Invisible

A Story by Eve

This one comes from the heart.

Cheer erupts from the seats. With it, my heart rises and jumps, causing my blood to rush through my veins. I look around the room, my old band room; where it all began. A voice is heard over the cheers, quieting them. I move past my memories of middle school band and look at my shaking white hands that lay on my saxophone. The instrument glows in the light, if only I looked just as beautiful. If the room weren’t filled with voices, I would hear every flutter of my heart and every stir of the insects flying in my stomach. Mr. Srall claps his hands to hush his band.

“The Middle School Jazz Band just finished, so head out to the hall in front of the backstage doors!” He explains. I can’t do this; I can’t do this. I think to myself as I watch the others stand with their instruments in their hands, laughing and smiling like they aren’t about to set out on stage. No one notices my hesitation, thank goodness. I look around; maybe I can just stay here. I’ll just disappear somewhere until after my band performs. The room slowly empties, so through all my terror, I stand and follow the crowd.

We wait in the hall between the backstage doors and the middle school band room. I sigh and look back at the room’s doors. More cheers come from the audience, making me look back at the stage entrance. I take a step back, black fear consuming every bit of what they call Claire. Still staring at one option, I clamp my feet together. Tonight isn’t my first time; I can do this...My fingertips grow cold and numb, but my palms begin to heat up. I’ve never done something like this. I’m going to mess this all up….I’m no good. I’ll just let Mark take my part. I give up; I’m done with all of this. I make my decision when Mr. Srall turns the corner. He doesn’t say a word, but he smiles and nods to me. Strangely, I smile back. I escape the black hole, or the black hole fades. Either way, I remember why I’m here.

Mr. Srall pushes us out on stage. We don’t make eye contact again, but I don’t need it. Not until the stage lights hit me full force and I have to watch my feet on the wooden stage. I sit down, one of my best friends on the right, and a girl from my marching band on my left. When I can finally look up, I search the dimmed faces in the crowd. I take a deep breath when I can’t find my family, and look back at my best friend. She smiles, clutching her borrowed saxophone, unsure what to do with it. I’m the veteran here. Or at least that’s what Mr. Srall tells me. I look down at the little blocks we’re supposed to use for stands. Life would be so simple if that were my only issue. In this light, my saxophone outshines everyone. I smile, my hands still shaking.

We begin after Mr. Srall makes his little speech. First, there is quiet; then there is drums and guitar. Soon I’m completely engrossed within the music. Sometimes my foot is tapping to keep the counts; sometimes I don’t even count. The notes and rhythms blur into one as they fly out of the bell of my baby. The first song is easy; we do better than we have in all our rehearsals. When we finish, I look back at Mr. Srall, who is smiling back at us. That’s when I relax from my playing position and catch restricted breaths from playing. Instead of a full smile, I grin at the crowd, silently thanking them for their cheers that erupted when we relaxed. This process is so perfect, a silent agreement that never needed help.

We move onto our next song, the hardest. This time, Mr. Srall doesn’t introduce the piece. I look over the music, checking all the notes I wrote and calm my sprinting heart. Mr. Srall steps in front of us for the first time tonight and performs his famous loud snaps at the beginning tempo.

“The rest is on you,” he says to the rhythm section. He pulls his hands up, bringing us up with it. There are hushes throughout the crowd in anticipation. First, his hands go up just a little more, before he slowly allows them to fall, breathing at the same time that they hit their lowest point. Following our conductor, we breathe as a group. This action begins the longest piece I have ever played. This time, everything is lost from me. The music starts out slow and soft, just like a story. Even when playing, I’m carried into my own story. I’m dropped into a world of no words, nothing but me and the notes. I follow them through mountains and lakes, deserts and forests. As the music slows, reality returns and I tune back into my own surroundings. We end in a long note with just two people playing. The crowd bursts into cries and cheers.

Mr. Srall goes back to the microphone to the right and explains what our audience has just heard. He stumbles a few times, even pauses to find himself again. My best friend looks over at me and smirks. I try to return the smirk, but my blood has begun to boil once again. Looking over the last piece, I wonder what would happen if I gave up. Maybe I just won’t play, I can let the others do this without me. Mr. Srall finally moves past the last song and introduces the next and final piece of the night. When he finishes, he returns to the front, signaling for us to prepare for the end of our performance, making every organ in my body go numb.

Before his hands go down from their waiting position, Mr. Srall looks at me. I try to grin, or even smirk, but instead, I give him a quirk at the corner of my mouth. He smiles big enough for the both of us and nods. Deep breaths, he silently tells me without another move. If I run now, I’ll disappoint too many people. I do this for them...for he who is in that crowd somewhere watching me. This time, there are no hushes from the group, nothing but complete silence. Mr. Srall waits longer than usual to hold that quiet for us to use. I take one more small breath before looking at Mr. Srall, too many thoughts going through my mind.

The closer we reach the end of the song, the worse it gets. My face is warm just from mentally preparing myself. I don’t feel the magic to this piece. The notes are played, the emotion is given, but I don’t hear any of it. Not until we reach the climax of the song. I concentrate on tuning myself back into the notes; the reason I love this piece as much as I do. Mr. Srall moves the microphone in front of me, an inch away from the opening of my saxophone as I stand from my chair with numb legs.

My thoughts disappear, leaving nothing but the music. I listen to the rhythm and chords given by the rhythm section while I perform the melody. The fingers moving on the buttons of the instrument at my mouth blend within the music. The neck strap holding the saxophone disappears so that the piece and the player are woven together. There are no whispers among the crowd anymore. Even the audience has become interlaced to what is being done. We reach the full climax of the song, and it takes all of my energy. I don’t concentrate on the notes, but what I want everyone around me to hear. I play what I want them to see. Joy surges through me at the realization that he will finally understand what this life means to me.

When the song ends, I am still standing just as Mr. Srall told me to do. He cuts us off, and silence fills the room louder than anything played tonight. Although I can’t see anyone, I can feel everyone’s eyes. They sit, feeling the emotion rolling off of me. By the point where I can’t stand it anymore, Mr. Srall allows us to breathe. He drops his hands and the crowd immediately bursts into noise. I release my own shaking breath and give my audience a small little grin. Mr. Srall has the rest of the band stand with me, while we look out over the crowd, the whole assortment shudders in relief. We did it; we made it through our first performance. When the noises begin to slow, Mr. Srall stands by me and lays his hands out to me palms up, telling the crowd to cheer for me. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, everyone is clapping and screeching. My face all of a sudden heats up at the attention from so many people. Yet, my night is still not full-filled.

Band members from both the middle school and the high school congratulate me on my big solo. I thank them and avoid long conversations. After my saxophone is put away, I collect my things and head out to find family members. The second I step out into the hall I’m surrounded by everyone from strangers to best friends. People I don’t even know congratulate me. I thank them, but I don’t stop until I reach the middle school’s lobby. There I find my mother, little brother, grandparents and two aunts. When I see them, I put down my saxophone safely in its case and hug them. I’m given more congratulations, which I then give my best forced smiled, studying faces all around us. My mother tells me how proud she is, and everyone starts into how far I’ve come since the fifth grade when I first started playing. My little brother also looks around, overwhelmed by all the people.

We have a short conversation that I half-heartedly contribute to while watching our surroundings. My grandparents and aunts give their last hugs and congratulations before they leave.

“I’m so proud of you.” My grandmother whispers while she hugs me. I don’t respond but give a slight smirk. Once they’re out of sight, I look around one more time before looking at my mother, who is only watching me. I open my mouth to say something but am interrupted by Mr. Srall.

“That was so amazing, Claire! I’m so proud of you,” he tells me, giving me that contagious smile of his. However this time, I respond with a silent straight face and then look past him. Why do I still care? When has that ever done me any good? Out of the corner of my eye, his smile falters as he watches me. I sigh and look back at my mother.

“Hey, Mom?” She smiles, happy I’m saying anything.

“Yeah?” She responds. I glance at Mr. Srall who doesn’t look like he’s going to move, before answering my mother.

“Where’s Dad?”

© 2018 Eve

Author's Note

Not everything is as it seems.

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Featured Review

Soraya

Loved it, the thing about your story that I've loved is the stress that you made me feel when I was reading the part where Claire was in front of everyone playing , it was so stressful, there was something sweaty fearful and challenging about it, let's say a whiplash thing if you know the movie, but what I did not like is that I knew from the begining that this is going to be the story where the dad who maybe because he works won't come, I wanted to get more surprised because the text is so well written, it made me struggle for Claire when she felt discomfort, I've enjoyed it, thank you.