I stand outside the door

I stand outside the door and wait. My fingers vibrating and wailing to begin. I clutch my music, bow, and violin. Quietly, I wipe my sweaty palms and breathe. The door opens and in I go, reminding myself of Andrew’s encouragement: I’m here, glorifying GOD! My beating, bumping, throbbing heart relaxes. I smile and set the music on the stand. The judges glance up and nod. I sit on the bleachers, stirring every two seconds. I check for friends to distract me but they’re busy. I read and try to focus, JUMPING everytime I see a new result. It’s not mine. It’s not mine. Is it mine? My mind floats back to practicing D flat, the many times running up and down and always ending up a normal D. I’m suspicious of my fingers skating and sinking off the notes. Annie stands on the gym floor calling up to me everytime. It’s not mine. It’s not mine. My hands fly through the excerpts, shifting up the fingerboard, landing directly on top of the sound, the notes ringing out of my instrument. I try to hide the smile twitching on my lips. I might be able to do this. My bow draws steadily across the string, swaying widely. My vibrato cooperates for once, the hours of practice paying off. I finish my piece, the last chord singing, the sound reverberating around the room. I lower my violin. The judge thanks me and I leave. A man steps up the ladder and I JUMP! Annie yells up to me. I arrive on the floor in a breath. Book nearly falling off the bench. I nearly tumbled head over heels. I wade through the people congratulating each other, crying on each other’s shoulders, dispersing slowly. I walk forward and yelp, hands FLY to my mouth. People congratulate me. I can’t stop the smile. Laughter overflows in bubbles. Many arms wrap around me. All-state is mine. But bittersweetness sets in. Andrew didn’t get in. JuJu is alternate. Boris is too. JoJo. My friends. I would give them my spot. Vocal, violin, cello, bassoon. I want to give them my spot. Confusion. HURT. I remember the feeling from last year. What did they do wrong? Why are they the ones not to get in? Why me? What did I do right? I got in. I DID IT! Hours of practice. Hours of work. Hours of doing and redoing, practicing those nuisance shifts, doing the scales in six different rhythms. Andrew calls me All-stater already. I DID IT! Back to practicing. Take out the metronome. Hours of practice. Hours of work. Hours of doing and redoing.