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.