needed help with embouchure." 

         "I was." Three middle school students carrying a trumpets and a trombone followed. The trombonist was dressed like Steve in a cyan T shirt and blue jeans. She propelled herself in a green wheelchair and held her trombone in such a way that did not impede her movement or endanger her instrument. (And I think it's hard with a cane and a horn!" The trumpeters looked around as if to say 'Where are we?'. All of us followed Steve into a room that he apparently used for practice. Every sound reverberated off the walls. He told the students to take out their method books and work on lip slurs and chromatic scales. The chromatic scales were terrible, which is to be expected from middle school brass players. One of the trumpeters spoke up.

         "We don't play chromatic scales in band." 

         "Do it. You will be better." Steve was insistent on the chromatic scales. "Half tempo." The trombonist's technique evened out so that she was not using flailing motions to move the slide. The trumpeters' fingers were smoother. Everything began to fall into place. "Little faster." He continued with the scales.  

Eventually, he got bored and shoved the baton into my hand. Feeling I didn't deserve it, I began to protest. Steve ran off before I could give it back to him, though. Really, dude? I decided to run more lip slurs with them. Since I could tell they worked hard on lip slurs and chromatic scales for three hours straight, so I let them end their practice by having a snack. In this time, I learned the students' names. The trumpeters were Michael and DJ. The trombonist was Emily, but went by Em. Em stopped me during the break, presumably to ask a question.
         "You know what? I really like you. It's my mom saying those nasty things, but I don't agree with her at all. You're amazing." I blushed and looked at her, slightly taken aback. "I mean, you're one of the most resilient people out there! You faced the cameras even with all the hate out there. I could never do that."
         "Thank you. I was just doing my duty as a public figure."
         "But our public figures don't always do their duty." That was true. "Anyway, I'm a big fan. My mom got into Respect Ability because of me, but it's not being very respectful to you. Thanks for being brave." Em went on to join Michael and DJ to play phone games.

My phone buzzed. Alisha called to come pick me up and take me for coffee. She came in with this charismatic aura that turned heads and a sense of importance that only comes with true confidence. When she spotted me, she made her way over to me and pulled her wine red lips into a smile.
         "There you are!" Alisha waited for me. "I've been waiting forever." Tears started welling up. I was weak. It was true. I never really had the guts to do anything for myself. I tried to hold them back. I couldn't be seen like this. Not now. I took a deep breath, put on my concert face again.
         "Is there a way to deal with the death threats towards my students?" Even if it cost me my life, I wanted my students to be safe from the hatred should it escalate beyond the Internet.
         "We're already taking care of it, sister. Alex will be accompanied by four armed guards on her school to home route. The others get two. Alex gets four because she received 90% of the death threats. Nathan will be taking band at Mindcrack and Alice's employer has arranged for her to work fewer night shifts alone." Imagine the look on Steve's face when he sees that!. Still, it hurt that the conflict escalated to the point that my students needed guards.
        "What about Carmen?" Her school doesn't allow armed guards.
        "They made an exception in the policy." Alisha turned towards me. "You know, it takes a lot of guts to be kind and gentle. Cruelty is something to expect from the weak." We made our way to the coffee shop with that. I love the smell of coffee, but not the taste. I ordered my usual hot chocolate: brewed at 140 with whole milk and whip. Alisha got something I couldn't recognize, but I could tell it was her usual choice. She ordered a basket of macarons for the both of us and we sat down at a nearby table and told me what each flavor was. I plucked a vanilla macaron from the basket and nibbled it.

It had a taste reminiscent of birthday cake, something Alex would like. Knowing that Alex loves sweets, I saved one of every flavor for her.
         "You guys will be trying on bridesmaids' dresses. I was thinking either diamond blue because it matches the decorations or lavender because it's my favorite color."
         "I think you should put your maid of honor in lavender and the rest of us in diamond blue. Alex should wear something similar to your dress."
         "That's a good idea. Speaking of that, will you be my maid of honor?"
         "Yes!" We continued eating and sipping our drinks until we decided to go. I made my way to the restroom. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people in line. The line slowly inched forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Person after person entered a stall. Someone asked why I hadn't gone yet. I said I was waiting for the big one. After this, she called me a faker seeing that I had no assistive device by my side. Someone rushed into the accessible stall with the agility of a track athlete after that, but I reminded myself that clothes can conceal a multitude of things.

When that person exited, I made my way inside, but I was too late. I felt something moving down my legs and saw the puddle collecting at my feet. It kept coming out. I heard people sneer in disgust as they walked by me. I couldn't move; shame had me in its grip. The tears I held back started spilling from my eyes one by one. I was again reduced to nothing. Everything on the Twitter feed rang through my head.

I exited the stall in tears. Everyone could see the stain judging by their whispered comments. The whispers gradually crescendoed into outright shouts. Noticing me, Alisha bent down and wiped my tears like the older sister I wished she was. She held me close. Every animosity I had ever nourished towards her vanished. She gave me a new pair of pants and told me to change.
         "How did you..?"
         "I just know. Now pick our dresses already!"

After slipping into the new pants, we set out to the dress shop. Emmeline and Alex were waiting for us. Marcinia came in followed by a camera crew after a parkour match. The Skellies had won, it looked like, judging by the gold medal around her neck. Matilda, one of the orchestra flutists whom I had grown fond of, arrived with her flute case in tow. She probably just got back from a gig. Again, Arlene, my consultant, met us with her familiar smile. I told Arlene my, well Alisha's, idea and she went along with it.

The first round of dresses were high-necked, floor-length dresses. Alisha came out looking uncomfortable. I can tell lavender isn't her color. Emmeline looked self-conscious. My bridal party is not going to lack confidence on the big day. The second round of dresses was much better, but Emmeline still looked uneasy about it. They were tea length and flared out at the waist. Okay, time for another round. With the third round of dresses, I allowed some flexibility. Matilda, Marcinia, and Emmeline could choose anything as long as it was diamond blue and at least ankle length. Alisha came out in an obsidian purple dress with sequins all over it. She looked elegant and imposing, like a queen. Emmeline followed looking almost equally regal in the halter-style dress she chose. Matilda chose something more conservative while Marcinia decided to go for something more fun.
           "Are you okay with that? I mean, you shouldn't really upstage the bride. It looks like it's black, too. That represents death." Matilda noted Alisha's wardrobe choice.
           "Of course. I'm sick of the spotlight anyway." With the dresses chosen, Alex sat patiently and asked where hers was. I pulled out a box and revealed a small, voluminous dress with pearl detailing at the waist. Alex lit up with joy and embraced me in a hug. She tried it on, joined everyone else, and I took a picture of them. Everyone changed back into their normal clothes after that.

Handing Alex the bag of macarons, we hugged again. Alex seemed reluctant to part from me. I saw tears start to stream down her face.
          "Why does everyone hate me?"
          "Who could possibly do that?"
          "Those people on Twitter all want me to die. Maybe I should." Those last three words pierced my heart to the core. When I have a tough time, I think of Alex and her hopeful smile. I think of her desire to sing. It was that hopeful mindset that kept me going.
          "No, you should not. Ignore them." I kept holding Alex. I quoted my sister. "Cruelty is to be expected from the weak."
          "You're always so wise, Miss Caitlin." Alex gave me one last embrace and parted with me. Her contagious glow faded after she left. I was only left with a sensation of emptiness. Knowing that she would be going back out there to face the hatred of the world left an ache in my heart. At least her father would be there. In his heart of stone is a soft spot for Alex. I don't think I'll quite ever be able to get their words out of my head, but what else can I expect from the weak?