Haunting Melody

I couldn’t help laughing again as I watched the short video clip on YouTube of the two of them trying to crush their empty cans against their foreheads. Bryan, the older one, succeeded in flattening his Island Iced Tea with a crunching noise; Clayton’s Coke made brief contact with his head before flying out of his hand and onto the ground. In the clip, we were on the Kauai Tour for the Hawaii Youth Symphony, eating Subways before the looming three and a half hour rehearsal. The filmer was Tia, a violist in the Youth Symphony. Watching the video, I remembered all the times I’d laughed along with everyone else until my throat hurt; I thought of the pictures taken at midnight with JJ, my roommate, and playing cards in the lobby at the hotel. Smiling, I gathered my things for the afternoon’s rehearsal.
~
“Hey, Jerrold,” I greeted my stand partner. I sat down and began to set up for the usual Sunday Youth Symphony practice.
“Hey,” he said. I roughly set the music on the stand and threw a pencil on it. “Did you practice?”
“Practice? Haha, that’s a good one,” I answered sarcastically.
“Oh good, me too,” he agreed. “Next week. For sure.” I laughed.
“Riiight...” The conversations around the room quickly faded as our conductor began the tuning.
Rehearsal began with a flick of a baton. A rapid drum roll. Dramatic tremolos from the cellos. The enchanting oboe solo. Then it came, spilling from the heart of the music. The ghost was there again, ringing throughout the room. It invaded my mind, soul and heart. I could feel my spirit soar with the high, sweet violins and hum with the rhythmic line of the viola. The ghost, silvery and sleek in some parts, shape-shifted into ripples of calm and thunderclaps of energy. It haunted everyone in the room, even our small audience bound merely by sight and sound. Playing its final notes, I felt the concentration radiating from each person in the room. There was a cut off from the same baton. Our ghost retreated to its cave of silence.
“Clarinets, I need to hear more from you at 313; Trumpets, you can go back a little. First violins, you have the melody, so come out...” Our conductor issued his demands and we began again from the top.
~
“Cole, go away!” I snapped harshly. It had been a long day so far, and it wasn’t over yet. The rehearsal had been productive, yet had seemed extraordinarily long and rigorous. As usual, our conductor had kept us 15 minutes late to polish the end of the program. Back at home, I had a thesis paper to finish and a math test to study for, plus an audition to practice for the following day. My little brother sticking his feet in my face while I sat at the computer was not something I was ready to tolerate.
He slumped down and crawled away groaning, “I’m bored...” and I threw him a disgusted glance. Opening up iTunes, I selected my playlist. It was a five hour long mix of Rock, Classical, Hawaiian, Country, Pop, and Jazz. As I heard the opening notes of “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” by the Beatles, the hours slipped off and I turned back to face the dreaded thesis paper.
~
Whether solo or as part of a group, I cannot remember a time when music has not been a part of my life. It is impossible to imagine my life without the ghost that is my cause of stress and my relaxant; my challenge and triumph; my work and pleasure. Being a musician means being a part of something that is bigger and more magnificent than any one person involved. The magic of making music as part of a group is something that cannot be created any other way; to be able to share it with others is part of what makes the practicing and rehearsals all worthwhile, like the amazing friends and memories made along the way. Alone, I can stretch the ghost to any dimensions I interpret. The music follows my own path of emotions that I set free.
~
“Ready?”
I nodded to my pianist, my heart pounding. Clamminess spread from my palms to the tips of my fingers until it was an effort to recall the movements I had practice hundreds of times. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to block out the audience in the small auditorium. My heart hammered as if I had sprinted four blocks. I raised my bow to the string and began to play.
And the ghost appeared. It whisped from the core of the sound, the point where bow meets string; where mind meets heart. I could feel its presence overwhelmingly, as could everyone else in the room, and its beauty raised my spirits. My shoulders relaxed and my heart calmed down to fit the beat. I smiled and let go.
Soon- after a stretched ten minutes- it’s over. The clamminess and incoordination are` gone, replaced by relief and...triumph? The ghost, once its haunting had stopped piercing throughout the hall, invaded my mind. It looped through, recreating a thread of melodies that did not end. Slowly, its presence in my mind fades as I leave the dimension of music, leaving a haunting melody in its wake.