Music

On a cool, fall afternoon a young girl ran home from school. She pushed her straight, brown hair out of her eyes as she neared her house. She could not wait to tell her parents the exciting news. “Mom! Mom!” The girl burst through the kitchen door. Her mother looked up from peeling potatoes for their dinner. “What is it, Carmen?” she asked. “Mom, I was accepted! I’m going to audition!” “Audition for what?” “There is going to be one student that is chosen to play a solo in front of the whole school and also the parents. All the other children will accompany the soloist in the orchestra. But we have to audition first. The audition will be held on Friday. Then our orchestra teacher, Mrs. Newton, will pick the child to play the solo. I don’t know who I am competing against, though.” Carmen’s eyes shone. She was so glad that she knew how to play the violin. Ever since she was very young, Carmen loved the music of the violin, so her parents encouraged her to play. They had signed her up with an exceptionally good professional violinist, who gave Carmen lessons. Working hard, Carmen established a good rapport with her private lesson teacher, as well as her school orchestra teacher. Carmen’s parents were able to help her practice because they both played the piano very well. So, in this way, at eleven years old, Carmen was considered a very accomplished musician for her age. “That sounded very nice,” Gabriella said. “I really liked it” “What are you playing for the audition, Carmen?” Her mother’s voice broke through her daydreams. “Oh!” Carmen came back to earth. “I am playing the Vivaldi Concerto in A minor.” “The whole thing?” Carmen’s mother looked shocked. “That’s a very long piece you are taking on Carmen! Are you sure?” “Mom, I’ve been practicing the concerto for four months. I have almost fully mastered the last movement. The concert is two weeks away from now! I’m sure if I practice, then I will be ready in time for the audition.” Her mother sighed. “All right. If you say so,” she replied. “Good luck!” That night, after supper, Carmen studied her reflection in the mirror in her room. She did not think much of her appearance. It had been the same since third grade. Carmen had short, straight, rather stringy brown hair. She was sort of skinny, and shorter than most of the kids in her class. Oh, how Carmen wished that she looked like Gabriella, the new girl in her class. Gabriella had long, curly, golden hair. She had quickly become the most popular girl in the class. Gabriella chose her friends very carefully Carmen was not one of them. Sometimes Carmen saw Gabriella looking at her. It was almost as if she wanted to talk to Carmen. But every time Carmen had tried to smile, talk, or be friendly, Gabriella acted as if Carmen were not even there. Every time Carmen tried to start a conversation, Gabriella would turn away and start talking to her other friends, girls like her, who only thought about themselves and how they looked. So, Carmen had long since given up trying to be friends with Gabriella. For the rest of the week, Carmen practiced and practiced. She thought that perfecting the piece would help her feel better about performing. Instead, the more she played the concerto, the more nervous Carmen got. Again and again she told herself that it would be OK if she was not chosen to be the soloist. It did not help her one little bit! She, Carmen, wanted to be the one on stage on the night of the concert. *          *          * At the end of the first week, Friday morning, Carmen woke up early. This was the morning that she had been waiting for: the morning of the school audition. Carmen would also learn who she was competing against and what they were playing. Her heart thudding nervously in her chest, and with butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach, Carmen got in the car after breakfast and her mother drove her to school. Her father worked on weekdays. As soon as her mother had kissed her goodbye and driven away, Carmen went straight into the big assembly room in the school building, where the concert and audition were going to take place. Carmen took her violin carefully out of its case. She tuned it to the baby grand piano. The piano had a wonderful, ringing tone to it, and Carmen could not help but set down her violin in its case, sit down on the piano bench, and play a sonatina. Her mother and father had also taught her to play the piano. Knowing that she was very early, Carmen kept playing. Suddenly, the door behind Carmen opened. Startled, Carmen stopped playing and whirled around on the piano bench. Gabriella was standing there. To Carmen’s immense surprise, Gabriella gave Carmen a small smile. It was so small that Carmen could hardly see it, but it was still there, and it was still a small, but unmistakable smile. “That sounded very nice,” Gabriella said. “I really liked it. Do you think you could play it again?” Carmen felt so surprised that the girl she had tried so hard to be friends with, the girl who had always acted as if she were not there, was finally being nice to her. She immediately sat back down on the piano bench to play it again, when two very popular and not very nice girls came in. They both rushed over to Gabriella. “Gabby, we’ve been waiting and waiting for you,” one of the girls complained. “Where’ve you been? And what are you doing with her?” the second girl said rudely, pointing at Carmen. Without another glance at Carmen, Gabriella stalked out of the room. Carmen was almost in tears. Just when she had a perfect chance of becoming friends with Gabriella,

On a cool, fall afternoon a young girl ran home from school. She pushed her straight, brown hair out of her eyes as she neared her house. She could not wait to tell her parents the exciting news. “Mom! Mom!” The girl burst through the kitchen door. Her mother looked up from peeling potatoes for their dinner. “What is it, Carmen?” she asked. “Mom, I was accepted! I’m going to audition!” “Audition for what?” “There is going to be one student that is chosen to play a solo in front of the whole school and also the parents. All the other children will accompany the soloist in the orchestra. But we have to audition first. The audition will be held on Friday. Then our orchestra teacher, Mrs. Newton, will pick the child to play the solo. I don’t know who I am competing against, though.” Carmen’s eyes shone. She was so glad that she knew how to play the violin. Ever since she was very young, Carmen loved the music of the violin, so her parents encouraged her to play. They had signed her up with an exceptionally good professional violinist, who gave Carmen lessons. Working hard, Carmen established a good rapport with her private lesson teacher, as well as her school orchestra teacher. Carmen’s parents were able to help her practice because they both played the piano very well. So, in this way, at eleven years old, Carmen was considered a very accomplished musician for her age. “That sounded very nice,” Gabriella said. “I really liked it” “What are you playing for the audition, Carmen?” Her mother’s voice broke through her daydreams. “Oh!” Carmen came back to earth. “I am playing the Vivaldi Concerto in A minor.” “The whole thing?” Carmen’s mother looked shocked. “That’s a very long piece you are taking on Carmen! Are you sure?” “Mom, I’ve been practicing the concerto for four months. I have almost fully mastered the last movement. The concert is two weeks away from now! I’m sure if I practice, then I will be ready in time for the audition.” Her mother sighed. “All right. If you say so,” she replied. “Good luck!” That night, after supper, Carmen studied her reflection in the mirror in her room. She did not think much of her appearance. It had been the same since third grade. Carmen had short, straight, rather stringy brown hair. She was sort of skinny, and shorter than most of the kids in her class. Oh, how Carmen wished that she looked like Gabriella, the new girl in her class. Gabriella had long, curly, golden hair. She had quickly become the most popular girl in the class. Gabriella chose her friends very carefully Carmen was not one of them. Sometimes Carmen saw Gabriella looking at her. It was almost as if she wanted to talk to Carmen. But every time Carmen had tried to smile, talk, or be friendly, Gabriella acted as if Carmen were not even there. Every time Carmen tried to start a conversation, Gabriella would turn away and start talking to her other friends, girls like her, who only thought about themselves and how they looked. So, Carmen had long since given up trying to be friends with Gabriella. For the rest of the week, Carmen practiced and practiced. She thought that perfecting the piece would help her feel better about performing. Instead, the more she played the concerto, the more nervous Carmen got. Again and again she told herself that it would be OK if she was not chosen to be the soloist. It did not help her one little bit! She, Carmen, wanted to be the one on stage on the night of the concert. *          *          * At the end of the first week, Friday morning, Carmen woke up early. This was the morning that she had been waiting for: the morning of the school audition. Carmen would also learn who she was competing against and what they were playing. Her heart thudding nervously in her chest, and with butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach, Carmen got in the car after breakfast and her mother drove her to school. Her father worked on weekdays. As soon as her mother had kissed her goodbye and driven away, Carmen went straight into the big assembly room in the school building, where the concert and audition were going to take place. Carmen took her violin carefully out of its case. She tuned it to the baby grand piano. The piano had a wonderful, ringing tone to it, and Carmen could not help but set down her violin in its case, sit down on the piano bench, and play a sonatina. Her mother and father had also taught her to play the piano. Knowing that she was very early, Carmen kept playing. Suddenly, the door behind Carmen opened. Startled, Carmen stopped playing and whirled around on the piano bench. Gabriella was standing there. To Carmen’s immense surprise, Gabriella gave Carmen a small smile. It was so small that Carmen could hardly see it, but it was still there, and it was still a small, but unmistakable smile. “That sounded very nice,” Gabriella said. “I really liked it. Do you think you could play it again?” Carmen felt so surprised that the girl she had tried so hard to be friends with, the girl who had always acted as if she were not there, was finally being nice to her. She immediately sat back down on the piano bench to play it again, when two very popular and not very nice girls came in. They both rushed over to Gabriella. “Gabby, we’ve been waiting and waiting for you,” one of the girls complained. “Where’ve you been? And what are you doing with her?” the second girl said rudely, pointing at Carmen. Without another glance at Carmen, Gabriella stalked out of the room. Carmen was almost in tears. Just when she had a perfect chance of becoming friends with Gabriella,

It was late afternoon on a humid Thursday in June. The air seemed to wrap everything on Long Island up in a sticky, sweaty bundle, even despite being near the ocean. The heat certainly didn’t help my already sweaty palms and flip-flopping stomach that made me think of a beached cod. Ugh! New York City should be evacuated on days like this! I thought. “Rachel, it’s time to go! Are you all ready for the concert? Grandma and Grandpa just pulled into the driveway and the drive will take an hour with traffic.” Mom’s voice had a slight air of impatience. “Yeah, I’m ready!” I called down to her, stepping out of my room, music and bassoon in hand. I almost fell down the stairs wearing the high heels Mom had bought me the day before. Good thing we didn’t have to walk anywhere too far, or else I would probably break my ankle! Everyone piled into our burgundy Ford Windstar, and we jerked backwards out of the driveway. I felt the contents of my stomach slosh around. Grandpa Solomon had insisted on driving, and with his attitude of scaring cars out of his way, it was a wonder that all of us hadn’t already been killed in an accident. After getting on the highway to head into the city, I started feeling carsick. I tried to zone out and ignore everything around me —my brother Isaac’s humming to his iPod, the adults’ talk of how proud they were that I was playing at Carnegie Hall, me being only thirteen years old! Just how did I do it between Hebrew School and homework and lessons, they wanted to know? At least my five-year-old sister, Rebecca, was sleeping, or my head would have been exploding by now! I closed my eyes. Deep breaths, Rachel, deep breaths. My mouth tasted sour, like rotten milk, acidic and green. I felt like I was going to throw up. “Mom, Mom, I feel sick,” I moaned. I felt like I was being reborn, my spirit echoing throughout the hall… “Sweetie, just relax. We’ll be there in half an hour and you’ll be fine,” she said, very unsympathetically. Grandma looked at me. “Helen, she does look a little pale. We won’t be late if we stop for only a couple of minutes.” However, my mom was not going to miss this opportunity, even if that meant that we had to roll down the windows and I had to use the plastic grocery bag in the back seat. “Rachel, find a bag back there in case you need it. We can stop, but only if you actually do throw up.” Choruses of “Ewwws!” rose from everyone except my very serious mother. Gripping my music and disfiguring the perfect black marks, I choked on bile, and quickly my grandmother grabbed my dark, shiny brown hair, opening the bag just as I let loose all the things I had eaten in the past twelve hours. Thank God there was an exit coming up. *          *          * Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road, and thirty minutes after that I was opening my heavy eyelids to the sight of the Empire State Building. Fortunately, I had slept, because that’s generally what you do when you’re sick, right? Carnegie Hall was bathed in light, since it was early evening. The sun was dipping below the skyline, casting shadows of the tall, steel monsters that New York was famous for. Mom and I got out of the car at the entrance, where we were supposed to meet my father. He came running up to us and hugged me tightly, smelling like work offices and cologne, then planted a kiss perfectly on my mother’s lips. “How’s my gorgeous girl doing today?” he asked. “Or should I say, my two gorgeous girls?” He grinned. I led the way up through the heavy glass doors and into Carnegie Hall. Mom walked up to an employee and asked where performers were supposed to go. “You can head right to the backstage,” he replied in a professional manner. “All the musicians are warming up back there.” He pointed us to a door labeled BACKSTAGE, painted on with neat gold letters. Inside, everything was utter chaos. Music was lying everywhere and stands were interspersed randomly throughout the room. An Asian violinist was playing an amazing, staccato piece so high that I doubted piccolos could even beat that! He looked about my age, maybe even a little younger. I was shocked. Mom and Dad said that they had to leave now and that they would see me after the show. Each of them wished me good luck and kissed me before they disappeared out of the backstage door and into the growing crowd of people on the other side. It was all up to me, now. It was hot inside the backstage area, so hot that beads of sweat soon dotted my forehead. As I was putting my bassoon together, the tenor joint slipped from my hands and made a terrible thud on the linoleum floor. All heads turned to look at me. I felt my face flush with embarrassment. “Sorry,” I squeak-choked. I prayed, and I mean prayed, that my hands wouldn’t slide off the keys when I played my piece. Luckily, no more awful things happened— I didn’t even spill my reed water! But by the time I was all set up to play, almost everyone else performing tonight was there. After a quick chromatic scale, the introducer and conductor for tonight tapped on a music stand to get our attention. In a second, silence had overcome the room. He cleared his throat and began. “Hello, fine young musicians, and welcome to Carnegie Hall. My name is William Bostrovsky, and I will be introducing all of you, as well as conducting two pieces that will be played by the Boston Youth Symphony Orchestra tonight. Here is the order of performances for this evening. Up