Being Observant is a Curse

Another Monday

It's just another Monday. My fingers pull at the light fabric of my dark skirt. I was well aware of how pale I looked in contrast. Jazz filled the commons and I snuck to its source, the music room. The offices and halls were too dark and the only light being thrown was coming from wide open doors to the room where my heart resided. I winced as my sneakers squeak.

Please, don't notice me. Please, don't notice me.

I crouch down and swing the small to my locker open. Seeing with my hands I placed a smaller rectangular case atop my flute. I stand quickly once I'm satisfied and close the door slowly with my foot. A trumpet stumbles and with it my heart rate.

I set out at a quick pace towards the exit. A small smile forms on my face. Our new band director started screaming the notes followed by a "...that's how much energy we need." I sit down at the nearest commons table.

I gripped my pencil case. Even with the minor intonations, exhausted underclassmen learning jazz seemed comforting. Enough to even let my mind drift away from my uncomfortable sweaty body. My conscious seemed to scoff at the mere fact it was a Monday. I slowly shook my head as a memory swiftly took over.

... "Everyone! Onstage now!" a male voice boomed from the front of the stage. I made my way over and dropped so I sat crisscross, with how close I was I was probably going to be in the front. I looked at the tall man that was falling apart without his co-director.

"What was that?" He asked which seemed to ripple and resonate with us. I looked down at my feet as did the female lead who sat next to me.

"We're tired." A distinct voice rose from the back. I didn't have to turn my head to see the permanent sass stuck to her pale face. Yet, I nodded my head ever so slightly.

"Why?" His clear eyes looked from face to face, "do we need to do another warm up?"

"It's a Monday," a voice pipes behind me and the owner drapes their arms over my shoulders causing me to flinch in surprise. To which they wrapped their arms around my neck and rested their chin on my head. My stomach tensed but I knew it was my friend and at that my character's right-hand man.

"Really?" the director fixes his ginger hair.

Some chime in with confirming words while others nod but I sat perfectly still. It seemed like almost a trick question.

"Guys, sometimes we've got to work on Mondays, adults do," He climbed up on stage, "We've got to work at least seventy percent, can we do that?"

Some complain but a lot of heads nod. The director claps his hands and it echoes in the small auditorium. An ensemble member jumps, clearly he was napping.

"Circle time!" He shouts with his diaphragm despite being five feet away, "Quick. Quick," He commands as we all somewhat rush to form a circle.....

A tall figure pulls a chair next to me and blinking away my thoughts I look up. The strong slightly tense face of my best friend looks down at me. I give her a small smile and she seems to loosen but tension always hangs on her appearance. My attention is drawn back to the jazz and I relay my happiness to our beautiful new band director, despite the uncertainty that clung to my stomach with thoughts of concert band in the winter. She gives me silence which I take as an agreement.

A trumpet shrieks and was undoubtedly the first chair.

"A trumpet is going sharp..." she notes as she pulls out her phone. I lean forward and my brain races to match pitches and harmonies. No not sharp. They were in tune, they had just approached a note they didn't have enough air for.

"I doubt it, sounds like my sister tho," I relaxed and fiddled with the zipper on my pencil case.

"They're not bad..."

Not bad?! Well, they weren't our last year seniors but as a small school, we held our place with the big bands in our area. Taking home lots of blue medals.

"You know, our middle school bands have been claimed to sound like high school and our high school holds its place as sounding as good as a college."

She makes a remark but it slips before I can understand. There were definitely days we could go toe to toe with the local college, we're not Petoskey but our kids have reputation without the ego.

She kept talking seeming to not notice my mood shift. Which I was grateful it didn't come across. Mondays weren't her strength either, I guess.

I can only assume this is what Mondays mean; first day back to work, small arguments, dragging music with dragging words. It doesn't seem like a day to complain about. Not yet anyway. Personally, all days seemed equally horrible despite the ever-cheery facade I build; fake it till you make it. That's what we're told right?