Shuffling sounds come
from the disorderly crowd spread out in front of me.
They gaze halfheartedly at us;
a small group,
but talented.

Deep inside I can feel
my mother’s emerald eyes boring into me,
but I push off the thought,
and nervousness is banished from my mind.

The pianist plays a key,
and I catch her eye staring expectantly towards me.
I hold up to my lips the long silver tube.
A note comes out, crisp and clear,
a perfect A.
Betsy and Katrina join me,
then the woodwinds,
then the chorus of strings.

The audience claps,
although we are tuning.
I smile, and wait as the conductor counts,
1… 2… 3… 4...
And then we play.