The last semester of college is the worst time for a sensitive, dramatic person like me. Since January, I have been reminiscing on basically everything. Then, my thoughts turn into anxiety about life in the “real world.”
Most recently, I started thinking about my flute: Yes, that woodwind instrument which is played horizontally. I have had an almost-14-year affair with that shiny, metal piece of musical creation. The flute I play today has been in my possession for 11 years now. I got it as a gift for my tenth birthday and could not have been more ecstatic.
Rehearsing on the Old Main Theatre stage this past Sunday with the Community Orchestra, I started to wonder what would happen to my musical relationship after graduation in May. I’ve been involved with bands since I was eight. I remember learning how to play my first song, “Hot, Cross Buns,” a three note piece in C major. When I entered full band in the third grade, I could hardly contain myself, and I thought I was the coolest kid alive when I came back from summer band camp and could finally read sheet music without writing the letters above the notes.
What will happen once I leave school for good? Maybe I will find a community band in the place I end up, or maybe, and this is sad enough, I will place it in my closet where my ballet shoes have rested for five years and bins of Barbies have been for at least 10. All of it a reminder of who I was as a child, forcing me to close the closet and move on out of the bedroom. Tis’ life and quite frankly, it sucks.