The Orchestra

January 22, 2012
There I was, on the stage,
Nervously analyzing the expectant crowd that sat before me.
To the right, the French horn players giggle softly.
To the left, the bass clarinets fuss over their classy attire.
And there, at the back of the room,
Sits my family;
A small girl in a blue dress,
Holding her tall mother’s bony hand,
But still glancing playfully towards her father,
In hopes of catching his eye as he made silly faces at her.

The director walks on stage,
The room grows silent.
He doesn’t look at us,
Nor the crowd,
But proceeds to the edge of the raised platform.
From his pocket he pulls a long white baton,
And caresses it with care as he places it in the opposite palm.
He is ready.

Right foot, now the left;
He’s on the platform.
He faces us,
Nods his head.
In a single solid motion,
The entire set shifts to the edge of their seats.
Raises his hands,
The baton perched slightly above parallel.
Another motion,
This one different.

In an instant,
Fifty golden instruments,
Glittered the fifty small mouths that showed white against the stage,
And fifty black shoes were thrust out in front of their owners.

One, Two, (take a breath)…and NOW!

The tubas sand out in a deep, sad voice,
Telling a story that brought tears to the eyes of the lonely.
The timpani rolls,
As heavy as thunder,
The cymbals clash like lightning.
The tubas calm the song;
The storm is over.

The flutes come in,
Chirping like birds, To tell all that they may come out.
The French horns answer with the sound of spring.
But, alas!
This cannot be!
The baritones have came,
They have taken control!
Who shall stop them?
Aha! The trumpets,
Who take a stand!

A showdown!
Ah, a cloud of mystery,
Heralded by the saxophones bluesy tone.
The wind of the trumpets return,
Taking the baritones off their feet.
The world dies down.

Again, the cymbals strike.
Everyone in,
A torrential downpour!
Spinning, spiraling,
hurling out of control!
The storm mounts;
It is over.

The director lowers his hands.
He turns around to the audience,
Being careful not to wrinkle his suit.
He bows,
The audience explodes.
Around me, the band glows with happiness.
They stand,
They bow.

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