something to be

I played my last audition today. The Cleveland Institute of Music. Took a theory test (part aural, part written), for which my half-assed attempts at studying in the car proved largely effective.

I was the last auditionee on the last audition day at the school. Dead last. And they made everyone come at 8:30 am, when they told us what our audition time was. Mine was 4:45. So I waited. I took my theory tests. Waited. Watched Scrubs on my iPod. Napped. Ate donuts. Waited.

I played very well. The best audition I've had, I think. They had me play all of my two Bach movements (the other schools stopped me after about half of one movement, which is normal for auditions). I had no memory problems. I was well in tune, mostly. I played about half of the Tchaikovsky. I felt like a musician, an artist, not just going through the motions. I was trying to feel it and show it on my face. Since I was last I went a little longer than the normal 15 minutes.

Afterwards one of the violin teachers on the panel came up and talked to me. "Must be scary coming from South Dakota out east to the big folks," he said. He was trying to be nice. I had an eager "please-be-impressed-by-me" smile plastered on my face. My eyebrows furrowed a little, maybe giving me away. "You did a good job all the way out here in the east, with the big folks."

I tensely laughed and played along. "A little bigger city than I'm used to, I suppose!" My eyes glared smilingly at his. TAKE ME SERIOUSLY. OH MY GOD, JUST TAKE ME SERIOUSLY.

He was trying to be nice. Trying to give me a compliment. But really, that might be what it boils down to. I am a working-class girl playing an arisocratic game. I am not your perfect little Suzuki-mold violinist. All I really want to do is go home and change into my Bob Dylan t-shirt. But this is real. This is important. My musical offering is NOT less legitimate because I haven't been playing every scale and arpeggio eight times a day since I was four. I am real. My music is real, realer than a lot of the people you will let in to your fucking school. LISTEN TO ME. Don't you understand? Don't you get it? Don't you see that I NEED to do this? Take me seriously. Learn from me. Let me learn from you. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND.

"Thank you for your time, it was an honor to meet you."

"Keep playing, kid."

I'm going home.