Me and My Cello

"Who would be interested in the cello?" The teacher, with her great spiky grey hair, looked around at us.

So many of us were crowded into that room. I was wearing a yellow dress, with flowers near the hem. My sister wears it now, in the summer.

Four of us raised our hands . I was the only girl. All my friends had chosen the smaller instruments. Violin and Viola. But I knew I wanted the cello. The teacher played the cello, and it was elegant. Beautiful. True.

The teacher measured the other potential cellist's hands. When she came to mine she remarked that I was going to need a very small cello. My fourth grader hands, next to her wonderfully spindly and knowledgeable hands made me feel insignificant. Those were musician hands. Those hands were magic...

"Hey girli." She snapped her gum and smiled. I closed the door behind her. She took off her shoes and I marveled how any one's toes could fit into those pointy things. My teacher sat down in the green chair in our living room. I sat down next to her and put Suzuki book two on the wire stand. She tucked a strand of her long blond behind her ear and wrote the date down in my notebook.
"OK. Play me allegretto."
I loved Allegretto. This song was my song. My cello, whom I'd named Peasblossom, was an old beater cello from the school district. I loved that cello. The song sounded good. My teacher put a star next to it...


I held my cello next to me and glanced at Mum. She smiled and my new private teacher's previous student walked out of the music room and untightened her bow. My new teacher followed. We were are introduced. My mum thanked her and I followed my teacher into the music room. I set up and she asked me about myself and then explained the curriculum. I played with nervous fingers, not wanting to disappoint her or myself. We tried out new music and she found a book at my level. As I played I decided I liked it there. It was organized and calm. And she wore slippers. I loved her slippers. And the fact that she wore them.
The songs were friendly and the cover of the book was that wonderful combination of blue and brown. Its weird how things like that stick in your mind. She played perfectly, without making me feel horrible about myself.
She's my hero.



I glanced back at DemiDawn (http://www.minavstand.blogspot.com/) and she smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I looked at my brother, who was, quite literally turning blue from holding back laughter because Dad was doing something funny with his hands and he couldn't make a sound, due the cellist performing in front of us. My hands were shaking, and I'm not even near the stage yet. My Mum took one of the books my sister was reading and opened to one of the blank pages near the back. She wrote in black pen, which has faded now, to brown. Her handwriting was unsteady suggesting that she was as nervous, if not more so, than I was. I read the inscription, and my pride hummed. I took her hand and squeezed. I waited.
Then, in what felt like mere seconds, I was up. Ready to meet my impending doom. Suddenly my cello was anchoured on the rockstop, my book in it's place and I was ready. So exciting. So fufilling. My fingers were shaking, and my tone was scared, but I did it. I beamed as I finished. I did it.


The curtains went up via a holister jacket-clad stagehand. Someone might have vomited on my cumerbund because there was a nasty tan stain on it. My orchestra teacher raised her baton and the whole Orchestra knew what was coming. This was what we had been waiting for. This made listening to the whole concert behind sweltering velvet fabric worthwhile. I felt my body moving with my instrument even before the intro was over. I laughed inside. Comrarderie swelled in us all, and for now no one could complain.


Different stage. Tuxedo shirt. New cello. A book of music now. Adrenaline thrums through my body. The conductor of the youth symphony raises her baton and the violins start. She cues us in. I've been waiting for this. We strike a high note. Our first in the song. My cello sings. And it is beautiful. It is shameless. My face is warm with the light that shines down. It is like a floodgate being opened. Beautiful. Free.