dear november

11.22.14

Dear November,

I was too tired to write to you yesterday, so here I am now.

Today was an adventure. Maybe not a traditional one, with a cute boy and finding yourself among trees and perfectly aesthetically pleasing wildlife but more like music and metaphors and talking old band directors about choices and thought processes. Aaaand a cute boy. But that's not important. 

After the rehearsal this morning, Ms. S and I went to the music store to get some parts, and for me to check out the mellophone there. As it turned out, there was no mellophone, but instead I did get to play a used horn they had. And: Ms. S offered to buy it for me, and the school, on the spot. 

It was a lot to think about. 

It played great, there was even a spit valve (!!!) and I could actually prop it up on my knee without it being too high, since the horn I'm currently playing is kind of big for me. It was a little heavy, a little denser and had thicker, silver piping. The thing is, November, if I buy this French horn (used horns for under 2,000 are rare in this area), that's what I'll be playing all throughout high school. I will not get a mellophone; this is what I will march with. Because our school isn't rich and is built on fundraising and tattered fields and after-school tutoring and our instruments are beat up but that's fine. 

Ugh. Who am I kidding? It's not. Surprisingly, I'm not freaking out about this as much as I was earlier, in the music shop. Duh. Okay, yeah. I think I've made up my mind. I'm going to buy that horn, or the school is, and I will enjoy its appropriate sizing and tarnished silver and I'll play trumpet in the parades. Okay? It's how we deal. We compromise. 

Did I mention? I got to play a cello today. I think I'm in love with the lower register. 

Sincerely, Esther