Bowie

1

          I hung my sweatshirt on the hook next to the countless others before finding an empty table to sit at and study. Sophomore year at Juilliard wasn't going as I hoped it would. I got into this school by playing the Violin. I have spent countless hours, days, and even months practicing, with the hopes that one day I would get into my dream school. And I did.
        
          In the summer after freshman year, my father took me to see a local Jazz band. And when I heard the sound of a saxophone for the first time is when I had my doubts about the Violin. Of course I loved my instrument. All I could think of is my dad telling me throughout the years to stick with an instrument if you want to get good. And that's what I did.

          That was also the summer my boyfriend of 4 years broke up with me. It was a surprise. He went to an Ivy League school in New Hampshire while I went to a Juilliard. We said we would work things out. He also told me he was gay. Which wasn't the surprise at all. We are still friends. Or that's what I've heard. We haven't tried contacting each other since the beginning of the year.

          I looked down at the blank music sheet in front of me. This week we had to write a piece of music. Nothing new. I've done it before. I found it easier to get it done in the small caffè and fix things after, actually playing the piece in the music room. The problem was I'm too shy to ask for anyone's opinion that is in my class. I only had a couple of friends. Or people I talked too.

          In my spare time, which isn't much, I usually read or write. I listen to music occasionally. Rock, Classical, Jazz. A lot of the inspiration came form my dad. Growing up with a dad who listens to Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Alice in Chains and a mother who listened to Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven, my confusion about what kind of music was socially acceptable to listen too was off the charts. Until I figured out it was okay to play the Violin and listen to rock and roll.

          I looked up from the empty page and looked out the window. It had started to downpour.

          "Shoot!" I whispered to myself. I quickly gathered my papers and headed for the door. Remembering I left my sweatshirt on the hook. I grabbed mine and continued to run to my car. I slipped in and put my stuff in the passenger seat. The windows in my car were all rolled down because earlier it had been a nice fall day. How stupid am I?
          Since writing music was out of the question and out of my mind, I drove to a book store that one of my teachers had told me about the week before. I parked my car in front of the store and got out, remembering to close the windows this time, I ran too the store before I got soaked.

          I spent about an hour looking through the various genre of literature, settling on two Stephen King books that I would later read while I was sitting in the window seat. I have a 9th floor apartment and could see the people walking around on the streets below. After I picked out the books, I carried them over to the counter.

          "Will this be all Ms..." She squinted at my sweatshirt. I knew what was coming, my last name. I've been through this a million times. As did everyone with Juilliard sweatshirts with their last names on it. "Bowie?"

          My eyes widened. That's not my last name. I looked down at the sweatshirt that I had thought was mine for the last hour. "Um... Yes thank you. You can call me Ilse. I'll probably be back a lot more." I smiled. But my last name isn't Bowie, I must have grabbed the wrong sweatshirt.