A Christmas Memory

My own memory

Polished instruments glinted in the bright fluorescent light, each as shiny as a brand new dollar coin. Their owners were chatting in their various sections while fiddling with their dog-collar like bowties, urging to take them off but not daring to do so under our conductor’s threatening stare. Not until after the performance, she had sternly warned us earlier, as a teacher would her unruly students. Then you can relax.

Frankly, I thought we looked like waiters in our crisp white shirts, coal-black dress pants and cherry red waistcoats, but mentioning it now would be suicidal. We were all, including the conductor, Amanda, like little kids waiting for Christmas, nearly shaking with anticipation and slight dread for our time to come because we knew that once it did, it would be over in what would feel like a heartbeat.

“OK, start warming up. No talking!”

We each raised our various instruments to our mouths and played whatever notes we felt like. For the next 

ten minutes, the sound of thirty dying cats filled the box like room, but not one person so much as winced. It was something we were all too used to hearing every Thursday evening whenever we would gather to practice.

My fingers moved to their own free will, the familiar feeling of the keys beneath them comforting me with the knowledge that my hands couldn’t exactly shake when they were holding a saxophone. Robotically, I just managed to not muck up the simple G major after we had finished tuning our now slightly warmer instruments, intently watching the baton in Amanda’s hand like it was a movie I couldn’t miss a single second of.

We came together into two parallel lines, our various heights from very tall to very short making it like a 

wonky rollercoaster. Our small army marched outside into the chilly morning that seemed foreign to us after the almost Saharan heat of the building we had just been in.

Our instruments quickly cooled in the air like food that had just been taken out from an oven. We walked across to the hall we would be performing in as quiet as mice, everyone blowing more heat into the mouthpieces. It was the only thing we could do to make sure we didn’t go completely flat.

Within five minutes, they were ready for us. Not being able to say anything without alerting the people inside, our conductor gave us a quick wink, which relaxed us. It was the familiar in the unfamiliar, something that we trusted. And with one quick gulp, I was ready to play in front of the world.