The Viola Monologue

Auditions were always there, the days dark clouds on the calendar. Playing in front of an adjudicator, who scribbled furiously at every mistake you made. They were especially nerve-wracking for a violist, like me. Not many people chose to play the viola. There is very little solo repertoire, and the orchestra parts are often boring. The viola has also always been in the shadow of the violin or the cello. Because of this unfortunate lack of violists, there is also an unfortunate lack of festival adjudicators. I was auditioning for the Northern Region Middle School Orchestra Festival, and I knew it would be difficult. As soon as I cautiously opened the heavy wooden door, I silently thought, Oh no. The judge waiting for me to play was an elderly, …show more content…
“Now, if you could please play from bar fifteen to the end of the second movement from your piece, thank you.” His voice was deep and commanding. It sent shivers up into my spine, and made my shoulders go ridged. Before playing, I nodded again, and began the piece. This time, however, I was not burdened with thoughts buzzing through me and distracting my focus from the challenge at hand. I did not have to clear my mind before playing. The notes simply flowed and cadenced, and my fingers knew where to go. Just as I was starting to think that this audition would not be so terrible, right before bar 28, my third finger slipped, and a single note was flat. My mind froze, but my fingers kept playing. Suddenly, I began to over think everything, and I was not as sure of myself in playing. Was that note in tune? Did I play that rhythm correctly? Careful, here comes a tricky part, am I going to be able to get through it? Should I stop and play it again? I know I could have done better than that. With the final chord, I looked over at the judge, who was making notes. The only noise in the room was the scratching of his pencil. But the noise in my head was so loud, I thought my ears would explode. What was he writing? Did I play that bad? Was I going to score high enough to make it into the orchestra this year? Questions raced through my mind as I thought of all the worst possible situations. Would the Hartt orchestras still accept me as a violist if I could not make it into Regionals? What would my private instructor, Miss Melinda, think if I let her down by failing to get in? I felt dizzy and lightheaded, the bright lights lights of the classroom glared down at me. I could feel tears coming up, about to brim over onto my cheeks. . .