Short story about playing Clarinet
For Advanced Creative Writing class, we were asked to write many pieces and examine our own lives in order to inspire our short works of fiction. The elements that were once real memories are meant to blur with the fictional elements seamlessly so that no one really knows which part is true, as they are inspired but not purely written as they were. Any references to real life are altered, dates are different, names will be changed, elements will appear differently than in actuality, as is the nature of fiction inspired by some aspect of the real world. I have played both the songs The Tempest and The Water is Wide for band class, and my grade nine group was the largest to enter that school, but otherwise, the details should not be construed as anything factual.
I would like to share one of those pieces with you now inspired by my band instrument, clarinet, and with the added element of letter correspondence to a friend:
Take a Breath
I did not want to go to the high school so soon. Being torn from our
little town, within walking distance of home, to go to the giant school with
more than one hallway to get lost in. The worst part was that all my peers from
preschool to grade eight were now spread amongst the largest grade nine group
ever to attend Horton. I stuck to the outskirts of the classroom, searching for
a single face I recognized, even if we had never spoken at our old school, I
just needed a sense of familiarity. There was no one.
Even in band class, where we were assigned instruments to borrow for
the year, I slouched in the Clarinet section until I was handed a small
briefcase. I assembled the familiar five pieces of black wood: bell, lower
joint, upper joint, barrel, and mouth piece. I had to apply cork grease to the
dry connections before stuffing them end to end in a single sealed tube. The
band teacher provided us with reeds and I slipped the carved wood from its
breathable plastic casing to soak in my mouth. Last, I delicately slid the
ligature over the reed as not to fracture the soft, thin wood, and tightened
the apparatus until the reed was still.
We were asked to do a scale once all our instruments had been
assembled. I brought the reed to my in-turned lower lip. My upper teeth scraping
at the black paint in front. A cacophony of squawks and squeaks emerged from
the room to the teacher’s visible despair. She rubbed the sweat from her
forehead and told us to take a resting position as she handed out the music we
would perform for the December competition. I placed the bell of the Clarinet on
my knee and gripped it loosely in one hand, staring at the daunting solos in
the beginning and end of the piece; two repetitious bars of breathless
staccatos in Treble Clef twice. With only the four of us, I wondered if we
could be powerful enough to be heard above a whisper.
“Hey, your name’s Mya, right?” the boy whispered next to me.
“Yeah,” I said, recognizing him vaguely from first period.
“You want to know a trick for the high notes.” His grimy fingernails
held out his clarinet for me to see. “You were playing them with this key
here.” He demonstrated the note with only his thumb under the back resting
plate. The clarinet wobbled until he caught it. “You’re hanging on by your
teeth. But there’s another fingering for the same note.” He showed me the
easier grasp and I followed on my own instrument.
“Thanks.” I smiled and got ready for our second attempt at the
scale. I found it much easier to focus on my breathing when I did not have to
clamp my jaw to prevent the instrument from slipping. We paused for another
section to practice and I rubbed my thumb, already dented and sore. I could
feel the skin on my lower lip reacting to the constant pressure and
saliva-soaked reed. I had forgotten how painful making music could be.
Sat.
Oct. 15
Dear Paige,
Got your letter, your summer sounded
way better than mine, I’m jealous. I’ve started high school as you know...you’re
so lucky you’re homeschooled, but I wish you didn’t have to move. At least the
school year is going better than expected. I’ve already made two new friends
that are both into music and we have been hanging out in the piano practice
room at recess. Calla is pretty quiet, like me, so it’s hard to determine what
she’s thinking (I thought she was Zale’s girlfriend or sister at first but
turns out just a friend). He talks so fast like he is used to not getting in a
word between his brothers and sisters and has to spit out everything on his
mind in one tangled jumble I am left to unravel. Since he’s a writer, he
notices things about me too. Little things I would not pick up on, like he told
me I skip steps going upstairs but not down, or that I hum or tap my leg
sometimes when I am trying to calm down. I cannot for the life of me figure out
his eye colour though. Probably b/c I never look people in the eye, but I think
it’s blue. That’s always the colour that reflects everything around them, like
grey when Nova Scotia skies are just one massive Thunderhead bearing down on us
for weeks without end. He messaged me to tell me he is going to give me a
surprise on Monday. When I asked what or if he could tell me, he said I would
see on Monday, so I’m wondering what it could be. Might be a copy of the book
he is always talking about that I tried to read but I don’t know how he stands
it. He compares me to the girl in it, but I think she’s lame with no hobbies
and the love triangle is stupid. Those things never happen in real life. He
could be bringing in the wood carving he was working on, that would be cool.
Considering how we met over him bragging (without it coming across as anything
more than pride and excitement) about being able to play 19 different
instruments, you understand my taste in guys. I only become interested for
their talents.
-Mya
I met Zale and Calla at my locker in the green wing on Monday. I
gathered my binders for class while they were talking a few feet away where I was
not able to hear. Their conversation ended abruptly with Calla storming away in
the other direction.
“Calla? What’s wrong?” My voice either did not reach her or she was
too upset to listen. “What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s nothing.” Zale’s calm expression was reassuring, and I
believed it was nothing she would not overcome by recess. He fiddled with the
broken zipper on his black bag and extracted something small.
“Oh, is this what you wanted to show me?” I tried to peer between
his clenched calloused fingers.
He opened his palm to reveal a beaded jade bracelet.
I laughed at the purchase. “What’s this for?”
He slid it on my wrist. “Just thought of you.”
“Well, thanks. It’s pretty. I like this colour.” I said stupidly as
we began circling the hallway of green lockers before taking the steps down to
the blue wing. The soles were nearly worn off his hand-me-down pair of
sneakers, flapping off the toe and the heel with each step, only hanging on by
the central instep. I rubbed the cool jade beads on my wrist.
“I wanted to ask you something.” He began.
I nodded, waiting for another one of his unusual writerly questions
that made me think, but he was quiet. I tapped my hip to my favourite piano
song, Forest Drums.
We had passed the computer lab before he started stuttering and
swallowing between words. “Would you…would you like to…go out with me?”
This was not the question I expected. I thought he would ask me
about the bugs paralyzed in formaldehyde jars in the biology room or what I
thought of the book series he adored. Seeing his growing panic, I said “sure.”
The words got caught in my throat and he still looked desperate when I whispered
“okay, yes” until he heard me.
His arms enclosed my body and I could feel him trembling in my arms.
I wondered if he was afraid of me or that I might have said “no.”
The bell interrupted us, and I gave him a parting smile, ready to go
to our separate classes when his arm wrapped around my shoulders. “I can’t wait
to update my Facebook status.” He said.
“Yeah,” I laughed nervously.
His grasp steered me toward the fork where we would have to part,
but he kept walking.
“Isn’t your class back there?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I’ll walk you to yours.” Zale said, his sweaty pit too
close to my nose.
My thoughts went on repeat of what
is he doing, to the stalling pattern of quarter and eighth notes rammed into
The Tempest for eighteen uninterrupted
bars. We reached the end of the hallway and I was released from his capture. He
left me standing in the hallway trying to remember the direction to my
classroom, his scent stuck to me; ingrained in my clothes.
The first two periods were a blur. Time seemed to only be marked by
my pulse. The only subject on my mind was how to politely tell Zale not to put
his sweaty arm around me. Spinning the jade beads around my wrist like a
shackle did not offer any calm solutions.
At recess I found my friends in the piano practice room, Zale
already striking out an elegant beat on the keys. He had taught me the
beginning of Für Elise by placing my
fingers on the keys as I had little luck at reading music. Now the same melody
sprang from his skilled fingers, filling up the cramped blank room with resonance.
Calla picked at the chipped beige paint before nodding to me as I entered. Zale
spun around on the seat with a warm smile. I sat next to him, beating out a
tune I had taught him.
The bell sends us our separate ways and I try to slip out of the
room without his arm falling around my shoulders like a weight. Instead, he catches
up to me, taking my hand as we leave the band room. At least his familiar
fingers, their webbing absent from years of extending across keyboards, was
warm against my suddenly clammy palms.
Being attached as we waded through swarms of students was not ideal
and my face grew flushed. Too many students clogged the hallway, last-minute
fishing through their lockers for textbooks, gym clothes, and a spritz of Axe.
I saw people I recognized ogling our hand hold and I glared at them through
burning moist eyes. I wanted to blend in, indistinguishable as a Clarinet’s
melody amongst the attention seeking trumpets and pretentious flutes. Blood
pulsed in my ears.
At lunchtime, Zale finds me,
and our hands interlock against my will. He is smiling, and my insides are
pulsing knots. We found our friends reserved a table, their band cases spread
amongst the empty chairs. Zale rested his hold on me and I sat down to dig out
my lunch. He pulled his chair close to mine as I opened a baggy. He took my
hand again to my friends’ grins and giggles. I glared at them.
“You’re so cute.” My friend wagged a finger between Zale and me.
I tried to ignore her and eat my lunch, but Zale had detained my dominant
hand. I tried to hold open the bag and eat left-handed as the others watched;
staring at the two of us tied together. Things were better before. When we were
friends. Before I understood what being boyfriend-girlfriend meant; how you
become measured under everyone else’s gaze.
My heart pounded, my stomach practicing trills up and down my
xylophone ribs. I felt queasy. I glanced at the fluorescents and my skin burned
like it had my first time on stage. The flood of spotlights seared my cheeks
and blinded me. I did not feel as frightened then, I knew the noises came from
the audience in the darkness beyond, just as the amplified hoots rose from the
cafeteria below us now. The students cheered on the contestants of the latest food
eating contest. Whoever could cram in the most with their hands behind their
backs won the prize.
My friends nibbled their snacks even though the jade table seemed to
be spinning. Or perhaps the blue and yellow checkers on the floor were moving;
dancing around to the beat of my unsteady breathing. Boom, ba-ba Boom, ba-ba
Boom.
“I need to call home.” I headed to the office.
Zale followed me with true concern on his sweet face, but I felt
sick to my stomach to look at him and went to the front desk. They told me to
wait in the sickbay, which I discovered quickly was a cramped little room with
an ominous toilet tucked around the corner in case it came to that. Zale asked
if he could wait with me and my breathing became shallow. His sincerity was not
able to grasp that I needed to escape him.
Waiting for this sickness to come spilling out of me was only made
worse by his presence. He did not say anything, even though I longed for a
distraction from this discomfort. When my mother came to get me, I slid the
jade beads off my wrist and tucked them into my backpack. There was no sense
telling her he was my boyfriend, because after today he no longer would be.
Mon.
Oct. 17
Dear Paige,
Never again am I going to
say yes to going out with someone! Fantasy books and movies fill our heads with junk! I know you probably haven’t received my first letter yet, but I might as
well send this now before you get excited and encouraging like everyone else. I
ruined it. The friendship we had. He asked me out and I said yes before I had
to end it through Facebook. How despicable is that? I told myself I had to save
him from embarrassment, he was going to tell all his friends before I would
have to humiliate him in person the next day. I told myself it would be is
easier, but it was just awful, and I kept crying. I think I ruined everything.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s in two of my yearlong classes. It’s
going to be awkward.
-Mya
I turned on the keyboard in my
room and the red light of the Yamaha told me the tempo was set at 120. I turned
it on and tried a simple right-handed song to the rhythm. After three notes I
was behind the clicking metronome and I started over. Tick, tick, tick, tick. I
joined in for less than two notes before the beat clicked in between notes and
I was lost. I could not keep up with the pace.
I switched it off and tried at my own pace, but I no longer felt
like playing.
I had to go to school the next day and faced Zale at my locker. I took out the bracelet and held it out.
“No, you keep it.” He said.
“Are you sure you don’t want your money back?” I said, watching him
struggle with the broken zipper on his bag.
“It wasn’t that much. You keep it.”
“Okay.” I slid the bracelet back in my bag, knowing I would never
wear it again. I wished he would just take it back. I wished we could just take
back yesterday and have it never happened. The bell sounded, and I picked up my
clarinet case.
“Walk to band?” Zale asked.
I nodded, and we headed down through the cafeteria where the janitor
was sweeping up from the breakfast program before the next disaster could
strike.
We opened our instruments over our labeled cubbies, winding the
corks ends into the shaft and pinching the ligature around the soaked reed. Zale
and I were one of the last two in the instrument storage and I bit my lip. “I’m
sorry. I hope you understand.” I said even though I did not understand anything
myself.
He once told me he went without music for a year and it was the worst experience of his life. Like he was drowning under the pressure. How was my worst experience being stuck with someone for less than a day? There was nothing wrong with him. Even now as he put his instrument together with trained musical fingers. I still cared for him a lot.
“It’s okay. I understand.” He said.
I sat in the front row next to Zale; managing to avoid puddles
from emptied spit valves and sweating water bottles. The teacher emerged from
her office and raised her baton. “We’ll start with The Water is Wide. On one, raise your instruments, on two, take a
breath, and on three, make music.”
We followed her waving movements until a musical pattern emerged
vaguely amongst the noise. I used the fingering Zale showed me for the higher
notes and the Clarinet did not try to slide off my thumb or rip my teeth from
my mouth. The instrument was becoming familiar again after a long summer
without practice and our scale sounded more like music than turmoil in the
cafeteria.
Mon.
Dec. 19
Dear Paige,
We got silver! Our music teacher said
we should have gotten gold, but we performed first in the competition and there
is only one gold medal, so the judges were being careful not to hand it out
right away. We played The Water is Wide,
which was sleepy, but with the other half of the band, The Tempest was so loud you could practically see the judges’ seats
shaking.
I thought I should update you since my
last letter probably left you worried. I’m still friends with Zale, it might be
awkward for a bit, but at least we’re friends. My friend, Calla, said maybe I’m
just not ready for dating. And then she told me why she was so angry. She likes
him too, but he didn’t ask her out. I told her if I knew that I never would
have even considered him, but it’s okay now, we both agreed not to date him. I
just won’t tell her that for my Christmas present he kissed me on the cheek. It
was so soft and delicate. If he had just done that before, I wouldn’t have had
a panic attack and broken up with him, but at least this way we can all be
friends again.
Cannot wait to hear from you, and hope
you come to visit soon. Merry Christmas.
Your
BFF, Mya
The End
I hope you enjoyed this short story with letter components and the photo below demonstrating the reference to my actual clarinet playing capabilities around the age of the character in the fictional story. If I picked up a clarinet now, I would have to relearn the keys, brush up on reading music once again, and be careful of my front teeth. However, I would enjoy learning a musical instrument again as it was a great asset to have. For now, I will continue to casually play piano in my spare time. I hope this inspires you to take bits and pieces from your own life and shuffle them into a new creative style of short story, because it can be a lot of fun.
-Julia May
Comments
Post a Comment