Second Chance (Critical Narrative #1)

I messed up.  Big time.  In my anxiety preparing for the audition, I had completely lost track of time.  Of course, there was no clock in the cramped practice room where I sat tuning my beloved French Horn.  Playing through long tones, I scrutinized the rich vibrato I was able to coax from the instrument’s recesses.  I became lost in the endless void of scales which made up the Circle of Fifths.  Space and time did not exist here.  Almost lovingly, I fingered through the familiar passages I would play when I began my audition.

Wautoma High School sported three bands:  Wind Ensemble, Symphonic Band and Concert Band.  Concert Band was the loser freshman band, and Symphonic Band was only slightly better.  Wind Ensemble was the coveted brass ring.  Only 40 out of the almost 170 eager musicians would make the cut.  

Mr. Krueger, the director of Wind Ensemble, had a stern reputation; he was intolerant of imperfection.  His crisp, clean white shirt was complemented by an impeccably knotted necktie.  And he always wore the dreaded whistle.  His brow was often furrowed in frustration and a large vein pulsed in his neck when he was really angry, which was most of the time.  He regularly made freshmen cry during marching practice for being out-of-step.  We could hear his ear-splitting screams all the way across campus.  His characteristic “Left...Left...Left...Halt...” echoed from the far buildings.  Not surprisingly, his mantra was, “If you’re on time, you’re late.”  Tardiness was an unforgivable offense.  Despite his harsh exterior, I respected his musical expertise and yearned for his approval.

When I walked into my audition almost fifteen minutes late, Mr. Krueger’s dissatisfaction was evident.  The vein was rapidly pulsing in his neck.  The clock on the wall hammered out the seconds, each one pounded like an anvil splitting the silence of the quiet room.  The usual banter amongst the twenty students in the adjoining room ceased and no one moved a muscle.  I could feel my face turning red and the sweat starting to prickle my palms.  My eyes shifted to the floor in utter humiliation.   

“You missed your audition.  You were supposed to go at 1:40 and now it’s 1:55.  Sorry, but it’s Tony’s turn,” he snarled matter-of-factly.   

Tony gave a smug smile as he walked past me into the office.  I took a little comfort in the fact that he had made several mistakes and would probably not make the Wind Ensemble.  But neither would I.  I knew that I had blown my chance.  Mr. Krueger’s expression had told me in no uncertain terms that I would be placed at the bottom of the detestable Symphonic band.  Feeling tears stinging my eyes, I bolted from the room.

  For most kids, bombing an audition is not the end of the world.  But for me, it was my LIFE.  All during 9th grade, I had based my identity upon being a talented musician.  Without that, I was nothing.  Because I had been the only freshman in Wind Ensemble the previous year, I’d made new upperclassmen friends and been isolated from classmates in my own grade, who ate during a different period.  Who would I sit with at lunch?  I didn’t know how to be anything but a band nerd.  I knew I would quit playing music before I would suffer through a year in Symphonic Band.

As I walked up my driveway, I wondered if it was too late to drop the class.  Closing the front door, my mother told me I had a phone call.  To my surprise, it was Mr. Krueger!  He again told me that I’d disappointed him, but my situation wasn’t hopeless.  He’d decided to make an exception, which was unheard of for him.  Because of my previous musical achievement, he’d reconsidered his earlier judgment.  He told me he’d give me one more chance to audition, and that I’d better be on time and prepared.

The next morning I showed up outside his office fifteen minutes early.  He gave a small smile as I played through my scales, audition piece, and effortlessly navigated through the challenging sight reading.  Finally finished, I felt emotionally drained, but generally pleased with my performance.  I cautiously left the office to put my instrument away.  Mr. Krueger’s expression remained unreadable.

Later that afternoon, I heard a cry rise up as the band list was posted.  Students huddled around the sacred paper whooping and crying as they checked for their names.  Feeling blood pounding in my temples, I summoned up the courage to fight through the crowd.  Using my finger as a guide, I checked the Concert Band list;  not there.  My pulse quickened.  Then I checked Symphonic Band;  still nothing.  Finally, under Wind Ensemble I found my name.  My breath caught.  To my astonishment, I was listed as First Chair;  the section leader.  At that moment, I felt complete bliss.  My mind struggled to comprehend what this meant:  I had made it!  My worries and trepidation faded away.  So absurd it seemed that I had ever wanted to quit.  

With a huge grin plastered across my face, I marched into Mr. Krueger’s office. 

“Thank you,”  I whispered, “for giving me a second chance.”  I took a deep breath.

“I’ll never let you down again,”  I added, my voice firm with resolve.  I knew I would make every effort to keep that promise.


Mr. Krueger gave me a slight smile and nodded.  

Looking back, I ultimately kept my promise.