A Night of Havoc, part 1 in which I die

Tonight was dreadful.

I cursed 500 times more tonight than I did the last month combined. (When you see the word 'granola,' you can bet that it's a substitute for some other thoughts.)

First of all, it's a Monday. Everyone can understand that. But I had piano lessons, from 4:30 to 6:00, since my sister and I take our lessons back-to-back. I kept stressing about the lessons, and I almost forgot about my concert. But the school is close by to my teacher's house, and the time would be just right.

But on the way to my piano teacher's house, I remembered that I left my orchestra uniform and shoes home, but luckily, my sister had a concert too (elsewhere) and so my mother said she would come back with it.

Meanwhile, I had forgotten the call time and assumed it to be 6:30 P.M., but I told my mother 6:15, just in case.

She picked me up from piano lessons late because of all the exceedingly-congested rush hour traffic which happens to occur right in front of my neighborhood. I quickly changed in the car and right as we were in front of the school, both of us realized that I didn't have my violin.

...

My violin. How could I forget my instrument to an orchestra concert. I wanted to hit myself so hard and knock my body unconscious. I took a hold of myself and told my poor, stressed mother to please bring back my violin in 10 minutes, max. Our house is unfortunately 5 minutes away, not including the traffic. Poor Mother, I put too much stress on you today, didn't I.

As I walked in from the frosty outside air into the nicely heated building, people gave me strange looks. Well, I was wearing our 1960s-styled orchestra dress, which only the freshmen girls had to wear.

And when I strolled (with worried thoughts in my head) into the orchestra room, where my orchestra was supposed to meet, I think I died just then and there:

Everyone was dressed out, sitting in their chairs with instruments in hand. The director was tuning, and (I swear,) every. Single. Person. Was. Staring. At. Me. And. My. Empty. Hand.


Holy freaking granola goddess, why did the call time have to be 6:15.


I checked my watch. It was 6:20. I would have points deducted for being late, and not only that, I HAD NO INSTRUMENT. The director didn't even look at me. I panicked, and my friends looked at me with a mix of concern and shock. It's times like these that I truly wish time were on my side.

Panicking, I walked in and out of the room, but with no instrument. Holy granola bars, I was going to be murdered ruthlessly by my directors, I knew it. Of all days, why today to have bad luck?

Finally, I called my mother and she was coming, and she was annoyed. I stood by the double-doors, waiting and praying and desperately staring for the vehicle that would deliver the vital goods.

6:41. The highly-anticipated violin had arrived. After 20 minutes. Oh gawd, the director would kill me now, wouldn't he? My orchestra was almost done with their rehearsal, which I had missed, and I rushed into the eerie room and quickly unpacked my violin, only to find that my shoulder-rest was not there. I would just have to manage.

As my group practiced their last song, I tried to keep up, hands cold from the short trip outside and nerves causing havoc on my mind and body. Through the few minutes of practice I got, I kept thinking of what the director would do to me tomorrow. I was sure I would fail.

Fortunately, after we rehearsed, we had a few minutes to calm down before we entered the stage. I was ever-so-grateful to the concertmaster, because he let me use his shoulder-rest, since he doesn't use it. I'm indebted to him.

The concert was overall ok. My mental state was not.

I rushed home, not wanting to face the director at all. Though it may have been better if I did, for he most likely would not rebuke me. I'm still nervous, and my senses are on edge, like I've taken too much caffeine, and I know something will pop out from behind a corner but I'm not sure what.

...

I am awaiting the director's punishment. I'm sure it'll be harsh. What if I fail? I am done for. I know it's all my fault and I'm pretty much responsible for this, but I do not want to die. Though I think I already am.