This story was first posted on July 26, 2017. I once attended an orchestra concert at an elementary school where someone’s bow went flying during one of the pieces. It was definitely a highlight of the concert. It was for me, anyway.
Gerard
started playing the violin when he was three years old. He had
two lessons, and then quit because he hated to practice. He
picked it up again when he was ten and didn’t mind practicing so
much. It helped that he didn’t really practice all that
often, of course.
Perhaps
for that reason, he continued taking violin lessons for the next
seven years. By then, he was good enough that it was fun to
practice. He could play famous songs and sound somewhat good.
So, he continued to play and practice and practice and play.
After
years of effort, he managed to earn a spot in the city orchestra.
This was very motivating. Gerard began to practice like he
never had before. And, one day, after years and years of work,
he worked his way up to fourth chair violin.
Gerard
had to practice constantly to keep his place, but he was proud of his
position on the orchestra. He sat on the front row, nearly
facing the conductor, and sometimes he felt like the star of the
orchestra.
And
then, one day, they had a potluck sectional practice. All the
violin players brought food from home to share after the practice.
They usually practiced and practiced and were corrected and
corrected. Then they went home.
But
today, they ate potato salad and potato chips and deviled eggs and
talked about the weather. Well, Gerard talked about the weather
anyway. Some of the rest talked politics, and then most of the
violinists were so angry that the meeting ended quickly. People
just picked up their dishes and left.
Gerard,
who hadn’t eaten anything but a few of the potato chips he’d
brought, went home and made himself a ham sandwich with extra
mustard. Then he practiced his violin, because it turned out
that he had a little bit of free time, and he never, ever, ever was
going back to the second row of violins.
That
evening, the phone rang. More than half of the violin section
had food poisoning, and that included the first three violins.
Gerard was going to be first violin for the benefit concert.
“Was it the potato salad?” Gerard asked.
“Why
do you ask?” the conductor asked. “Did you bring the potato
salad?”
“No.
I brought potato chips. I just thought that it was always the
potato salad on TV, isn’t it?” Gerard said. Now
he was feeling a little nervous. If the police came to question
him, how would he prove that he didn’t bring the potato salad?
Who
brought the potato salad? Did they poison everyone on purpose?
Would they come after him next now that he was temporary first
chair? He hadn’t realized that accepting the position would
make him such a target.
Gerard
didn’t want to think about it, so he practiced even more.
After all, he’d be playing as first chair violin in two days, and
this time he had a solo. Gerard wasn’t sure if he was more
happy or terrified.
The
day of the concert came. Gerard didn’t like his new seat on
the end of the row where everyone could stare at him. He tried
to block all that out and play his best. Everything started out
okay. And then, four pages before his solo, at the end of a
difficult run, his bow somehow flew out of his hand and disappeared
somewhere behind him.
Gerard
turned around in his chair. Everyone was playing as though
nothing had happened and there hadn’t been a flying violin bow
anywhere. He looked under his seat through the maze of feet.
There it was. Three rows back.
He
looked at the score and flipped forward two pages to where the
orchestra was currently playing. There just wasn’t time.
He turned and poked the seventh chair violinist sitting next to him.
The man frowned and kept playing.
Gerard
took a deep breath and started to tickle the violinist. The man
paused and Gerard’s hand darted out and stole his bow. It was
just in time. Gerard felt all eyes on him as he played his
solo.
The
moment he was done, the bow was snatched out of his hands, and the
scowling seventh chair violinist started playing again. Face
burning with embarrassment, Gerard stood and walked back three rows.
He
tried to carefully navigate the cramped spaces between chairs and
stands. He only knocked over one music stand. He caught
it before it hit the floor, but the music went everywhere.
Ignoring the whispered insults, he dove for his bow and hurried back
to his seat. The show must go on, and all that.
In
the end, even though he hoped no one noticed his slight mishap, it
ended up being all anyone wanted to talk about. Even a year
later, people kept coming up to tell him that it had been their
favorite concert. And the seventh chair violinist was still
glaring at him and offering to serve him some potato salad.
Gerard
knew that everyone else thought that was a joke. But Gerard
wasn’t so sure. He was pretty sure he saw mayonnaise packets
in the man’s violin case once.
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