Tree Symphony

by Gina Marie Wylie

  Taylor Ford smiled and asked, “Jerry assures me you know every note you just played by heart. Is that true?” I nodded again, still keeping one eye on all of the people watching me.

  He was about to speak and I spoke first, “I’ve been thinking about this, so I wrote down as much as I could.”

  My dad had taken some blank staff paper to work with him and returned with lots and lots of copies. I’d spent the last three days doing nothing but writing down what I thought the notes should be, not only for the cello, but for all of the instruments.

  Mr. Ford took the wad of paper and started looking through them, handing sheets when he was done to Mr. Gora, who had Rachael standing at his arm, reading over his shoulder. After a bit Mr. Ford was just scanning, then he stopped. I peeked: he was at the first page of the violin part, having finished the cello part. He lifted his eyes after a minute of looking at that page. I didn’t know if he had expected that, but I’d wanted to practice orchestration. Mr. Gora and Rachael had made it pretty clear it was important.

  When Mr. Ford looked up from the music, he handed the rest of the sheets to someone else. He came close to me, and reached out his hand for mine, took it and lifted it to his lips. He gently kissed the back of my hand. That was something I had only read about, but had never seen done for real. It wasn’t at all what I expected. I felt ten years older and ten feet tall.

  “Kira, we are going to have to work so very hard in the next few months!”

  I nodded, I knew how much I needed to learn! But he surprised me. “I only hope the rest of us can do this justice in the short time available.”

  VI

  Three weeks after the first rehearsal with the Arizona Symphony I asked Mom to bring me early to the youth symphony rehearsal. I searched for Rachael and found her sitting, talking to two women in the back of the intermediate rehearsal room. “Afternoon, Kira,” Rachael said cheerfully.

  “Hi, Rachael!” I was excited. It was different than how I felt with music. I wasn’t entirely sure I could do this. But there’d been so many things lately I’d never done before, what was one more? Even so, this was different.

  I put down the cello case and pulled out the sheaf of music from my shoulder bag and handed it to Rachael. “I wrote this for you.” I tried not to think about Rachael saying it was too early to write more music. This was special; it didn’t count. It was a gift.

  Rachael lifted an eyebrow as she looked through the music. “A concerto for violin and cello,” she said, looking at me.

  I nodded, beaming. “You are solo violin,” I told Rachael as confidently as I could.

  Rachael continued to look through the music, then looked at me, curious. “We could call this ‘Dueling Strings’.” Seeing the blank look on my face she went on, “You’ve never heard ‘Dueling Banjos’?”

  I shook my head and Rachael grinned. “Well, this is much prettier. Of course, I’m a little prejudiced.” Rachael paused. “And you did write this for me. You have an uncanny knack of dissecting how people play.”

  “I said it was for you. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for me. Especially for the cello.” I wasn’t sure why Rachael didn’t believe me. I’d spent a lot of time making her piece just right.

  “I’ve tried very hard to hate you, ever since I heard you play the first time,” Rachael told me.

  I looked at her in surprise, not at all sure I’d heard her right.

  Rachael continued, shaking her head. “I can’t. I’m a very, very good musician. Brilliant, even if I do say so myself. I enjoy the attention -- I’ll tell you true: there is no better drug than applause.

  “But you, Kira, are in a class by yourself. Everyone walks on egg shells around you, hoping not to spoil you, hoping you don’t burn out. I think, the truth be known, you are nowhere close to burnout and light years from being spoiled. You really don’t understand yet, and I guess I have to say, you’ll be a better person, never understanding what this is all about.”

  She was silent for a minute. “I was thinking about saying I couldn’t begin to accept this, but I’m selfish as well as egotistical and brilliant and all that other ka-ka.” She tapped the music. “You’ve given me a gift I’ll never be able to repay, no matter how long I live, no matter what I do. In spite of the fact I’m as jealous of you as one person can be of another.”

  “Pay me back by playing it with me,” I said, my emotions mixed. I wasn’t sure why she was unsure. “That and helping me learn more about music.”

  Rachael stared at me for a long moment and then laughed. “I’ve given up trying to hate you, Kira. You really aren’t the sort of person anyone can dislike. Let me talk to a few people.” She reached out with both hands, putting them on top of my shoulders, looking up at me. “You know if we play this together, it can’t be a jam session in the practice room of a high school?”

  I cocked my head to one side and looked down at Rachael, trying not to let anything show on my face. “I’ve gotten kind of attached to jam sessions. But maybe, once...”

  Rachael looked at me, then guffawed. “Okay, I deserved that! Seriously, Kira, a few weeks ago I was asked if I would do something at Tanglewood this summer. I have another few weeks to decide. I’m going to pick this. You will be there too!”

  “What’s Tanglewood?” I asked, unsure.

  Rachael’s eyes lit up with glee and she beamed at me. “You’ll see! I promise, you’ll see!”

  VII

  Mrs. Walker looked me up and down, a severe look on her face. “Don’t be nervous, dear,” her voice was a quiet murmur.

  How many times did I have to tell them I wasn’t nervous? How could I ever be nervous playing cello? I loved to play! The music that came from the cello was the most wonderful, beautiful thing in the whole world!

  When it was my turn I walked inside the room and saw the three judges at a short table. There was an older man in the middle, maybe in his seventies. The others looked like school teachers, a middle-aged man and a heavy-set woman not as old as the man in the middle, but older than my parents.

  “I’m Edgar Reeves,” the man in the middle said, looking at me with a disdainful expression. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Miss, ah...” He looked at a list. “Kinkaid.”

  “I’m Kira Kinkaid, I’m in Seventh Grade at Clarendon Middle School. My cello teacher is Mrs. Sharon Walker and I’m playing in the Phoenix Youth Symphony as well.” I tried not to sound too proud, that and Taylor Ford had told me it was supposed to be a surprise when I played with the Arizona Symphony and that I wasn’t to tell anyone just yet. So I didn’t tell these people about it.

  The man in the middle leaned back, a sour expression on his face. “Did your teacher explain what it is we’re doing here?”

  “Auditions for the State Orchestra,” I told him politely.

  Something was wrong... but what? I was in a nice dress and both Mrs. Walker and my mom were outside. If there was something wrong with the way I looked, they’d have said something. What was wrong?

  Edgar, I couldn’t remember his last name, shrugged. “Well, yes and no. It’s the State Orchestra Competition. Section principals get small scholarships for college as well as getting to play in the annual State Orchestra concert. Typically, the musicians are high school students.”

  I nodded. That was what Mrs. Walker had told me, but she’d gone on to say you didn’t have to be in high school. Maybe Mrs. Walker had made a mistake with the rules? I tried to explain, because I really did want to play, no matter who had made a mistake. “My school doesn’t have a string program. I tried the flute but I didn’t like it, so I decided to learn the cello instead. The Phoenix Youth Symphony is where I play.” I kept my voice firm and sure, even if I wasn’t as sure as I’d been outside.

  The man in the middle pursed his lips, obviously not happy. What was he upset about? What could it be? There had to be something wrong; I didn’t understand at all what it could be.

  “How long have you been playing the
cello, Miss Kinkaid?” This was from the woman on the panel, sitting to the right of the old man.

  “Three months, almost. Three months next Saturday.” That seemed safe, I didn’t understand why it was important, though. Weren’t they here to listen to how I played? Not how long I’d been at it!

  I knew I practiced a lot more than most of the kids. Didn’t that count for something? Rachael had told me not to worry about it. Taylor Ford said playing for yourself doesn’t count as practice and I did that a lot. So maybe all that playing didn’t count, or not as much. I found myself as unsure as the first day I’d played for Rachael.

  There was a few seconds of silence. “And your teacher encouraged you to compete?” This was the third person, the younger man.

  “Yes. And Rachael Morgenstern said I could use her grandfather’s cello.”

  The silence deepened.

  What was this? I didn’t understand anything. It was very frustrating. Could I just out and out ask? I bit my lip. That would be rude.

  “Avram Morgenstern loaned you his cello?” the younger man asked, his voice soft.

  I nodded, of course he had! Did they think I was fibbing?

  “Do you have copies of your music for us?” the younger man asked, his voice suddenly brisk.

  At last back to something I’d been told about, even if I didn’t understand it much either. Several times I’d heard about how awful it was if you copied music, yet everyone seemed to do it with abandon. At least I had a little comfort -- the composer had been dead a long time.

  “This is one of the Bach Suites for solo cello,” the younger man said, looking at me with curiosity in his eyes. “Not something I’d expect from a beginning cellist, particularly the ‘Minuet from Suite Number 2.’ Sharon Walker is your teacher?” he repeated.

  I smothered my exasperation and nodded. What had this to do about how I played? “Mrs. Walker is outside; they said no one could come in with me.” I was grasping for straws. The attitude of these people was completely strange to me.

  “Well, yes,” the man in the middle said. Edgar what-ever. “Please, Miss Kinkaid, have a seat. Tune your instrument and begin playing when you are ready.”

  I smoothed my dress, sat down and put the cello down, and then ran the bow over the strings -- the little tuning twiddle one of the trees had taught me. Then, I twisted the knobs and played the usual way to tune. And, as usual, the cello was now in tune, without further adjustment.

  I looked up at them, and the man in the middle looked back, as if he was waiting for something. “Forgetting something, Miss Kinkaid?” the Edgar-whoever person told me, his tone acid.

  “I just wanted to know if you were ready to listen,” I said softly, counting to ten. Why was I so upset? What was with these people?

  “I was talking about the music,” Edgar I-was-never-going-to-remember-his-last-name said.

  The anger within me wanted out. I turned my back on it and started to play the piece, ignoring him, ignoring how I felt.

  At the end I looked up. Edgar wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was looking at his hands, resting on the table in front of him.

  It was the younger man who spoke first. “Well, I think that explains why Avram Morgenstern loaned her the cello.” His voice was dry and pedantic, talking to no one in particular.

  Edgar who-cared looked at me. “You may go, Miss Kinkaid. We’ll let you know the results in due course.”

  “When’s due course?” I asked, still angry. Usually the music made me feel better. This time, only a little.

  The younger man cleared his throat. “We evaluate everyone, then we post the results on the door after the last musician plays.”

  “Stick around,” the woman laughed as she spoke. “I’m sure you will find your name there somewhere.” The younger man laughed too.

  I put the cello away, stood and walked outside. Taylor Ford was there, along with Rachael and Mrs. Walker and my mom. Mr. Ford smiled at me and then gestured towards the room. “How’d it go?”

  I shrugged, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t think Edgar who-ever liked me. I’d never met an adult I’d taken a dislike to so fast. He was, I thought, a lot like some of the kids at school who teased me. Was that it?

  Taylor Ford was watching me. Now he laughed. “Been there, done that! I understand how you feel, Kira. No one likes being graded on their performance -- even when one is as good as you are. But in music it rather goes with the territory, even if the final arbiter will always be the audience. Ignore critics, Kira. Play for yourself, play for the people who’ve come to listen to you.”

  Mrs. Walker graded me every time I played for her. She was always making me go back and play something a different way. Rachael was the same -- ten thousand things to go back and do again, better than before. Jerry Gora and Taylor Ford? More and more of the same thing, ten times over again! Why did the people in that room bother me? And not the others?

  It was like a light going off over my head. Mrs. Walker, Rachael, Mr. Gora and Mr. Ford -- they all wanted me to play better, to teach me how to do it. They were there to help me. Those people inside that room didn’t care at all how well I played. They weren’t interested in helping me play better. To them, I was just another set of marks on a scorecard.

  Taylor Ford went on. “And, I have a small apology to make. When I heard you were coming here, I was, well, call it angry. Then I realized I was making a fool of myself. I wanted to hog all the credit for discovering you. I didn’t discover you and it wouldn’t matter if I had. Sharon is quite right, you should be here, trying out for State.”

  The adults talked for a few minutes, while I stood quietly to one side, trying to sort out my feelings. The door opened and the last student, a boy, left. The younger man came out, saw Taylor Ford talking to Mrs. Walker and Rachael and walked up to them. “Taylor,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Taylor Ford smiled at him and said, “Jason, nice to see you! I hope your wife is better.” The two men shook hands. I wasn’t surprised they knew each other. One of the things I’d already learned was that it seemed like all of the musicians knew each other.

  “Jean kicked me out of the house today; I guess that means she’s feeling better.” He nodded at me. “Do you know Miss Kinkaid?”

  Mr. Ford nodded and the young man grinned. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Miss Kinkaid is the surprise,” Taylor Ford said quietly.

  I looked at the young man, curious about what he was thinking. He was different here; very different from when he’d been in that room. Could it be simply that I didn’t think Edgar understood the music? I didn’t think he did. This man did! I knew it in my heart. He’d watched me every second I’d played. After the first few seconds, Edgar had never looked at me at all.

  “Even Edgar had to admit he’d never heard Bach played as well as Miss Kinkaid played it,” the younger man said, nodding at me. “Once she started to play, there was never any doubt who will be the principal cellist this year.”

  “I just came to make sure we won’t have any scheduling conflicts,” Mr. Ford told him. “She’s playing with the Arizona Symphony at our concert in mid-March.”

  “State will be the first weekend of May.” Jason looked at me, but spoke to Mr. Ford. “Playing with the Symphony, eh?”

  “Jason, do be there. I guarantee it will knock your socks off,” Taylor Ford told him.

  The younger man grinned. “I’ll be there. Maybe Jean will be well enough to come.”

  “You will see a rare treat, Jason. Both of you should come.”

  Edgar what’s-his-name came out of the room, saw Mr. Ford and nodded. “Taylor, an unexpected pleasure,” he said formally.

  “Edgar, how are you?” the conductor asked, shaking hands.

  “Well, Taylor.” Edgar gestured at me.

  I hated when people did that to me. They were doing it here quite a bit. Talking about me in front of me, as if I wasn’t there and waving at me as if I was an afterthought.

 
“Have you heard Miss Kinkaid play?” Edgar asked. Mr. Ford nodded. “She’s a little young, but she’s quite excellent.”

  “I’d say very excellent. How did she play for you?” Taylor Ford asked.

  “Much better than the others,” Edgar said, then sniffed. “She will be principal, even if she is a little young.”

  “I’ll try to season her a little for you, Edgar,” Taylor Ford told him.

  “She’s playing for Taylor,” Jason explained and Mr. Ford nodded in confirmation.

  “John Darden will be a good influence,” Edgar whatever said, a little pompously. At least I remembered who John Darden was -- he was the principal cellist with the Arizona Symphony.

  “I’ve had to tie John to his chair, he keeps coming up and trying to steal her cello,” Taylor Ford said.

  “Coming up?” Jason asked, a question on his face.

  “Well,” Mr. Ford looked rather smug, I thought. I didn’t think Mr. Ford liked Edgar that much either. “I couldn’t put her with the other cellos. Union and all, I’d have had a riot.”

  Edgar looked confused, and Jason smiled. “Yes, I do think Jean and I will be there.” Jason saw Edgar still didn’t understand. “Miss Kinkaid will be performing as a soloist, Edgar.”

  Edgar who-ever started to say something and then stopped. The woman had come out and had been watching. She spoke for the first time. “Remember Mozart, Edgar. Remember Mozart.”

  “Mozart and one or two others,” that was Mrs. Walker talking. I got the impression she didn’t like Edgar who’sis either.

  VIII

  I peeked out from the wings as Mr. Ford walked out onto the stage. The lights were brighter than I’d thought they would be, in spite of the myriad rehearsals here. The lights were almost painful. I tried squinting a bit and it was better. What was I going to do out on stage? Mom had told me a thousand times, “Don’t squint, Kira.” How was I supposed to see without my glasses if I didn’t squint? The eye doctor had said I wasn’t old enough for contacts yet. The mélange of my thoughts was distracting me from what Taylor Ford was doing -- right up until he started talking to the audience.