My Song

          After every concert we would listen to a new music selection while we followed along on the sheet music. We would sit quietly most of the time, but then there were those occasions where we would collectively gasp in excited horror at the prospects of tackling pieces such as Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture with its exploding cannons and tremolos that begged for our arms to fall off.
          Listening to our new songs as our fingers flew up and down the necks of our instruments in an attempt to grasp the notes were among our favorite, because no matter how intimidating the song sounded, we knew we would be able to play it. Our director, Mr. Bettcher made us one of the best High School orchestras around as he demanded that we sound like, “one cat in a bag,” rather than the infamous, “three cats in a bag.” He would give us the songs that college directors were afraid to give their students, and trusted that we would accomplish them.
          There was one particular song that at the moment it began, I was instantly relaxed. I rested my head on the shoulder of Corey, my permanent stand partner by choice. He was someone that I would have dated had I been single, and I knew he felt the same back, although it was never spoken. He would look at me on concert nights all dressed up and be amazed at how beautiful I looked. I could see it in his eyes, but he never admitted it out loud, because it would have placed us somewhere we could never be. But that one moment, with my beautiful violin sitting on my knee, listening to the cello opening of William Tell Overture I felt the story Rossini sung through the strings that vibrated with eloquence and I was at peace. It was the moment I finally fell in love with the music I had been laboriously playing for nearly a decade.