The Bringer of Peace (Steve)

Rehearsal began as usual in the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra. I came twenty minutes early, ran through my major scales in various modes, and, in the process, I accidentally hit my trumpet on my music stand and it fell over. Other trumpet players, mainly first trumpets, glared at me; naturally, Kent made a show of it.

          "Can't you play anything without making a scene or knocking over your music stand? Even Hot Cross Buns would be nice," Kent chided me like I was six years old and woke up after wetting the bed for the millionth time. "You shouldn't be in this orchestra and your band does terribly every single competition. I mean, they were lucky to get bronze!" He went on berating me and the Mindcrack bands. My face flushed, my eyes stung, and I felt a lump form inside my throat. Kent had insulted me before, but not like this. This cut more deeply. I wanted to retort, but the words never came to mind.

          "Shut up, Kent. Even if Steve knocks over his stand sometimes, he's still a good musician. You're just an egotistical trumpeter," Mark retorted. 

          "Says another trumpeter!" Kent was at it again. "And your notes are mushy and inarticulate!" 

          "Please direct your attention to Kent, the bringer of big egos!" Every wind player and percussionist applauded. Some cellists, violists, and second violins joined at the peak. Mark gestured towards Kent as if he were an idol. I laughed, which lifted my spirits. The first violins turned up their noses and complained loudly about how stupid wind players are just as Mark raised his sword. Unlike them, the second violins backed Mark up with retorts of their own. A cellist threw his bow at Kent. The flute section talked amongst themselves saying "That was so inappropriate! Kent is just horrible." A bassoonist mentioned the possibility of Kent having Asperger's Syndrome. Some of my students have the disorder, but they don't act like Kent. Caitlin turned towards the trumpet section after fixing her reed for the tenth time.

          "Stand down, Mark. There is no need to let a nuisance like Kent get to you. Kent, stop belittling others. Even if Steve's band isn't the best, they still try their best to play. You're not exactly principal yourself. Ella is. She would never belittle her section like that. Steve, don't listen to Kent. His ego is so big it distorts his self-image." Calls of assent rose from the other sections. Mark likened Caitlin to Venus, calling her the bringer of peace. After the traumatic ICU visit, she bounced back and came to my aid. No one had ever done that for me before. Come to think of it, I needed her as much as she needed me, if not more.

We started playing "The Planets" when the conductor cued us to start. Epic swells from the trumpets, trombones, and horns culminated into a bright and aggressive section. I articulated them staccato and not marcato, but I went on. In the second movement,  The lines sickeningly swirled on the page; some notes seemed to pulsate at the rate my head throbbed. A wave of nausea washed over me when I came to a divisi. I played what I could while focusing on the two measures with all of my might. When a rest appeared, I counted in my head. The angelic choir of flutes came in. Third clarinets backed them with low notes. They could use more dynamic contrast. I came in once again for the subsequent movements. During the Jupiter movement, I pushed too much air through my horn and drowned out the tuba. Other trumpets did this as well. When the conductor cut us off, Ella advised us to write a lower dynamic at the part we blasted; I did so gingerly to avoid knocking over my music stand again.

After listening to the flutes, I realized how horrible I really felt. It may have been my imagination, but my skin looked to be tinged green. My stomach churned as if someone were attempting to make butter inside of it. The room seemed to spin and distort. I couldn't play through the piece anymore because I was so nauseous. I tried to keep the contents of my stomach where they were. Charlie, our C tuba player interrupted rehearsal by raising his hand.
          "Steve doesn't look to good. He might puke on his music stand at any minute." Charlie voiced his honest concerns. I felt myself gag. It was twenty minutes away from break and there was no way I could make it if I played any more.
          "I don't care." The conductor raised his baton and we played again. I dropped my trumpet and placed my hand over my mouth while writing in my music. I spurted vomit through my fingers for the next five minutes and ended up getting violently sick on an unoccupied patch of floor. Mark and Ella were taken aback. Kent made exaggerated airing out motions and pinched his nose. The conductor stopped and called a janitor. He asked me to go home and rest until I was better. I got to my feet and started on the journey home. About a kilometer from the building, I realized that I felt too weak to walk home. I sat and cried helplessly with my head between my knees. When I got my phone out to text Andrew about the incident, a message from Caitlin appeared.

Caitlin: How are you doing? I feel bad about what happened. 
Me: Horrible. Don't feel bad. It was my fault.
Caitlin: It isn't. Your ability to push through a bad situation is admirable.
Me: But I can't go on. >:(
Caitlin: Let Andrew know about this.
Me: I will.

Me: I threw up at rehearsal.
Andrew: Did you make it to a bathroom or wastebasket?
Me: I made it to somewhere other than my music stand.
Andrew: Was that somewhere a waste receptacle?
Me: It was the carpet.... :,( So embarrassed. 
Andrew: I can see why. Try taking peptic syrup as it states on the package before rehearsal.
Me: Can you pick me up? I don't think I can make it to my house.
Andrew: I'm with another patient, but Sofi might be able to help.
I already take peptic syrup before performances, but it seems to be helping less and less. I don't know what is causing this problem, but I wish it would stop.

Dr. Chen: How is Caitlin doing? 
Me: Good, but I'm not so well myself. Ever since she joined the MCSO, she just blossomed.
Dr. Chen: Good to hear that! What plagues you?
Me: I threw up forcefully at rehearsal. It's happened before, but not like this. It's getting out of hand. 
Dr. Chen: That is a cause for concern. I'll see if I can squeeze you in sometime. 
Me: Thanks.

Sofi arrived on a pig with a carrot on a stick. She asked me if I needed a ride. I went on the pig, which trotted gently along, but made considerable progress. I suddenly felt sick again and begged her to stop. Reluctantly, the woman in pink obliged and I vomited into a trash can. I took some peptic syrup and we resumed riding. Her auburn hair and emerald green eyes glistened in the sunlight like a newly polished horn. She intimidated me and had no intention of making me feel at ease. When she arrived at my home, I dismounted. I heard her mutter something about hitting Andrew--and I wasn't entirely sure if she was joking.

I sat down at my computer to see if any students or parents emailed me. Naturally, some people did.
mp3523@mindcrackemail.org: When is the concert?
Me: Tomorrow at 7:00
roadrage@minecraft.net: YOUR A HORRIBLE TEACHER AND SHOULD BE FIRED. YOU'RE DESK IS DISORGANIZED AND YOU DONT EVEN BOTHER TO ANSWER IN COMPLETE SENTENCES! MY CHLD GETS BAD GRADES BECAUSE OF YOU AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!
Me: He earns grades. He doesn't get them. 

I closed my computer. The light felt better here, but I wanted to sleep. The scenery faded into black as I drifted into a deep slumber.

Caitlin appeared in a flash of white light. She wore a long white dress with a gold belt and her hair was in a loose bun with tendrils of hair framing her face. The sight not only stunned me because she looked absolutely beautiful, but because Caitlin can barely tolerate anything more than a ponytail at the nape of her neck for more than half an hour. In a similar way, Andrew does not like it when food touches on his plate; adamantly he claims that a "haphazard pile of chaos" is "not edible".

She leapt gracefully and bounded with great agility. Naturally, I followed. That's what made me realize it was a dream. Real Caitlin expended so much energy walking she would need to lie down for an hour after walking a long distance, supporting me during combat, or standing for a particularly long music selection. Even then, she avoided combat due to the risk of being an easy target during a seizure, having an asthma attack from sustained exertion, or not being able to run fast enough from a zombie. Dream Caitlin was not bogged down by asthma, epilepsy, and cerebral palsy. The dream version could move as she pleased with almost no effort. We could have many adventures together, side by side.

I saw several glimpses of a normal Minecraftian life with this apparition as my guide. Visions of wedding, a family, and growing old together passed by. Seeing Caitlin run after two little boys and laugh tugged at my heartstrings. Would she be able to do that? I saw us dancing together in our old age and laughing at each other's jokes effortlessly. Then, the memories turned bittersweet. I saw figures dressed in black surrounding a nether brick coffin. They tossed flowers into the coffin as if to form a bed for the deceased. Caitlin stepped into the coffin and closed her eyes, but I only noticed now that she had blue eyes instead of black.

That was Vivienne, not Caitlin. I had no idea I grieved her death until now. Since I had forgotten that name long ago, I subconsciously expected Caitlin to be Vivienne. I wanted her to be the fearless, headstrong trumpeter I had in my head. Instead, I got a shy, awkward clarinetist/hornist. At that moment, the funeral melted into a hospital setting. I saw hospital staff rushing around trying to intubate Caitlin. Tears welled in her eyes. What started out as a bad cold quickly turned into pneumonia. I remember startling the receptionist and rushing to Caitlin's side. I would have gladly slain another Ender Dragon with my bare hands, but seeing her fight her own body made me feel powerless. I hate it when bad memories make my dreams weird.

When I woke up, I noticed that I had wet the bed. Part of me thought Way to go, idiot. You forgot to put on a diaper. Another part of me thought You should have outgrown it by now.
Failure.
Loser.
You'll never measure up to your brothers.
*smack*
He fell on his face again.
I was about to cry when Caitlin walked in. When she noticed, I looked down at my soaked pants. I buried my face in my hands and let loose a sob. The memories came back.
You'll never learn.
Just try harder and you'll get it. Everyone else does.
It's so much work to be your friend. 
Who could forget how to tie their own shoes?
Idiot.
You need sped.
It's not your fault. 
I understand.
The last two cut through the storm like an Efficiency V diamond pickaxe through iron ore. Caitlin volunteered to wash the sheets. She put the wet sheets in a cauldron and added a mixture of potions while I watched. At that point, I felt...something I had never felt before. I can't describe it precisely.

Then, I remembered that I had mined a diamond and I knew how to use it.

(A/N: It's a long post. The story kept getting more interesting, so I had to keep writing. Give me feedback with the newly added reactions!)

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Nuisance Illnesses (Andrew)

Colds are nuisance illnesses for most of my patients; they rarely see me for "little" colds. They just sip tea, stay at home, and deal with it because viruses cannot be cured with antibiotics. Note how I said "most" of my patients, which represents "most" people. For Caitlin, there is no such thing as a little cold.

Steve, my longtime friend, called me again telling me that Caitlin had more seizures, is having difficulty breathing despite having used her inhaler multiple times, and that he is on the verge of freaking out. Frankly, I was too, but I had to keep a brave face for my other patient. She was in for a routine well check. I realized that I had left him hanging for too long, but my friend needed me.
          "Well, what are you doing standing around? Get her to the hospital!"
          "Um...she might panic and her breathing will get worse..."
          "I'll call a specialized nurse to make her more comfortable. We don't want to repeat last time.... Anyway, I hope all goes well. I have to get back to my other patient." I hung up. Jenny Albright, my patient, told me about the crick in her neck from her office job. I advised her to sit further from the screen and use the zoom function on her word processor and referred her to a masseuse. Other general practitioners would have referred her to a chiropractor, which would leave Jenny wasting her hard earned gold ingots on unnecessary medical testing. I'm not in the medical field for money.

I sipped my coffee and saw another patient, Mark Navoa. He saw me for the recurrent cramps in his hands. Focal dystonia, what Mark has, is not uncommon in musicians, especially professionals that practice for hours at a time. I found the problem in his breathing and posture. He looked at me in disbelief, but he felt somewhat relieved to not have to go to a musculoskeletal specialist. What shocked me, however, was this concern of his.
            "I'm worried about Steve". As his stand partner in the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra, he probably notices Steve's health fluctuations without identifying them as such. He possibly notices the subtle changes I don't, so this caught my attention.
            "Why? You can tell me. I'm his doctor and we're also good friends."
            "Well, he forgot to oil his valves, forgot his music, seems to be more frazzled than usual, snapped at his students twice in one class period, had to vomit twice during an hour-long piece, and is going sharp on everything. I'd say this is unusual, even for your average band director with a sick girlfriend, wife, or whatever Caitlin is." Now that I think about it, it is not uncommon for Steve to rush into the doors of Mindcrack with a half-eaten strip of bacon dangling from his mouth, messy hair, and a disorganized music folder. I wasn't sure if this state was brought on by the stresses of being a teacher or something more. He called again.
           "She's in the ICU, intubated, and awake. It's horrible, just plain horrible. She just wrote 'Make it stop'. I'm not sure what to do at this point." He spoke shakily. I hung up and called Natalie, the learning disability liaison nurse at Grass Block Hospital.
           "Hi, Natalie. Can you see a patient, Caitlin Netherfield? She is in the ICU in Bed 3B."
           "Dr. Lai, I can't. I don't see any documentation of a learning disability on her medical records. Plus, I'm seeing another patient" I hung up and got back to Mark.
           "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. People are hard to deal with." Since Mark was due for a blood test, I referred him to a phlebotomist. He obliged and, when his appointment ended, he had one last statement.
           "I understand. By the way, tell Steve and Caitlin 'Hi' from the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra. We miss our first trumpet and third clarinet."
           "I will do that." As my last patient walked out the door, I ran in a full sprint towards Grass Block Hospital. I was out of breath and drenched in sweat when I arrived, so I washed myself in the sink and donned some scrubs. Then, I made a "mad dash" to the ICU. I stopped at the desk of a nurse and signed in. It looked like a chicken wrote it, but I needed to make sure Caitlin was okay if Natalie didn't bother to check.

What I saw shocked me. It's one thing to see a patient intubated, but it's another to see your best friend on the verge of crying while his girlfriend is intubated and in distress. Caitlin had a variety of devices in and on her body. She wore her usual mint blouse and a diaper, which looked like it had been used. She wrote something down on her whiteboard and showed it to Steve. He obliged and called a nurse. Presumably upon Caitlin's request, the staff erected a privacy screen. When the screen vanished, Caitlin turned to Steve, wrote something else, and pointed to me.
           "What are you doing here? Don't you have patients to see?" Steve looked at me bewildered.
           "You have been diagnosed with distress and grief. I prescribed the presence of a friend." Caitlin drew a smiley face on her whiteboard, then erased it and drew some music notes, a mouth, and wrote "Everything's Alright" in quotes.
           "All right, but I'm not any good." Steve sang her request. His voice was soft, yet it was warm, rich, and carried through the unit along with his genuine love. I watched and my eyes welled up. For the first time, I did not fight the feeling. I cried. "...But I don't mind. If you're with me, then everything's alright." Caitlin wrote "I would kiss you if I didn't have a tube down my throat. Thank you."

To that I replied "The doctor is right with you". For the first time since today, amid the chaos in the background, everything was alright.  

Strong and Steady Wins the Race (Caitlin)

The students urged me to crank up the tempo on the count and clap activity. I obliged as they had developed quite the sense of rhythm. They clapped in as much unison as a classroom full of sixth graders can manage. Since we had approached our wind instrument unit, I popped in a video on breathing exercises. After fumbling with a few cables, it finally played. Everyone breathed in for one count, out for two. I continued. Two in, four out. Four in, eight out. At that point, Jenna, one of my snarky students, cracked an asthma joke, to which I responded more wittily than I had intended.
          "If it weren't for these videos, my asthma would probably be worse. By your logic, if I can do these, so can you." Whoops of assent and giggles arose from the rest of the class. After getting them to settle down, we continued breathing. Some of the students became lightheaded; I stopped at this point and distributed the worksheets. I could see that Caleb was holding his head, so I let him have a break. He made his way to the couch to recover from his headache. Soon, he raised his head.
         "May I go to the nurse? I have a headache." He rolled over on the couch and moaned. I permitted Caleb to leave. I glanced at the clock and realized there were ten minutes left in class, the students were bored, and I had nothing left to teach, so I let them socialize for the remainder of the time. I pulled my new Redphone 4 out of my pocket and saw that received a text from my neurologist and my general practitioner.
      
Dr. Chen:          4:00 is fine?
Me:                   Sure! The track team already knows.
Dr. Chen:          Thank you for confirming. 

Andrew: So Betty will see you again?
Me: You know her? And Dr. Chen's name is Betty?
Andrew. Yes.... 
Me: I think it's going to rain today.
Andrew: Me too. I can smell it. Have you seen an allergist yet?
Me: No. Steve says I don't need one.
Andrew: You need an allergist. Doctor's orders. 

Lately, I have been having more seizures and different types as well. They rarely occur when I teach and, when they do, they are myoclonic seizure clusters in my arms/legs. My phone chimed. I took more anticonvulsant and staggered to my feet from my chair. My legs were sore and weak between my pacing and the myoclonic seizures. I took a few painful, wobbly steps to the door and continued to make my way to the track. When I approached a minecart road, I tripped over a speed bump. I tried to get up, but I fell down again. How would I get through this and, Minecraft Symphony Orchestra rehearsal, and Impulsive Brass Band rehearsal? I wasn't sure, but, like everything else, I just pushed through. When I tried to break my second fall, I noticed that my elbow bent backwards slightly. Was that normal in ataxic cerebral palsy or yet another issue that needs yet another doctor? A few concerned students passed me by; at that point, I got up and hobbled/limped to the track.

The middle school track team greeted me with eager smiles. I recognized Caleb, Jenna, and Devon from my music class. The others only knew me from track. Nevertheless, they seemed relieved when I arrived. My colleague, Brynna Chazen, demonstrated a new warm-up while I verbally narrated the steps. The students took to the track while I anticipated my own race.

The Impulsive Brass Band (Caitlin)

Steve convinced me to audition for a group called the Impulsive Brass Band. He said that it wouldn't be so hard because I had already made it into the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra for clarinet. However, the horn was different from a clarinet in every way imaginable. We walked into the room to sign up and parted ways. Steve had two cases for his trumpet and Eb cornet. A line of people with instrument cases lined up at a table labeled "Impulsive Brass Band Auditions", so I followed them. With their confident strut, they seemed like they owned the building. One of them looked down at me with obvious contempt.
           "Do you really have to walk with your feet so far apart? It's annoying when people do that." I kept my mouth shut. Another said "Can you move any slower?" another said. They hurled insult after insult. The ensemble would find it hard accept me. Having been recently diagnosed with cerebral palsy, I felt relieved that my movement problems had a name. However, I don't have the courage to share it. Since it is fairly unusual to diagnose this at my point in life, I felt alone. I didn't have any of the support from childhood. I wanted to cry into Steve's arms and have him tell me everything was all right, but something told me I had to move on. I reached the table after he left. I picked up a form. I filled it out as follows:

First and Last Name: Caitlin Netherfield
Age: 19
Instrument: F horn
Years of Experience on Instrument: 6
Residence Coordinates: 69, 153.79, 144

Occupation: Music teacher at Mindcrack MS/HS
Race: Human
Any Medical Concerns? Read the attached list.

I wrote a quick list of my medical issues and attached it to the form because this section only had two lines. I guess not many people with medical issues audition for the Impulsive Brass Band. I was given a number and told to go to a room, but that piece of information got lost in the whirlwind around me. The bright lights, ticking clock, the stench of various perfumes in the air, and chatter of people made my eyes sting. I wanted to run. I felt like I was surrounded by an army of creepers. The clock ran like a metronome and none of the other sounds followed the tempo. At that point, my emotions and rationality fought over the reins. I tried to breathe, but the air came in as a wheezing gasp. I tried to press the trigger that released the medication, but my hands shook too much. I saw Steve in the crowd and tried to signal him. He ignored me. I tried again, failed, and pursued him into the audition room. He sat down to play his selections. A bright, penetrating tone projected out of the bell of his trumpet. I tapped him on the shoulder.
          "Do you mind?" He apologized for the interruption and continued playing. I could die now and his concern was the audition? I left him to his current priority--with a plan. Unfortunately, my number was next. I couldn't play like this! I made my way to the audition room and placed my music in front of me. I puffed on my inhaler until I could breathe normally and began to play my selection. The judge seemed by the delay. It did not come out the way I wanted it to, yet I played on. I was told to live on, so I might as well play on. The audition concluded with a strong low note. I felt tired after the audition, but also satisfied. This would be mine. I would claim my own identity in this brass band.

Our results came a week later. I made it as the fourth horn out of four; Steve landed the piccolo trumpet part and the position of principal trumpeter. 

          "You have a good low register and...you're not egotistical.", he commented. "It takes a player like you to be able to carry the horn section."

          "Thanks. Your high register and leadership style will make a great principal trumpeter." I took out my horn to practice. For once, I belonged somewhere and I wanted to prove it. I ran through a random piece of sheet music. Steve turned out to have the trumpet part for the same piece, so we practiced together while skipping over multi-measure rests. We complimented and constructively criticized each other along the way.

          "Firm up on that note."

          "Your high A is at least ten cents sharp. Don't overblow."

          "Don't shove your hand into your bell so far."

          "That's forte, not fortissimo."

          "That's the note!"

          "Much better!"

When our impromptu rehearsal ended, I asked Steve if he wanted to have dinner at Tomato Garden with me tomorrow. It wasn't much considering what he had done for me, but I had to do something. He mumbled something indistinct and I wasn't exactly sure how to take that. 

Melody and Harmony (Steve)

I managed to find a school, Mindcrack Middle and High School, to student teach at. By a stroke of luck, Caitlin and I managed to become music teachers at this school. I was concerned about how she would do managing sixth graders, but she quickly allayed my concerns. She taught general music, a basic course that teaches students how to read music, about various instruments, and what music is all about. Her students loved the class, her teaching style, and her humorous comments. She occasionally helped with the middle school track team. Despite her apparent lack of involvement, she quickly garnered the students' favor.

I, on the other hand, taught band, guitar, and did simulated combat after school. After years of student teaching under my not so patient professor's watchful eye, I still was not prepared for what followed. About fifty high school students poured into the band room awaiting my instruction. They eyed me while I rummaged for my score. When I finally found it, I introduced myself awkwardly. I spent two weeks reviewing the script with Caitlin, who had it down in a day. Then, I listened to the other students' introductions. Morgan aka Mo Mo plays the saxophone, Ali Ann plays flute, Liam plays clarinet, Alex plays baritone...

I lost track of time, so I hastily distributed the music. The sight read went well for the most part. It fell apart halfway through the song, but such a thing is expected from high school students of varying talent levels. We tried again at a slower tempo. The flute section got lost, the clarinets were out of tune, and the bassoonist...was a bassoonist. If I hadn't been trained to listen to a band, I would have not heard them over the trumpet section stomping them into the ground. I pointed these out. They listened fervently. However, the music swam before my eyes in a jumbled mess. It sapped my energy.

The cycle seemed to continue forever. The beginning band received their instruments and enthusiastically produced sounds on them. What they lacked in skill they made up for in eagerness. Kyle tapped out something that resembled a rhythm on a drum pad while Andreas managed to produce a tone on his flute.  Middle school intermediate band was chaotic, but not as bad as I thought it would be. They managed to stumble through a few measures of Dragon Fight. Hannah blew penetrating, yet not overwhelming notes through her trumpet; I thought she was better than some of the high school students. The intermediate guitar class plucked out some melodies and chords with me.

By the time the day was done, I felt horrible. I remember having the flu when I was young, but this was worse. Glowstone lighting, reading scores, and signing papers caught up with me. Caitlin visited me after the day. She asked me if I was sick, to which I said "No, I'm just tired". We walked home after that, but the sunlight made it even worse. I ended up vomiting into a bush. Someone nearby grumbled about sloppy drunks. I took a deep breath and regained my composure. Caitlin asked me if I was sure of the absence of illness. I said yes and described my past history and connection between reading and the symptoms that ensued. She looked at me concerned.
          "And this has happened for how long?"
          "For as long as I can remember, but it got worse after fighting the dragon".
          "Can this possibly be a form of dyslexia? One of my students has it. He's brilliant and has a great ear, but it causes him pain to read music. I give him breaks as needed."
          "Are you sure he's not just trying to get out of it?"
          "Getting out of it? He is willing to suffer horrible headaches, even migraines, to be able to carry out his passions. You, of all people, should understand what that is like." I was always told that I needed to try harder and it worked for me, so why shouldn't it work for him? Toughing it out never hurt anyone. I had survived by myself since the age of seven because my family never wanted me. One of my brothers had a seizure disorder, but of less severity than Caitlin's. It was clear that his needs took precedence over mine and the house had too many mouths to feed, so I had to be the one to go. I came to terms with having low self-esteem. I used music and sports to compensate for how I felt about myself. Why didn't Caitlin do that? She let herself be beaten, dragged, and abused and remained in that doormat-like state for all her life, yet she never seemed to break. To be honest, I both envied and pitied Caitlin. She remained an outcast and refused to step out against her tormentors. I don't know if it was by choice or by limit, by bravery or by cowardice. Anyway, I knew this: She is strong in a way I never could be. Her self-esteem was not built on championships or awards, but in the faith that someone thought she was worth it. Even if she never found that someone, she would cling onto that belief like a critical handhold when climbing. In the end, I just envy the quiet, unwavering strength within her. I contemplated this as we went to rehearse with the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra.

Into the Woods (Steve)

Trigger Warning: Death of a friend, mentions a suicide attempt
Andrew may be a brilliant doctor and great friend, but, in his words, he "lacks punctuality with mundane or irrelevant tasks". We consensually agreed to this as Caitlin does not like traveling alone and Andrew would know what to do if she had a problem along the way.  I removed my trumpet from its case and played half of my major scales. Music should soothe my nerves, I thought. My stand partner, Mark, turned to me with a smile that spread from ear to ear.
           "Where have you been? The ensemble missed you and I had to endure an earful of Kent's ego." He rolled his sheet music into a cone and yelled "Hey, guys! Steve's back!" through the makeshift megaphone. The other musicians mulled around, unaware that Mark shouted through a sheet music megaphone. I told Mark about defeating the Ender Dragon. He looked at me with surprise and skepticism, but, when I held up the egg, he became transfixed. Urging other musicians to look at the egg, they crowded around me until even the first violins joined. Our concert master (first of the first violins) yelled "All hail Steven Lowell, slayer of the Ender Dragon!" Cheers erupted from everyone, well...almost everyone. The conductor, literally, cut our celebration short.
          "All right. We need to get this song ready for concert in a week. Your ruckus won't help with that. Turn to measure 157." We quieted down and those who played raised their instruments to ready position. The horns came out rich and mellow, but someone was slightly out of tune on their G. I rested for 300 measures. 1-2-3-4, 2-2-3-4, 3-2-3-4, I counted. The flutes came in at measure 220 with trilling and sixteenth notes and then rested for what would be another 500 measures. When the trumpets came in, I raised my horn to my lips. The music markings seemed to blur and sway. I felt sick to my stomach. As we progressed, my nausea intensified and a headache set in. I could only read two measures at a time. Luckily, the piece was familiar, so I managed to stumble through the passage.   When break time came, I slowly made my way over to the trash can while holding my hand over my mouth. I leaned over and took a deep breath. I sat down next to a flutist and recovered from my nausea after vomiting in the trash can. The flutist asked me if I was okay. He offered to drive me home. I refused and decided to continue.

I took my phone out to see if anyone tried to contact me. Andrew texted several times.
          C is ok. Fear of IV. Will go 2 neuro @ 3:45. 
          Upd8: Nearly done. C vomited from contrast. Will go on.
          C had another seizure. Probably from fatigue/hunger.
          Also an asthma attack. Not a good day 4 her.
          Dr. Chen is worried about C
          Y this happening? Should not happen. Especially not to C.
          U may want 2 see the neuro 4 ur TBI.
I responded:
          k
I had nothing else to say. Caitlin had been treated horribly, neglected, bullied, and physically assaulted. Despite this, she was kind-hearted and gentle to everyone, even her tormentors. I would give her the world if I could, but I can't. Then, I thought about this: What if Caitlin and I form a one-sided relationship as caretaker and patient? I didn't want that. I wanted her to flourish and thrive on the surface, to contribute to the beauty. When break ended, we returned to our seats. My phone vibrated. I ignored it. As if yelling my name while poking me in the back, it vibrated more incessantly until it stopped. Rehearsal ended half an hour later. I checked my phone and my heart nearly stopped when I read it.
          C melted down in w8ing room. Lights r 2 bright. Loud ppl and clock. Almost did so myself.
The neurologist might be understanding, but people in the waiting room might not be. Shielding my eyes with sheet music, I stepped into the blazing sunlight and walked home.

Hutch greeted me at the door by licking my face. I flopped down on the couch and Hutch placed his head under my hand, which dangled from the edge. I sat there and stroked him nervously. I texted Andrew.
          Worried. How is C?
He replied
          Bttr thn I wld do in her place.

I headed to the mineshaft. I didn't intend to find any diamonds, just to ease my worries. The cold air of the cave welcomed me like an old friend. I produced my diamond pickaxe and searched. Passing by the coal and iron, I discovered a vein of gold. I learned that it was not good for armor the hard way, but golden apples were a godsend. After more perusing, I felt an arrow in my knee. I charged the skeleton that shot them, killed it, and collected its bones and arrows as spoils of war. Fencing worked for me like this: Charge, strike, and keep striking until the enemy falls. Thinking about parries and thrusts  would prevent me from fighting. I fought until I backed myself into a corner surrounded by skeletons. Suddenly, I found an arrow whiz over my head and strike a skeleton. The archer shot clumsily, but accurately. I escaped while I could.

At the entrance stood a familiar and comforting face. The wind played with her obsidian locks. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight like black diamonds. More importantly, her independence glowed like glowstone. She greeted me at the entrance, bow in hand and broke my trance.
          "Can we head back now? I need to find a restroom." She pointed to a nearby village.
          "Okay." We headed away from the village because that route would take longer. My sense of direction utterly failed and we wound up in a forest. Caitlin's face contorted with distress and pain. She snuck off somewhere nearby and returned a minute later to yell at me.
          "Why did you mislead me?" Her gaze turned sharp and cold like the void itself.
          "Sorry. I just...got lost."
          "Got lost? You have taken this route 54 times prior to now and you just get lost? I will not stand for this."
          "It's just a flute! I mean fluke!" Caitlin continued to fire her verbal arrows, each one striking me in the heart. Unfortunately, it was not just a fluke. I felt like I was wired to be forgetful and let other people down. I had the chance for someone to be proud of me and I blew it. These scenarios came to mind. I had failed these people simply because I was wired to do so

During an intense spleef match in high school, I neglected to help Caleb, an injured player. An unearthly cracking noise preceded his cry of agony. He begged for someone to guard him. As the captain, I ordered anyone but me to do it. When I could have stayed by his side, I ran with glory splattered in my eyes. I could focus on nothing else but points. After undermining the others and basking in the tainted spotlight, I was named the spleef team MVP. I hated the title and myself. When Caleb congratulated me on his crutches, I silently blamed myself for the incident and forced a "Thank you".

A close childhood friend of mine even died because of my inattention. It seemed that Luke and I were destined to be together despite our two grade age difference. However, we wound up surrounded by zombies in an alley. Being a coward at the time, I fled and hoped Luke could face down the army. He slayed them all--at the cost of his life. I remembered the last words he uttered with a dying breath: "You're my hero". He said that when I was anything but. I couldn't live with myself after that incident. Later that night, I honed my sword and planned to drive it right through my chest. Right before I struck, Andrew entered my room and said "Hi, Steve". I barely knew him at the time, but his presence saved my life. I knew, at that moment, that he would be my best friend. I couldn't fail Caitlin like I did with Luke. I just couldn't.

After looking for her, I saw no sign of her anywhere. Then, I remembered to look up. Her feet dangled above me.
          "Hey." Caitlin waved from atop a tree. My heart pounded. It could pose danger to her if she had a seizure in a tree.
          "Get down! Are you insane?"
          "Perhaps I am."
Something told me this was only the beginning of our journey.