ninth grade
in ninth grade is when i get chosen. the band teacher recognizes me and pulls me out to join the senior ensemble. i have to commute early to school an extra day. my father drops me off in his pajamas and i lug my odd-shaped instrument to the band room, where i take my seat as third french horn next to two behemoths, reece and kaoru, the older brother of someone in my grade and a music prodigy from japan. i am too shy to speak.
this year we're playing second suite in f for military band, by holst. i've the privilege of witnessing this advanced magic for older students. i am not particularly talented, but i can play the right notes at the right time. mostly i listen to the more skilled musicians play. i am transfixed by the euphonium solo, a sound purer than white chocolate. and the piccolo, a fairy, ethereal, leading the others in a dance against the crocodile jaws of time, everybody dead and alive, breathless against the end of the world.