Last week was one of those weeks. And this weekend (so far) has been one of those weekends. School was harsh on the body mentally and physically. (My backpack, lunch box, and violin all have to be lugged to school with me; I look like a nomad). It started off not too terrible, but by friday I had bags under the bags I already had under my eyes in the first place. Friday was a turning point, though. Friday morning I got up extra early, (thanks to some annoying techno on the radio), and got to school for tutorials. My teacher wasn't there so I waited outside her door, and took a short standing-up nap in the hallway. She arrived, I got about five-minutes tutorial time in, and then I looked at the clock. I was so knee-deep into Algebra II that I hadn't realized the time- I had three minutes to get to class which was on the other side of the school.
The tardy line was long, and my patience was short. THat was my second one this WHOLE year and I absolutely despised missing half my class so I could go get a yellow ticket, a nerd's mightmare, and walk in class, eyes on you, late. But then I remembered my Attitude Book I got a few weeks back. I wasn't going to complain, anymore, nope, nope, nope. Instead, I thought in compliments. The tardy lady was wearing a bob dylan shirt. "I like your shirt" I said. "My shoes?" she responded, her voice blunt. "No-your shirt. Bob Dylan, right?" She didn't answer back. No thank you's, either. She handed me my ticket and grouched, "Next!". Goodbye, I said not out loud. At that moment I had a crazy idea flash through my head- don't go right back to class. Maybe take a walk outside- the weather was nice. Go somewhere. I was already tardy, right? I thought about my teacher. I thought about my chair and how I don't learn as fast as I would like to, and how I only make great grades by trying hard and paying attention and listening, close. So my bummed self walked back to class. I was beginning to tear my tardy pass, when my fingers folded instead. They folded the edges down, soft, creased it down the middle. Bent it and smoothed the points. I had made the paper heart Loryn had eagerly taught me, proud as any eight-year old who learned how to do origami, a week ago. I gave it to my teacher that way. Friday came, went, and left, and so did today.
Today was Solo & Ensemble. My solo was the Roumanian Folk dances. The thing about this selection was that most people laughed when they looked at my music. Or said that it looked too easy. Or asked why I chose such an EASY piece. The word "easy" described my music a lot. But it WASN'T. The Roumanian Folk dances don't take that long to play, especially if you only are allowed to play the first two movements, which I did. My old teacher was my pianist, and she showed her other students my music, so that they could all inwardly laugh at me, my "easy" pieces. Not hard notes. Quick duration. But easy is not the proper word. Simple, yes. Not easy. That piece of music took me forever to learn, to play, because it wasn't about playing the notes- it was about making the music. To master what Bartok was trying to portray in this piece of music is extremly difficult, and I haven't really got it. Maybe no one has. Or maybe, everyone has. Who knows. But all I know is that I played it, simple and all and dug deep into the heart of the piece, and made a one, which means I get to go to State, and play for the judge there. Exciting stuff. But when I walked out of the room and into the hallway where all the kids were waiting no one cared. Last year, I performed Czardas and I played it so well that all the kids in the hallway were dancing to my performance. This year, they were slumped against the walls. I'm still happy though, and I'm still having to remember: it's not about me.
Before I went into the judging room, my mom whispered something in my ear. She said, "God be with you- God is with you." That helped, and me right now, typing this, feels the warmth of those words seep deep into my soul, and nourish.
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