We all warmed up our instruments in our first practice of the new school year.
I was a second chair violinist for the group. It was surprising to me that I wasn’t behind that in terms of the rankings.
For our first piece, I waited for my part to come and I used my bow to string out a melody that matched the score.
Everything was going just perfect, but things fell flat for one second.
I guess I haven’t sharpened up on my four-string skills. I heard some laughter from some nearby students and the conductor stopped us from playing.
“Alright. Let’s hit those notes better. Back to measure twenty-five, everybody.”
I grunted and prepared myself to get it better next time.
“That’s right, Hosea. You screw-up.”
I wanted to believe it was someone else talking to me, but it was my own head that was trying to put me down.
C. M. B. Bell's Writing Universe 