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?