Death and Other Fun Stuff (#Wattys2015)

Ramblings of a Wallflower

I am sitting in the band room.

listening to the screeches and thrums

and buzzes and drones of a million instruments

the din of

individual practice

rising up to form a

thunderous chaos we

band kids

know and adore.

we make

the most beautiful discord

in the world.

Chair auditions are about to begin

our battle, our tournament

and we scrutinize our music

play it over and over

scour the sound for

a single bump or kink

but then

there's me-

the trombone recruit.

innocent to the world of low brass,

once a dainty clarinet

dainty and bored.

My sound

is miles from melodious

off- key and wavering

amateur.

my lungs strain

the slide flies

my lips tense,

reaching for note after note

but they remain stubbornly

outside my grasp.

my

stupid

sectionmate

my love?

some stupid heartbreaker

no

my sectionmate, like a classmate but

during band-

meanders over lazily sometimes

without speaking to me.

he buzzes out notes carelessly

and he's terrible,

the whole band knows

but he is so much better than me...

The idea is sickening.

I'm curled over a book now-

It, by Stephen King,

and the string bass player

wanders over for a second

attempting to coax a conversation out of me

but it does not come.

She leaves.

The baritone player

sits a few seats away

hunched over his instrument quietly

eyes

closed

as usual.

A lot of times I wonder

what thoughts spin inside his head.

I should practice my instrument

but my mouth is too tired

my lips are floppy and numb

and I'm simply not

improving,

anyway.

At first heat rushed to my cheeks

and tears sparked in my eyes

because as much as I hate to admit

something inside me demands perfection

unrealistic perfection.

music and art

are agony

because I am never

talented enough

I will eternal fail myself

and there's one other thing-

did you know,

me and my sectionmate

once shared a connection...

he brushed it aside, or something like that

and now he wanders away with our music

to mess around with his friends

and it sure stings

that he won't help

lil' old me

with this stupid instrument that

continuously disobeys me.

I don't know

what I think of him

but the snare drums

smash behind me

driving away all thoughts

and my supposed best friend

is next to me now

pretending to chat

and I'm so

disconnected