Everyone filed in on time. We were working on the B flat scale. It will be their first scale--and it won't be their last. Kaito is still on the pentatonic scale. However, since the euphonium parts for the winter music don't go above concert F, I wasn't too concerned. Alex had the clearest intonation out of all of them, probably from all that singing she does. The others fell somewhere in between. Caitlyn could tongue precisely, but had trouble with fingers. Adrian was struggling very much with the B flat scale. I took him aside for one on one practice.
"I just can't get it." He looked defeated.
"Why not?"
"I just...can't. This is hopeless." No, it was not. It took me three weeks to get a sound--any sound at all--out of a trumpet. I am not let letting any of my students feel hopeless because they struggle with a scale. Noting that Adrian's face was rather tense, I told him to relax.
"See if that helps." Adrian played again. I stopped him because he was tensing on the higher notes. It did help. "You got it!"
"I did?"
"Yes. That was the best you ever played it." If Caitlin were here to see this, she'd be so proud.
I went on to help Kaito. He seemed to be struggling with the G. I noted that he was pressing the same valve again and again with a blank expression. That was odd. If he stimmed with his instrument, it was usually with the third valve (not the second) and with an intent look on his face. I assisted him with the fingering and air. He moved up with some fracking. However, that was to be expected from all of our brass players at this level.
We moved on to sightreading the piece. Since they apparently had no idea how to subdivide, I ran through everything at a slower pace. That improved things. The flute feature got lost due to the flutes not counting. We worked on that together. They were a little better. It may not have been much better, but it was better. I furthered their improvement to where they were playing a recognizable line and then put it into context.
One of the things I teach is that good should never get in the way of great. Especially at the start of one's musical career, music is all about improvement and advancement. No one can graduate from music like they can from school. We're always looking for ways to put on better shows and wow the crowd. The Tchaikovsky concerto in D major was considered impossible at one point and now it's standard repertoire for every professional violinist worth their salt.
But that's not going to work with my students. Most people are more concerned with their own headache than a widespread famine a million chunks away. I told them they could do it because I knew they could. For the most part, they already had the basics of the piece. It will take them a while to take to the feel of it, but that's an issue across the board for Mindcrack's bands in general. It's all about the right bubble in the right column nowadays. The more academic direction this school is taking might boost our rank, but it's going to strip our students and teachers of their essence.
We counted and clapped some things together, getting that squared away. I worked on getting the right notes from the brass. Alex, with her singers' ear, had very few problems. I had to correct a few of her fingerings, though. Adrienne, however, struggled with distinguishing between half steps and whole steps...or between any pitches at all. Using the tuner app on my phone, I "helped" her distinguish pitches. She was mostly fine with that. I moved on to fingers. Upon closer observation, I realized that she was only partially pressing her valves. I told her to press harder. Her fingers bent backwards at the tips. Yikes. How did I not notice that until now? I didn't know how to help at the moment, so I just moved on. Kiyoshi was in need of a new reed. I helped Aisha with her posture. Everything else was fine, but her posture ruined it. (Darn it, Aisha! I TOLD YOU NOT TO SLOUCH.)
After another run-through, the bell rang. My beginners all filed out having worked very hard. The guitar class will come in and I'll introduce the to their first chord after the break. During the break, students move about as they please to either get things done or not get things done. Of course, like clockwork, Alice came in to practice her symphonic band stuff. I prepared a lunch for her because she would not eat the rest of the day otherwise. I wanted Alice to have her health. Without her health, I didn't know what her mother would do to her. I had the pleasure (rather, displeasure) of meeting her yesterday. She told me that I deserved to die and that I should take, in her words "that little nymph of yours" (referring to Caitlin) with you.
How does Alice live with that? I'm surprised that she hasn't run away, slipped into drugs, or done anything of the sort. After eating the sandwich, she rinsed her mouth with water and began her practice. I noted that she had a tendency to stop phrases in frustration even though her playing was perfectly fine. She came over to me to and asked if there was something wrong with her playing. From what I heard, she was a little flat on one of the low notes, but what middle school student isn't? Alice played for me and she was perfectly fine. I let her know this.
"I need to tell you something." Alice had a franticness in her eyes.
"Tell me the thing." Everything that I know emotionally about my students will help me be a better teacher. Seeing that Alice was our best second trumpeter in the middle school band, her role was integral to our band.
"Well, the reason I didn't play all that well last year was because my mother keeps calling me a tone deaf half wit and it really hurt because it was true at the time. She told me to stop practicing because, in her words, it was clear that I was never going to improve. Even if it's not as true now, it still hurts." She extended her arms forward and I saw that they were covered in fresh slashes. I'd know that sight anywhere. I wanted to break down and cry, but that wouldn't help Alice. I texted the school administration and told them about my concerns. That girl needs a psychologist and she needs one now. I'm not going to waste any time because waiting could mean that I wake up finding a sword in her ribs.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Don't Do It (Steve)
"It's just a seizure." A lot of people said that to me. "She'll get over it in time." I don't think they understand what it means. I mean, losing control of one's body must be terrifying. Caitlin was still flopped over my lap fast asleep. I washed the vomit out of her hair only five minutes ago. My head still felt like it was spinning. Reassuringly, Caitlin shifted as if to let me know she was okay. Her breathing got erratic, so I took care of that. I decided to talk to Farkas again. He would know what to make of my current situation. Apparently, things were hitting Anna pretty hard.
I found her hunched over the toilet after getting back from a quest. People don't know this side of having a loved one with a brain tumor. They think they do, but they don't.
Oh. Well, I'm sorry. I didn't really know what else to say. Did I really need to burden him with my situation on top of that?
But that's enough about us. What about you guys?
I don't want to talk about it. Well, really, I did.
That's a sign you should.
Fine, but know that I'm not trying to pit my struggle against yours.
I know that. Tell me.
Well, it's about Caitlin, but not really. My anxiety is through the roof right now. As I was dealing with another one of her seizures, I threw up. Being unable to think, I just did stuff with muscle memory. I still feel like my head is going to fly off its axis.
I know how that feels.
And these people kept dismissing it. Then again, I bet a lot of people have trouble imagining things from our side. The infographics are helpful, but they don't portray emotion. It's like comparing a MIDI file to sitting in the orchestra yourself.
Ugh. Well, I hope everything goes well.
Nathan showed up before I could respond. We ran through some lip slurs. Nathan was obviously not having lip slurs today. I suggested he switch mouthpieces. He switched to one with a smaller cup size. That improved his lip slurs dramatically. We worked on marching band music together. Noticing that he was dragging, I put on the metronome. He struggled with the higher notes, probably because his lip slurs were bad that day. After the lesson, I noticed a blue, pink, and purple button on the ear of his cat-shaped backpack.
"What's that?"
"It's a bisexual pride button."
"Are you bisexual?"
"...Yes. Probably because I'm so indecisive." He laughed. It's always interesting to learn about students' lives beyond the horn "The only downside is it's kind of an idiot magnet. Someone overturned my wheelchair--with me in it--while yelling 'Disabled LGBT lives matter!' Hypocrisy much?" I hate it when people do that. It's irrational and it hurts people, so why do people do it? "By the way, you're a much better band director than the one at my school." After Nathan had left, I noticed that he managed to take away some of my tension.
I decided to get back to messaging while entering grades for my students. Caitlin was still fast asleep. She reached out in my direction, so I sat closer to her.
A lot of people think I'm a hero who took on a burden, but they don't take into account what Caitlin does for me. She loves me to the point it's safe to bet that she'd take a sword or a bow for me (though I wouldn't let her do that) and reassures me when I'm anxious. More than that, Caitlin saved my life. I thought I would die on my quest to slay the Ender Dragon. I intended to die disguising a suicide as a heroic quest, but Caitlin healed me and enabled me to complete my battle. Has Anna ever made you feel that way?
In a way, I guess. She helps me sleep. :)
That's always nice.
I closed my computer and took the towel off of Caitlin's hair. It was almost dry, but it was still somewhat damp. I ran my hands through her hair (1) because I like the way it feels and (2) to help it dry. I found a note and read it.
Don't try to stop my next seizure. If it kills me, that's fine, because it's what everyone wants anyway.
My eyes started filling with tears. That is not what anyone wants! Think of your sixth graders and how you completely changed their character for the better in a year. Think of your private students and the skills they have developed thanks to your careful attention and heartfelt praise. You play second, third, or fourth better than most people play first. That's not something a lot of people can do well.
Think of me. Why would I have taken you with me if you did not matter? You gave my life meaning. You sustained my breath and made it worth breathing. Why didn't you tell me you felt this way? The tears started falling from my eyes, one after another. I ended up breaking down and sobbing. I have only one of you, you know. You sustained my breath and made it worth breathing. You are my companion, my duet partner, and my confidante.
My mind travelled back to my suicide attempt. A cursory glance would make the average person fear for Caitlin's life, but the one who was dying was me. I thought a bottle of pills would fix my problems. If I was dead, things couldn't get any worse, right? Wrong. Things couldn't get better if I had died. I never want that to happen to Caitlin. Alex would be devastated. Her smile can brighten anyone's day. I'd hate to see it wiped off her face. I'm already worried about Alice because hardworking people with low self-esteem rarely break, but it is very difficult, if not impossible to build them back up when they do.
Please don't do this to me.
Don't do it.
Nathan showed up before I could respond. We ran through some lip slurs. Nathan was obviously not having lip slurs today. I suggested he switch mouthpieces. He switched to one with a smaller cup size. That improved his lip slurs dramatically. We worked on marching band music together. Noticing that he was dragging, I put on the metronome. He struggled with the higher notes, probably because his lip slurs were bad that day. After the lesson, I noticed a blue, pink, and purple button on the ear of his cat-shaped backpack.
"What's that?"
"It's a bisexual pride button."
"Are you bisexual?"
"...Yes. Probably because I'm so indecisive." He laughed. It's always interesting to learn about students' lives beyond the horn "The only downside is it's kind of an idiot magnet. Someone overturned my wheelchair--with me in it--while yelling 'Disabled LGBT lives matter!' Hypocrisy much?" I hate it when people do that. It's irrational and it hurts people, so why do people do it? "By the way, you're a much better band director than the one at my school." After Nathan had left, I noticed that he managed to take away some of my tension.
I decided to get back to messaging while entering grades for my students. Caitlin was still fast asleep. She reached out in my direction, so I sat closer to her.
A lot of people think I'm a hero who took on a burden, but they don't take into account what Caitlin does for me. She loves me to the point it's safe to bet that she'd take a sword or a bow for me (though I wouldn't let her do that) and reassures me when I'm anxious. More than that, Caitlin saved my life. I thought I would die on my quest to slay the Ender Dragon. I intended to die disguising a suicide as a heroic quest, but Caitlin healed me and enabled me to complete my battle. Has Anna ever made you feel that way?
In a way, I guess. She helps me sleep. :)
That's always nice.
I closed my computer and took the towel off of Caitlin's hair. It was almost dry, but it was still somewhat damp. I ran my hands through her hair (1) because I like the way it feels and (2) to help it dry. I found a note and read it.
Don't try to stop my next seizure. If it kills me, that's fine, because it's what everyone wants anyway.
My eyes started filling with tears. That is not what anyone wants! Think of your sixth graders and how you completely changed their character for the better in a year. Think of your private students and the skills they have developed thanks to your careful attention and heartfelt praise. You play second, third, or fourth better than most people play first. That's not something a lot of people can do well.
Think of me. Why would I have taken you with me if you did not matter? You gave my life meaning. You sustained my breath and made it worth breathing. Why didn't you tell me you felt this way? The tears started falling from my eyes, one after another. I ended up breaking down and sobbing. I have only one of you, you know. You sustained my breath and made it worth breathing. You are my companion, my duet partner, and my confidante.
My mind travelled back to my suicide attempt. A cursory glance would make the average person fear for Caitlin's life, but the one who was dying was me. I thought a bottle of pills would fix my problems. If I was dead, things couldn't get any worse, right? Wrong. Things couldn't get better if I had died. I never want that to happen to Caitlin. Alex would be devastated. Her smile can brighten anyone's day. I'd hate to see it wiped off her face. I'm already worried about Alice because hardworking people with low self-esteem rarely break, but it is very difficult, if not impossible to build them back up when they do.
Please don't do this to me.
Don't do it.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Inspiration (Matilda)
Of every teacher I have ever met, I have never met someone like Caitlin Netherfield. Her pedagogy style is simple, yet sophisticated in a way that I can't quite place. She speaks softly, yet everything else about her speaks volumes. If she walked into a room, no one would take notice. However, if you took the time to notice her, you would meet the kind of person one seldom meets, like a queen disguised as a peasant.
Caitlin sat before me with Steve at her side. They exchanged a few embraces and affectionate gestures. They were cute together, honestly. Although they were polar opposites in some ways, they were markedly similar in others. For one, they both loved music. They had the same warm empathy and love for others as well as for each other. However, I got the sense that they sometimes-no, frequently-forgot to love themselves.
We talked about our experiences working with different high schools.
"It was a battle of ego. All the time." Steve looked defeated. I guessed that his device did not have the plural for "ego" installed. "I made them do a silent rehearsal." I have met several flute sections like that and they came in all levels and sizes, but mostly in large high school bands. They were exhausting and downright annoying. I have been in them in the high school and even professional level. It's less common on the professional level, but it still happens. "And you?" He gestured towards me.
"The oboes were a little dicey, but the flutes were absolutely wonderful. They were rather personable and polite. I'd dare to say that they were a little too polite. Their lack of confidence resulted in intonation problems."
"My woodwinds were all yelling at each other." Caitlin spoke up.
"Which school did you go to?"
"Skull Crusher High School."
"Sounds like them."
"Not only that, but one student said I was 'disturbing everyone' by doing this." She demonstrated her hand flap for me. I thought it was fairly innocuous, considering other things I've seen from other teachers. One of them chased her students around the track with a creeper as a warm up. The news was covering that for weeks on end. Those motions are fairly effective in releasing hand tension, the enemy of all woodwinds. I was surprised she didn't tell the students to do it. "Do you know anyone from the Skull Crusher band named Kathryn? On flute? She's the one who said I was disturbing everyone." That's my student!
"She will hear from me during her next lesson." I took a sweet brown roll and spread butter on it. It is very out of character for Kathryn to openly disrespect a teacher, especially one like Caitlin. Across from me, she took a soft white roll, made a pocket of sorts in the center with the butter knife, and filled it with jam. She looked markedly better, but still tired. When she yawned, Steve placed an arm around her. Caitlin's unease melted away like butter.
I planned to leave, but I heard a loud yelp and a crash. Caitlin was shaking on the ground. I had one unprovoked seizure before...and only one. I was in high school at the time. I remember feeling like all the energy had been drained from my body. Caitlin, on the other hand, dealt with it on an almost daily basis. I rushed to her side hoping to be able to do something. Luckily, I did. I made sure people didn't shove old wallets or dirty sneakers in her mouth (and it's usually old wallets or dirty sneakers for some reason?) while Steve took care of the rest. His concern would touch the hearts of even the most cold, calculating people.
Each neurological lightning bolt racked her little frame. Seconds stretched into eternities as I watched every uncontrolled movement. Would she be okay? As if to mock my concern, things died down and then started up again. It had been five minutes. I wondered if Caitlin would be okay. Luckily, Steve was adept at functioning under extreme stress. Not only that, his compassion held. I moved more onlookers on and thought about the numerous teachers I have seen taking stress out on their students when it was really themselves they were mad at.
Caitlin inspired me. She really did--and not due to her disabilities. She inspired me because of her character. I knew she would not use her seizures (or anything else) as an excuse to treat others poorly or perform halfheartedly. If she said something hurtful, she owned up to it and apologized every time. I wished I could be more like that. I thought I had to scream at people to get them to respect me as a high school section leader. When she had command of the Mindcrack band in Steve's place, she barely spoke above a whisper the entire time, yet she managed to command respect. They played the best they ever had during that concert.
I wish I could say the same about myself.
Caitlin sat before me with Steve at her side. They exchanged a few embraces and affectionate gestures. They were cute together, honestly. Although they were polar opposites in some ways, they were markedly similar in others. For one, they both loved music. They had the same warm empathy and love for others as well as for each other. However, I got the sense that they sometimes-no, frequently-forgot to love themselves.
We talked about our experiences working with different high schools.
"It was a battle of ego. All the time." Steve looked defeated. I guessed that his device did not have the plural for "ego" installed. "I made them do a silent rehearsal." I have met several flute sections like that and they came in all levels and sizes, but mostly in large high school bands. They were exhausting and downright annoying. I have been in them in the high school and even professional level. It's less common on the professional level, but it still happens. "And you?" He gestured towards me.
"The oboes were a little dicey, but the flutes were absolutely wonderful. They were rather personable and polite. I'd dare to say that they were a little too polite. Their lack of confidence resulted in intonation problems."
"My woodwinds were all yelling at each other." Caitlin spoke up.
"Which school did you go to?"
"Skull Crusher High School."
"Sounds like them."
"Not only that, but one student said I was 'disturbing everyone' by doing this." She demonstrated her hand flap for me. I thought it was fairly innocuous, considering other things I've seen from other teachers. One of them chased her students around the track with a creeper as a warm up. The news was covering that for weeks on end. Those motions are fairly effective in releasing hand tension, the enemy of all woodwinds. I was surprised she didn't tell the students to do it. "Do you know anyone from the Skull Crusher band named Kathryn? On flute? She's the one who said I was disturbing everyone." That's my student!
"She will hear from me during her next lesson." I took a sweet brown roll and spread butter on it. It is very out of character for Kathryn to openly disrespect a teacher, especially one like Caitlin. Across from me, she took a soft white roll, made a pocket of sorts in the center with the butter knife, and filled it with jam. She looked markedly better, but still tired. When she yawned, Steve placed an arm around her. Caitlin's unease melted away like butter.
I planned to leave, but I heard a loud yelp and a crash. Caitlin was shaking on the ground. I had one unprovoked seizure before...and only one. I was in high school at the time. I remember feeling like all the energy had been drained from my body. Caitlin, on the other hand, dealt with it on an almost daily basis. I rushed to her side hoping to be able to do something. Luckily, I did. I made sure people didn't shove old wallets or dirty sneakers in her mouth (and it's usually old wallets or dirty sneakers for some reason?) while Steve took care of the rest. His concern would touch the hearts of even the most cold, calculating people.
Each neurological lightning bolt racked her little frame. Seconds stretched into eternities as I watched every uncontrolled movement. Would she be okay? As if to mock my concern, things died down and then started up again. It had been five minutes. I wondered if Caitlin would be okay. Luckily, Steve was adept at functioning under extreme stress. Not only that, his compassion held. I moved more onlookers on and thought about the numerous teachers I have seen taking stress out on their students when it was really themselves they were mad at.
Caitlin inspired me. She really did--and not due to her disabilities. She inspired me because of her character. I knew she would not use her seizures (or anything else) as an excuse to treat others poorly or perform halfheartedly. If she said something hurtful, she owned up to it and apologized every time. I wished I could be more like that. I thought I had to scream at people to get them to respect me as a high school section leader. When she had command of the Mindcrack band in Steve's place, she barely spoke above a whisper the entire time, yet she managed to command respect. They played the best they ever had during that concert.
I wish I could say the same about myself.
Monday, October 3, 2016
Pedagogy (Caitlin)
Want to know what you're missing out on by rejecting Kaito Hiyashida?
He's a nice kid who wants to learn. I spent the first lesson teaching him how to properly support a euphonium (because those things are heavy!) while getting to know him. He is very interested in music and doesn't like loud noises. (This will be a challenge.) His favorite color is green and he can use a sword pretty well judging by the videos he showed me. Kaito was impressed that I learned some Japanese for him. I was surprised that this is not the norm for other teachers. I used the correct honorifics and found out a few things about him based on the 250 word core noun/verb package on his device. He seriously needs an adjective and adverb pack. A keyboard would do him good too.
After that, I ended up on the floor utterly disoriented and terrified. I vaguely remembered water running through my hair and tasted something acrid in my mouth. Was that blood or vomit? I felt like all the energy had left me. I felt the sheets against my body and let sleep take over. If I can sleep, I can pretend everything's okay for a while.
I woke up in time to go to our respective places at different schools. Steve offered to carry my things until we parted, for which I was grateful. I needed all the energy I could muster. I had the privilege of working with Skull Crusher High School's low brass and upper woodwinds. Skull Crusher High School was known for their band program. They had, so I heard, 5 piccolos (!!!), 22 flutes, 9 oboes, 17 clarinets, 6 trombones, and 5 tubas. I took my stuff and made my way down the path with a map in tow. I took back my things and set off.
Rule #1 of going places with cerebral palsy: Do not overload yourself with heavy stuff, especially if you don't need it. Unfortunately, I needed my clarinet, euphonium (which comes in a wheeled case but STILL), sheet music, a tuner, health stuff, food for the day, and a flute I borrowed from Matilda. I practiced a bit of flute now and then, but I was not much good at the instrument. I was on par with a skilled high school student musically with regard to my abilities as a flutist. I played on Rosalie's flute and got pretty good at it. She rarely practiced and never really cared what I did with it any of her stuff. I would have continued on flute if I could really nail those high notes.
I tripped on an errant stone and fell on my face, collapsing under my pile of stuff. Luckily, I didn't break anything, but it still hurt. I picked up everything and continued on my path. I cleaned off my wounds at a nearby well because showing up with blood running down one's knee is generally considered unprofessional. We all have things to do and places to be and, when we do them, we should do them well. I have to work much harder than most people and that's okay. Doing what I love makes me willing to put in the effort.
I saw the school building. Its imposing structure is reminiscent of a college rather than a high school. Pulling out the map, I plotted my steps. I was exhausted just from walking there. How was I going to get through teaching two groups? The low brass welcomed me. I led them in a few scales. After tuning to a B flat, we ran through some of the music. I had to correct trombone positions the entire time. We exchanged a few jokes, worked on pedal tones and lip slurs, and all around had a great rehearsal. After that, I turned my attention to the upper woodwinds.
This was a totally different atmosphere. Right away, I could see competitiveness, perfectionism, and a desire to lead unlike the low brass whose members just wanted to crack fart jokes and were pretty laid back as far as I could tell. I tuned the woodwinds to an A. One of the members thought we were extremely sharp. I then realized that my tuner was set to A445! After re-tuning to A440, we played scales. Because none of them were following me, I cut off and they all started yelling at each other. I tried to get their attention. I waved my hands to stave off the tension I felt in my throat. One of the flutists looked disgusted. The others didn't seem to notice or care. The flutist spoke.
"No offense, but you look like you have a disability when you do that." I bet she wouldn't have said that about my use of a cane. She didn't seem to care about the bandage on my knee or placement of my feet on the floor. "You're seriously disturbing everyone."
"Shut up, Kathryn. How would you know what that's like?" Another flutist, a boy, rolled his eyes. Apparently, she must be like this all the time.
"Well, I have Type 1 diabetes and I don't have my insulin pump hanging out." Wow. I thought a fellow disabled person would have more compassion and understanding than that. Well, to each their own, I suppose.
"Sorry if I was making anyone uncomfortable." I stopped, seeing that my hand movements were rather unusual. "Let's continue. Pull out your contest music." The flutes were a half step off from each other on the G flat. I tuned each of them and only one was in tune. Only one. Really? After some frantic adjusting, the lot of them all sounded better. I demonstrated phrases on my instruments as needed. We ran through the sixteenth note passages and discussed alternate fingerings. The clarinets and I had an interesting discussion on reeds. Some of them used the prescribed cedar reeds and others used oak reeds. A few used birch reeds. Most used spruce reeds. One of them was surprised I used sugar cane reeds because they're normally seen as beginner reeds. I think you should use what suits you regardless of what others think. I let them take a break and get lunch.
As I opened my lunch, I couldn't help but ruminate over Kathryn's words. Why is it that someone who should understand my experiences on a deeper level would mock a simple idiosyncrasy of mine with such overt hatred? Carmen and Nathan never said things like that. Kaito understood it fully and Adrian was used to it. I tried to think about what made Kathryn so judgmental of a few simple hand movements when she knew what disability was like. Is it that people are compelled to pit others' impairments against each others' and their own? But why?
Why is it so easy for people to hail me as an idol when I go out with my cane and then despise me the moment I flap my hands?
He's a nice kid who wants to learn. I spent the first lesson teaching him how to properly support a euphonium (because those things are heavy!) while getting to know him. He is very interested in music and doesn't like loud noises. (This will be a challenge.) His favorite color is green and he can use a sword pretty well judging by the videos he showed me. Kaito was impressed that I learned some Japanese for him. I was surprised that this is not the norm for other teachers. I used the correct honorifics and found out a few things about him based on the 250 word core noun/verb package on his device. He seriously needs an adjective and adverb pack. A keyboard would do him good too.
After that, I ended up on the floor utterly disoriented and terrified. I vaguely remembered water running through my hair and tasted something acrid in my mouth. Was that blood or vomit? I felt like all the energy had left me. I felt the sheets against my body and let sleep take over. If I can sleep, I can pretend everything's okay for a while.
I woke up in time to go to our respective places at different schools. Steve offered to carry my things until we parted, for which I was grateful. I needed all the energy I could muster. I had the privilege of working with Skull Crusher High School's low brass and upper woodwinds. Skull Crusher High School was known for their band program. They had, so I heard, 5 piccolos (!!!), 22 flutes, 9 oboes, 17 clarinets, 6 trombones, and 5 tubas. I took my stuff and made my way down the path with a map in tow. I took back my things and set off.
Rule #1 of going places with cerebral palsy: Do not overload yourself with heavy stuff, especially if you don't need it. Unfortunately, I needed my clarinet, euphonium (which comes in a wheeled case but STILL), sheet music, a tuner, health stuff, food for the day, and a flute I borrowed from Matilda. I practiced a bit of flute now and then, but I was not much good at the instrument. I was on par with a skilled high school student musically with regard to my abilities as a flutist. I played on Rosalie's flute and got pretty good at it. She rarely practiced and never really cared what I did with it any of her stuff. I would have continued on flute if I could really nail those high notes.
I tripped on an errant stone and fell on my face, collapsing under my pile of stuff. Luckily, I didn't break anything, but it still hurt. I picked up everything and continued on my path. I cleaned off my wounds at a nearby well because showing up with blood running down one's knee is generally considered unprofessional. We all have things to do and places to be and, when we do them, we should do them well. I have to work much harder than most people and that's okay. Doing what I love makes me willing to put in the effort.
I saw the school building. Its imposing structure is reminiscent of a college rather than a high school. Pulling out the map, I plotted my steps. I was exhausted just from walking there. How was I going to get through teaching two groups? The low brass welcomed me. I led them in a few scales. After tuning to a B flat, we ran through some of the music. I had to correct trombone positions the entire time. We exchanged a few jokes, worked on pedal tones and lip slurs, and all around had a great rehearsal. After that, I turned my attention to the upper woodwinds.
This was a totally different atmosphere. Right away, I could see competitiveness, perfectionism, and a desire to lead unlike the low brass whose members just wanted to crack fart jokes and were pretty laid back as far as I could tell. I tuned the woodwinds to an A. One of the members thought we were extremely sharp. I then realized that my tuner was set to A445! After re-tuning to A440, we played scales. Because none of them were following me, I cut off and they all started yelling at each other. I tried to get their attention. I waved my hands to stave off the tension I felt in my throat. One of the flutists looked disgusted. The others didn't seem to notice or care. The flutist spoke.
"No offense, but you look like you have a disability when you do that." I bet she wouldn't have said that about my use of a cane. She didn't seem to care about the bandage on my knee or placement of my feet on the floor. "You're seriously disturbing everyone."
"Shut up, Kathryn. How would you know what that's like?" Another flutist, a boy, rolled his eyes. Apparently, she must be like this all the time.
"Well, I have Type 1 diabetes and I don't have my insulin pump hanging out." Wow. I thought a fellow disabled person would have more compassion and understanding than that. Well, to each their own, I suppose.
"Sorry if I was making anyone uncomfortable." I stopped, seeing that my hand movements were rather unusual. "Let's continue. Pull out your contest music." The flutes were a half step off from each other on the G flat. I tuned each of them and only one was in tune. Only one. Really? After some frantic adjusting, the lot of them all sounded better. I demonstrated phrases on my instruments as needed. We ran through the sixteenth note passages and discussed alternate fingerings. The clarinets and I had an interesting discussion on reeds. Some of them used the prescribed cedar reeds and others used oak reeds. A few used birch reeds. Most used spruce reeds. One of them was surprised I used sugar cane reeds because they're normally seen as beginner reeds. I think you should use what suits you regardless of what others think. I let them take a break and get lunch.
As I opened my lunch, I couldn't help but ruminate over Kathryn's words. Why is it that someone who should understand my experiences on a deeper level would mock a simple idiosyncrasy of mine with such overt hatred? Carmen and Nathan never said things like that. Kaito understood it fully and Adrian was used to it. I tried to think about what made Kathryn so judgmental of a few simple hand movements when she knew what disability was like. Is it that people are compelled to pit others' impairments against each others' and their own? But why?
Why is it so easy for people to hail me as an idol when I go out with my cane and then despise me the moment I flap my hands?
Thursday, September 22, 2016
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.
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.
Friday, September 16, 2016
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?
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?
Sunday, September 11, 2016
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.
"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.
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