Flowing, Rolling, Caressing all these things are what I feel. These sensations trampling through my mind like a storm. A wave, I sit and play my viola. These emotions not necessarily new but still foreign. As I sat and just played I realized I might like this. But my awareness to this new addiction was nowhere as strong as it is today. As the school year began it was mediocre, I liked playing but it was a hobby. I had no consideration for a career, just a thing to play. But then I realized I wanted to try more.
I started going to auditions and competitions, trying to better myself in this beautiful art. Each loss a lesson, each win a victory. If I didn’t get the best I tried harder, an all consuming passion to just do better. I went to solo/ensemble contest as my first true competition. As my elation and anxiety maxed, my audition came closer. See, I was already under a mountain of pressure. See it was my first competition so I was already nervous.But I was the first one to audition that day too.
So as I sit there cursing my last name: Bennett. Questioning why alphabetical order is such a normal custom. My teacher came in and told it was time. So being myself I played for him first. His amazement at the fact that I memorized was just a personal high. Imagine; me just a child playing a song with no music. I brought the music still because it was a rule that we had to have it.
My introduction, adrenaline pumping, heart bumping. “My name is Jacob Bennett, I will be performing Bouree, from the first suzuki book.” I pushed my stand to the side, wiped the sweat from my hand, and readied myself. I breathe deeply and give my teacher a nod. We were using a thing called smart music. It could give me a piano accompaniment without having a pianist. As the piano plays I feel my jubilation coming to an all-time high. My fingers start flying over the fingerboard. My notes like an angels voice. I’ll admit I’m not the most humble and I might be an unreliable narrator. But to me, I sounded like an angel.
My favorite part fast approaching I prepare for what could be compared to as fiddlin’. BAM… forgot the notes as the computer played on I could feel the humiliation seeping up through the bare library floor. My eyes burning I listened and found the measure the song was at. But it was too late I had failed, as they gave me advice the only thing that crossed my mind was that I had failed my teacher. He had other far more superior players going to the competition but I felt like a let down. So I walked out and sat down at the bench and waited for my mom to come and pick me up. Knowing later that day I had an ensemble audition as well.
Feeling bummed out and not like myself I napped until it was time to spruce myself up. I woke up and prepared myself for another audition, dreading the faces I would see. As we pulled up to the school and I entered the lobby. I checked the posted scores and right next to my name was a three. You see, the scoring scale is one to four. Four being that you epicly failed the song one being you played like a master. I felt I should’ve gotten a five. I mean who forgets notes, emphasis needed. And just like that the fire was back hungrier than ever. I had to do this again next year, I knew that I had liked music but never like this. This fire, and something akin rage was all I could feel. This invigorating scene, no longer feeling like a saddened pup with my tail between my legs. I left the school holding my head high. My walk possessing the grandeur of a king. As I swiftly approached my car I looked my mom in the eyes, and with all the determination in the world I stated, “I’m going to do this next year.”.
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