andave_ya
12-01-2007, 03:07 PM
--short story in five hundred words.
The Maestro
Since the first time she had listened to his music, she had loved it passionately. The Maestro became her hero, and she scrimped and saved to buy all things related to the score. At the music shop, she met a man who struck up a conversation with her. Seeing the discs in her hands, he told her he was a violinist in The Maestro’s orchestra. She begged him to introduce her to the Maestro as another violinist, but he refused, only bending enough to let her copy his sheet music. The two had become firm friends after that, visiting or calling once a week.
Then he called her, asking if she wanted to replace him. His mother two states away was ill. She knew the material; would she be willing? Tomorrow at nine in the morning at the symphony hall.
Grabbing her violin, she practiced until late at night.
The moment her alarm rang she was up. Her excited hands could hardly pull on her formal clothes. Her violin went into its case, polished and tuned with care.
She went downstairs, calling friendly greeting to the regulars who visited the store that her parents managed. Her car waited outside.
She was going to play for The Maestro!
She found the symphony hall easily, having passed it many times and daydreaming about what it was like inside. Trepidation arose as she mounted the steps. What if she wasn’t good enough? It had been a year since she played with an orchestra. The only thing she knew with confidence was that she could play the music.
Then it hit her. She had a three-minute solo. In front of the Maestro. She would be first violin!
But she knew the music. The thought comforted her as she seated herself in her friends’ chair.
To her surprise, all the musicians came and introduced themselves to her. Evidently the first violin had told them about her. She didn’t know if that made her more or less nervous, especially if the Maestro knew.
Her nerves were keyed up to fever pitch as the Maestro ascended the conductor’s box. He nodded at her genially, remarking that the original first violin had assured them of her prowess. Blushing, she answered that it was an honor to work with her favorite composer.
And so it began.
The Maestro tapped the stand with his baton. On cue, the strings began. The music rose to greet the lofty ceiling of the symphony hall. She let herself sink into the thundering music, her fingers playing the piece from vivid memory, drifting into the tides of the music as they surged and receded. So many pictures of heroes, of brave deeds, of lords and ladies flashed in her mind. The music thrummed in her veins as she played her solo, exalted and exhilarated by the purity and grandeur of the music.
It didn’t take long for the piece to finish. She looked at the Maestro, breathless. He was smiling.
“You’ll do quite well here, I think.”
The Maestro
Since the first time she had listened to his music, she had loved it passionately. The Maestro became her hero, and she scrimped and saved to buy all things related to the score. At the music shop, she met a man who struck up a conversation with her. Seeing the discs in her hands, he told her he was a violinist in The Maestro’s orchestra. She begged him to introduce her to the Maestro as another violinist, but he refused, only bending enough to let her copy his sheet music. The two had become firm friends after that, visiting or calling once a week.
Then he called her, asking if she wanted to replace him. His mother two states away was ill. She knew the material; would she be willing? Tomorrow at nine in the morning at the symphony hall.
Grabbing her violin, she practiced until late at night.
The moment her alarm rang she was up. Her excited hands could hardly pull on her formal clothes. Her violin went into its case, polished and tuned with care.
She went downstairs, calling friendly greeting to the regulars who visited the store that her parents managed. Her car waited outside.
She was going to play for The Maestro!
She found the symphony hall easily, having passed it many times and daydreaming about what it was like inside. Trepidation arose as she mounted the steps. What if she wasn’t good enough? It had been a year since she played with an orchestra. The only thing she knew with confidence was that she could play the music.
Then it hit her. She had a three-minute solo. In front of the Maestro. She would be first violin!
But she knew the music. The thought comforted her as she seated herself in her friends’ chair.
To her surprise, all the musicians came and introduced themselves to her. Evidently the first violin had told them about her. She didn’t know if that made her more or less nervous, especially if the Maestro knew.
Her nerves were keyed up to fever pitch as the Maestro ascended the conductor’s box. He nodded at her genially, remarking that the original first violin had assured them of her prowess. Blushing, she answered that it was an honor to work with her favorite composer.
And so it began.
The Maestro tapped the stand with his baton. On cue, the strings began. The music rose to greet the lofty ceiling of the symphony hall. She let herself sink into the thundering music, her fingers playing the piece from vivid memory, drifting into the tides of the music as they surged and receded. So many pictures of heroes, of brave deeds, of lords and ladies flashed in her mind. The music thrummed in her veins as she played her solo, exalted and exhilarated by the purity and grandeur of the music.
It didn’t take long for the piece to finish. She looked at the Maestro, breathless. He was smiling.
“You’ll do quite well here, I think.”