Roots: Four Element Tea Bowl

hand, waiting for my audition time slot. When it was time, I began my trek towards the audition room. My fellow classmates wished me luck as I departed, aside from Andre, who decided to come along with me. As he walked towards me, I turned around, making sure he didn’t see me roll my eyes. Of course, he would come with, if not just to further rub in his superiority as a musician! We ventured through the now-familiar hallways of the school. My mind was taken aback by a handful of new conversations I picked up on the way there. “I fucked up the 16th note run on bar 18.” “My scale was F# major.” The voice of Andre broke my nerve-wracking train of thought. “Don’t listen to them, you’ll do great.” Fantastic. He’s patronizing me again, I thought to myself. We finally arrived, and I was led into a classroom where I could warm up. I set down my sheet music and began frantically playing one challenging measure from memory, pacing nervously in between desks. Noticing my alarmed attitude, Andre spoke, “Chill out man, you sound great,” which I presumed was one last jab before I went into my audition. Mid-repetition, my focus was broken by the door behind me opening with a creak, followed by an inquisitive voice coming from it. “Colton? We’re ready.” I don’t remember much from the audition. At this point, the pit in my stomach was all-consuming, an abyss that dominated my perception for the next five minutes or so. I do remember nervously staring at my sheet music, avoiding the presumably disparaging gaze of my judge, the one who would tell me if I really was better than Andre or not. I remember my violent internal reaction to missing a note on the 16th note run on measure 18, thinking to myself, Andre would never miss that! I felt physically ill leaving the room. The next couple of hours were uneventful. I did what I could to pass the time until the dreaded moment arrived. I remember the silence that fell over the full gymnasium as a volunteer entered through the side doors, brandishing a bright red step ladder and a pile of poster paper. Hours passed between each step they took, and the deafening silence of the room was replaced with the thumping sound of my rapid heartbeat. Cries of both excitement and disappointment pierced the assembled crowd, people reveling in their victory or sulking in their defeat. With each new list the voice in my head grew louder. Please be me. Finally, our turn came, and as the rolled-up paper unfurled across the white brick wall underneath, my failure was laid bare to the world. At the top of the list: Andre. My name was nowhere to be found. I was paralyzed at the realization that I was not better than him. My trance was broken by a pat on the shoulder and a familiar voice. “You worked harder than I’ve ever seen someone work for this. Don’t feel down. I have no doubt you will make it next year.” I looked up from my feet to see the smiling face of Andre. I don’t remember Andre celebrating his victory on that day until much later, but I do remember the thoughtful act of talking to each and every one of his fellow classmates that did not qualify, especially to me. In the clarity of this moment, I realized how unfair I had been to him. I did qualify for the SEIBA All-state honor band the following year. Andre and I both played with that band and drew much closer over the course of our final year of high school and closer as we attended the same college music program the year after. Although we were still competing, I did not see him as the adversary anymore. I had lost a nemesis and gained a friend.

25