Well, lades and gents, guess what? I am a free person!!!!!!!! My audition
is done with, completed, finished, history, past, and behind me
forever!!! And I also want to say that if any of you prayed for me, a
thousand thanks! I believe it made a big difference. Instead of a
paralyzing fear, I felt surprisingly calm, instead of sweaty fingers that
go sliding all over the strings, they remained almost cool and dry, and
instead of an oppressive headache from stress, my head remained clear and
painless. I guess trusting God really works!
Now even after I've said that, it doesn't mean I didn't make mistakes.
First of all, my dad and I arrived at Memorial Highschool in Manchester
an hour before my audition. After obtaining directions from a 6'4"
athletic director of sorts (okay I didn't really ask him his height but
that's what he looked like to me), we managed to find the registration
desk, and after finding good old Mr. Sweeney who was coming to look for
us, I found myself in a room full of chaotic music. I heard Mozart in
this corner and in that corner, and scales near and far, cellos rumbling,
violins squeaking, and people chatting. Every once in awhile someone
would come walking in with an official-looking air, and a girl at the
front of the room would lean toward the mic. and the room would get
really quiet. Who was to be the victim this time? All would wonder. Then
the name and school would be pronounced over the mic, and the said person
would come forward solemnly with his or her instrument, often accompanied
by the cheers of encouragement from their fellow classmates. Ten or
fifteen minutes later they would return to be plagued with questions
about how it went and how they thought they did. Some seemed okay with
it, others felt it was a disaster. No one seemed too confident.
Finally it was my turn. All of my friends (a violinist, a violist, and
two cellists) had already gone before me and the clock had gradually
ticked closer to 5:55 p.m.: the time of my own audition. It seemed like
the room was gradually emptying of people; I think I was near the end of
a group of auditions before the judges would take a brief break and take
in a new group. More people were now talking than playing, and once when
I noticed that I was the only one playing in a rather quiet room of
people, I loudly spluttered and told them they should keep playing. A few
people chuckled. But now it was time. "Is there a Kayla _______ in the
room?" I heard the girl at the front of the room ask. I came forward. I
had been "called up."
The walk to my fate seemed long. We passed through the cafeteria of many
waiting students who had finished their auditions, winding through the
long halls until the sound of chatter had died away. I was accompanied by
a girl about my own age, who asked me questions like if this was my first
time and if I felt I knew my piece well, etc. I asked her some questions
in return, and I discovered that she had been going to try out for
All-State chorus, but she had been too freaked out to turn in the
paperwork. "But next year I'll have to try out, because I'll be singing
in chamber choir," she told me, a little grimly.
We had arrived at the room. I stepped inside, and found two very quiet,
solemn ladies within. One was given my paper; she never said a word. The
other told me in a still, whispery sort of voice what scales I was to
play. I played them without much ado, amazed at how something that you've
been working on for a year can suddenly flit past you in a flimsy
representation of playing it just once. A couple of the scales were just
fine, as close to perfection as can be expected in the circumstances,
while some of the others were more iffy. Thus I went through G major, A
major, B flat major, g minor, and c minor. In one of the minor scales I
had a moment of panic. As I was coming down my haze was broken by a
strange sounding note. I kept going, but I had the odd feeling that I had
changed key by accident, but the scale seemed to end fine so I wondered
if it was just my imagination and the sound of the melodic minor had just
taken me by surprise. When I had finished it I resisted the temptation to
ask if I could play it again, because for all I knew I could have played
it exactly as I should have. So I hoped for the best.
With the scales behind me, the whispery voiced lady came over and told me
to play from B to C on the piece of music that was already on my stand.
Here I blanked out. As I looked at the music, it didn't look anything
like the Mozart piece I'd been practicing. Had I been practicing the
wrong piece??? Quickly my mind ruled that idea out as absurd, but my mind
wasn't thinking clearly enough to stop myself from saying something like,
"I've never played this before." At least I think I said that out loud.
Did the lady laugh and say, "Yes?" No, she patiently told me that I was
sight-reading. Light dawned on marble head. Of course. I knew that. In
fact this all happened so quickly I can't remember what I actually
figured out on my own and what she told me, but I felt a little idiotic.
But letting it pass, I finally took a good look at the music. Craig had
told me that I could take my time and play when I was ready, but the lady
hadn't said anything about taking my time, and as I looked long and hard
at the music, I was afraid that their silence was growing uncomfortable.
So I decided to wing it.
A few painful minutes later, during which I wasn't wholly convinced I'd
been playing the right notes at all (my teacher tells me I'm a good
sight-reader but here I was bit skeptical), I was done. "That was
painful," I said with a little laugh, and for what seemed like the first
time, the lady smiled, if not a little vaguely. The lady handed me my
scale book (which I had only brought because I thought I was supposed to,
not because I got to use it) and told me I was going to be playing my
piece now. She started to move for the door. Once again I was met by
confusion. She had told me I was going to play my piece, so I prepared to
open my music where I was, but now she was implying that it was time to
leave? Of course I knew that my teacher had told me that I would probably
play the scales in a different room than my piece, but with Craig it was
different and as you must recall my brain was too fuzzy to remember
anything clearly. Once more the lady said something to remind me of my
stupidity by informing me that I was to move to another room. I laughed
as good-naturedly as I could, apologizing and explaining that I had never
done this before. She laughed, though it sounded like a tentative laugh
to me.
Out in the hall again I started to turn in the wrong direction, but was
called over to another room that was almost just across the room I had
just left. Here a friendly young man greeted me, a refreshing change from
the nervous lady I had spoken with previously. Inside an older, bearded
man with a rather red face awaited me. His chin rested in his hand in a
tired sort of way, and I realized how exhausting it must be to have to
listen to person after person after person playing the same exact piece.
Later my dad told me that there were 80 violinists in all trying out,
which helped me give the other two ladies some grace after their rather
cold reception of me. But not to be dissuaded by this man's look of
slight boredom, I greeted him cheerfully and he answered back cheerfully
enough. He was given my paper and the young man told me what I was to
play. I was told to start whenever I felt ready. At last, I didn't need
to feel like I was injuring them and their precious time while I caught
my breath. So I snatched the time to send up a short, wordless prayer and
then began. To be honest, I don't remember much. My body went on
auto-pilot, and I can only hope that I remembered to do dynamics. My
opening start strong like I wanted it to, though it faltered slightly in
the second or third measure. My very high runs were okay, some of my
accented notes sounded weak, and the really high trilly part right after
the page-turn was a little wimpy but not a disaster. Other than that I
don't really remember. Before I knew it I was done, and I almost asked if
that was really it. But the young man was kindly telling me I did a good
job and asking me if I needed someone to show me the way back. I could
hardly believe it, but I knew it had to be because he wouldn't tell me to
keep playing after he'd sent me out of the room would he? No, of course
not. So in a happy dream I walked back to put my instrument away, talking
with some friends along the way. I looked at my watch and found that only
ten or fifteen minutes had gone by! Who would have thought that so much
work and effort would have to culminate and be presented in a tiny period
of time before it's all over and you have no idea what hit you? It was
just mind-boggling.
I left in a stupor, but a very grateful one. It is over. And God is good.
