The Missing Piece

Last year, my middle-school band worked really hard. We did. I had a few solos, so did the saxophone, flute, and clarinet. I don't want to say their names.

I remember that I was terrified to go compete with them at Concert Band Festival. We went all the way on a long bus ride there. And we did it. We went to the competition, we did fantastic. We got superior ratings all down the page, all ones. We were the first eighth-grade band at the school to do that.

Life was looking good, and very much so since we went to Busch Gardens for nearly the rest of the day.

Then, we were supposed to go to an auditorium in the evening for awards. There were lots of other bands that had competed. When it rolled around for three soloist awards... there were three of us from the same school who got it! The saxophone was called first, we all cheered and screamed for him. Then, the clarinet, and we all were still whooping and hollering. Then... me! I think I just stood there dumbfounded for a moment, then my friends pushed me to the stage to go get the little trophy. I could hardly believe it. I looked at the flute... she kind of looked like she was... well, really upset.

But me, I was on top of the world.

On the bus ride back in the dark, I turned around. The flute was sitting behind me, well, laying kind of, facing the window. "Hey," I said to her. "Even if you didn't get one of the soloist awards, I still think you did really great and I want to congratulate you anyways... you are so good, you've been awesome this year."

"Whatever, I don't really want to talk about it."

"Really, I mean it, you still did fantastic-" I started.

"I said I don't want to talk about it," she huffed.

The girl in the seat next to her told me she wasn't feeling good and just wanted to sleep. Funny. She was totally fine today.

Still, I felt bad. I reached into my bag and pulled out my little trophy... and part of it was broken off! I gasped. I knew right away who had done it, but I said nothing. I put it back in the bag and cradled it in my lap, like Clara did for her broken nutcracker. Then I put it on the floor between my feet and hardly said anything the rest of the night.

I felt horrible, like she hated me forever, and had broken my trophy. It was probably the greatest thing that ever happened to me - since I always felt like I was worth nothing and I had worked so hard that year to become something, but she probably felt like she worked really hard too. I wasn't sure what had gotten into her.

But, actually, I'm glad I said nothing, because the other day my mother found that piece hiding in the garage. It must have broken in my bag.

We glued it back on, and now my little trophy is in one piece on top of my desk.

What a great feeling to know that she didn't break it after all.

I wish I could have told that story more artfully but that's all I have to say. Today's lesson... don't jump to conclusions, never accuse. You could be the one who is wrong.

Love, peace, virtue, and cheesiness,

1 comment:


Wow, you really read all that? Danggg. Props! =]

Well, I see you've just had the imponderable joy of stumbling onto the blog of an 18-year-old girl who can't really describe herself in 500 words or less, such as in little text boxes like these. She didn't intend her blog to really become so much like her online diary (she was hoping it would have an interesting, helpful purpose to serve the world and all) but blogging is just kind of fun. This girl's a bit of an environmentalist and a full-tilt vegetarian, a bit of an artist who can't draw, a bit of a writer who can't find time to read, and a completely hopeless romantic. She enjoys white chocolate, coloring, wading in creeks, music, Doctor Who, and speaking in third-person when it's unnecessary like this.

Now go read the rest of the blog and meet her, if you like of course. :)