I wonder if I’m the first or the second candidate to rehearse with the LA Philharmonic for our trial weeks. Who cares? I’m on stage with them and about to play the first piece—a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life. “The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” takes on new meaning from this point on! Sitting in last position doesn’t even matter.
Looking out into the empty seats, I think how next time I’m up here with my fellow musicians, I’ll be looking at a packed house—holiday shows always bust at the seams. Right now, though, the sound and light technicians buzz around, doing their magic, and the conductor gets ready in front of us for his. My heart leaps, though this is only preparation for the real deal.
As I play alongside musicians I automatically admire for already being a part of LA Phil, I capture a thrill in every note. Each sound coming out of my trusty cello projects from me into the air that lacked the beauty of our composition each second before. The staccato beginning of the short song carries me through as if I’m dancing on the music-veiled air.
Seconds after all sound ceases at the end of the piece, I instantly miss the feeling of everyone in unity. Sure, I played Phantom in a group recently, but this is LA Phil! I’m playing with LA Phil! Screaming internally, though keeping a cool face, my curls pinned back with black barrettes on each side of my head remain motionless. If these people only knew what’s bubbling inside.
But wait. I’m not one of them. I’m a visitor. A fill-in, for all intents and purposes. Just another cellist to those around me…
By the time we work through rehearsing pieces out of order from the setlist, I gain a sense of achievement, having kept up with every pivot. Though I messed up a bit on a run, my playing was on point. Maybe it’s the effect of being on this stage. Nah, all of my auditions in the past never got me this far.
Hey, maybe I am one of them.
Regardless, I hung out with the popular kids today for a few hours. No matter what happens now, I can say I played with LA Phil. The LA Phil! Okay, I won’t go there again.
After turning on my car and coming down from my high, I immediately call David to tell him how it went. “It was amazing!”
“I knew you’d be great,” he mumbles through bites of food.
“I don’t know if I was great, but they were great, and it was great to try to be great with them. It was such an experience. The experience of a lifetime.” My words race out in childlike euphoria as I look at my backup camera and double check if I’m clear to move.
“And that was only practice for the show. Imagine how you’ll feel tomorrow and the next night.” An audible gulp from drinking fills my ears.
“I know, right? Hey, what are you chomping down on over there?” My stomach has a fear of missing out sometimes, making it known by a growl.
“A Philly cheesesteak grinder. Want me to bring you one?”
He would too. He’s that nice of a man to finish eating—or stop in the middle—and bring me food. See, Christian, he’s just a sweet guy. I roll my eyes.
“Oh, no. Thank you, though. I’ll grab something on the way home.” That word, home, has a different meaning when it leaves my mouth, still lacking its comfort from the old days.
I inhale a large breath and release.
“Are you alright?”
Damn, he must’ve heard me. “Yeah,” I say in a high-pitched voice. That’ll cover the truth.
“Toniii.” My name extends with his tone.
“I kinda don’t want to go home, especially after such a momentous time. You know…”
“I do.” He pauses. “Well, you know my house is always open to you. Come over. We can watch a movie,” he offers.
Without needing to think over my answer, I blurt out, “Okay, I’ll be there in thirty minutes, if traffic cooperates.” My being lightens again. “I’ll still get something to eat and have it there.”
“My table is your table,” he says.
“See ya soon.”
“Yes, bye,” he says then ends the call.
I shouldn’t feel guilty for going to spend time with my friend, right? Or dodging home? Any woman in my place would make the same choice for peace over chaos. But why do I already know I won’t tell Christian?