Imagine being so embarrassed that you feel like you’re going to cry. That was how I felt at my Select Band performance at the end of sixth grade.

I was going to Tawasentha Park for my Select Band performance that I’d been practicing for. For all of sixth grade, I played my flute virtually for Select Band because of the deadly Coronavirus. So, even though I had my music for practice for my weekly virtual Select Band, I didn’t understand the music as much as the in-school students did. I also didn’t even know that they had Google meets at first, so I just practiced the songs that were posted on the Google Classroom. But I never actually played the songs with the in-school students at first. My Select Band teacher had meetings, and she would rehearse with the other in-school students on the meets, and I would play along with them on mute. And I wasn’t aware of the meetings. On top of that, I am very forgetful, so when I found out that they did have meets, I ended up missing lots of my rehearsals because of my absent-mindedness.

I was going through the soft grass with my mom, dad, and sister, walking to where the concert would take place. My mom and dad were carrying chairs to sit on from the car because it was an outdoor performance and there were no seats. My sister, Corinne, also came to watch my performance. I saw the stage that the performers (mostly those who were not virtual) were on; there were about 40 of them. I saw the audience as well; there were around at least 50 or 60 people watching. I got to the stage and walked up the stairs. I could tell I was a little late since everyone was getting ready to play with their instruments in hand. So my Select Band teacher quickly gave me a flute mask and a bell cover (which I had never in my entire life used before since I was always virtual.) I told my Select Band teacher about that, so she asked the person next to me to help me with it. I was able to put the bell cover on, but I didn’t understand how to put my flute mask on. I could barely even keep it on my face, and I was so worried that I just played my first song without my flute mask.

          The first song was called Aztec Fire, which is an intense song that I would soon play for Select Band in seventh grade as well. I was pretty good with this song, but people were staring at me with blank faces, and all the while, playing their woodwind instruments at the same time. I knew why, of course,  because I didn’t have my flute mask on. But then something worse happened. My music fell off my stand, floating off to the stage floor, while I watched it fall, in what seemed like slow-motion, with a bothered and worried face. My body jerked in angriness, and I hoped no one would notice, but what seemed like almost everyone jerked their heads towards me. My whole body froze. I hadn’t done anything wrong! So I blamed it on the wind, and I didn’t pick the music up. I tried to play by memory. The first song out of three finally finished.

I quickly picked my music up, put it away in my folder, and got my next song. My Select Band teacher helped me put my flute mask on, and I put my flute in its horizontal position and played. This next song was a tranquil song, and it helped me relax a little bit. Nobody glanced at me at all since there was nothing else to glance about. So I felt good with that song, and I wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

                                                 

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Then came the last song. It was the hardest one, but I was optimistic and confident. After this, I could walk off stage, never to worry about any embarrassments again. Phew! I started playing, and my music wasn’t falling off my stand anymore. But then, about halfway into the song, at the hardest part, my music fell. Again. That was no coincidence. I was so frustrated at that point, especially since I hadn’t memorized the song. So I quickly picked the music up and then kept playing. But I saw so many heads shifting towards me at that moment.  I looked to my left, at the grassy floor that surrounded the stage. I thought about walking off the stage. But I couldn’t do that. That would be giving up. I would be more embarrassed for giving up than I would from staying on stage. After all, it was the last song. So, after what felt like eternity, the song diminished, and the watchful audience clapped for me and the performers.

Then, my Select Band teacher made a speech. And after that, another person, a man, started making a speech that I didn’t really hear too much of. My music fell again while he was mid-sentence, but at least I wasn’t playing my instrument, and my thoughts drowned my head, causing me to stop focusing on his speech. But what I did hear was something like, “I hope you all will enjoy the performance!” Will? Thoughts raced through my head, clouding my consciousness. So the performance wasn’t over yet? And then I realized, what we did so far was just a warm-up.  

 

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I was worried about my music falling again, but luckily, my select band teacher gave me paper clips so that it would stay on the stand. I don’t have to worry about my music falling again, I thought, and the real performance commenced.   BOOM! All the performers along with me all played in unison, at once. It felt better than before. I was doing well, and I just had a few people staring at me, probably because of the distractions that I had previously induced onto them. But I kept playing, and the first song in the true performance ended. My fingers relaxed as I put my flute down for the time that I had until the next song. The second song was the one that I had mastered, and I didn’t have any trouble with that one. I felt like the real reason that no one was staring at me anymore was because my music wasn’t falling off my stand anymore. I did well on the second song as well, and I felt like I didn’t have to put in too much effort in order to play it. But then came the third song. It would be hard, but I had to keep playing, because it was the last song, and there was no way that I would give up. I reluctantly picked up my flute, knowing that the next song would be tricky.

The last song started with a BANG, and I was getting all of the notes correct. My fingers moved independently because they knew the song very well. And then came the hard part of the last song. I thought that I was doing the section of the song correctly, but halfway into the section, I realized that it said, “Piccolo only.” My eyes turned to stone. I had just found out that I wasn’t supposed to be playing that part, and only the piccolo-players were supposed to! I turned my head to the other performers that I saw were staring at me intensely. Although I knew that I wasn’t supposed to play that part, I already was playing it, so I just continued so that the audience wouldn’t think that I just stopped playing all of a sudden. I was trying my hardest, and all of my body seemed to be awake and alive. More people were staring at me, and the intensity was rising!

The song was nearing the end, and I was playing the part that I wasn’t supposed to be playing! The performers that were playing the song along with me, while staring at me, did not seem to make any mistakes at all. And there I was, on the verge of getting teary-eyed. My eyes were holding back my raging tears like a barrier, a weak barrier that was hoping for the song to end. But the song kept going, and I kept playing, as if my life depended on it; the powerful, striking song finally ended.

I felt so proud of myself for being brave and keeping my composure, and not giving up. Some of the teachers in the audience along with my parents came to me and complimented me as I walked off the stage. I knew that I made mistakes, but I tried my best. My Select Band teacher even congratulated me even though she probably noticed I made mistakes. I felt so much better after that performance because I never gave up. It was finally over, and I learned that, although quitting is easier than persevering, you will feel better about yourself if you persevere.

 

 

 

 

-Caleb P.