What's the Point

Tonight’s the night. No more waiting. Tonight this insistent count knocking in my mind will end, and I will, once again, have achieved the unrealistic, the unnatural. At this point there is only an hour left. I’m sitting in the back room with the rest of the guys waiting for the time to tick away.

To my left I see a few guys running through the music as a last minute refresher. Just behind them I find a bit of amusement watching the drummer stuff his face with cookie after cookie. They are free so it makes sense. Just to my right, there’s a beautiful woman, playing an equally as beautiful smoky grey tenor saxophone, going through her usual warm up which consisted of scales and runs. I can see her grin at me as she took note that I didn’t do my usual flirting with her. No, she knows just as well as I do what tonight means. In reply I offer a slight nod and grin of my own then return to my usual warm up rituals; running through the next hour in my head with a slight sadistic grin.

I remember walking into the practice room the day before being asked time and time again, “How the hell did we end up here of all places?” I just laugh and remind myself that this IS the king of all opportunities. To be onstage with one of the best bands around; in fact, just being able to see them play is something just short of amazing, but no, we were given the chance to play with them! My nerves are setting in again.

I’m jolted out of my memories with the realization that the sea of ruckus has finally settled and its creators have finally settled down into their seats. It was hot. I realize that we’re being baked from above by the stage lights shining down. Only fifteen minutes left and I can get off stage. The most amazing performance will soon be a fresh memory to pull on for years to come. I’m snapped to my attention by the nudge of the guy next to me. I turn left toward him and see what’s in his hand first. Time stops for a moment as I enjoy the sight. It gleamed with a solid silver body and a solid gold mouthpiece to die for. I return his gaze, then his nod. I don’t believe what I got myself into. At this point, there’s no going back.

Sitting, frozen with apprehension, the world is silent; just the deafening count taking place in my mind. At some point this count has to end. At some point something will have to take its place as the defining force of this place. I look down where this silver gem lined with gold is calling me; in addition, reminding me of all the hard work and practice we have seen together up to this point. I grin to myself and whisper… what is the point of doing something you can do. These 10 words have gotten me to this point; what are the odds of them letting me down now.

The band starts playing. The lights above me are shining brighter and harder than ever. The tie comes off. The lead trumpet player motions for me to follow him to the front of the stage. My body is on autopilot. There are more important things than thinking about moving from point A to point B. in a box seat to the left of the room I can barely see my parents through the dark. I can somehow feel my mother’s anticipation and my father’s contentment. Just behind them, my older brother peeks through the shadows. Being a trumpet player himself, and being so called “better” than me, his critical gaze steams my nerves away. Now, there is no fear. Now, there is no worry. There is only this moment.

I can feel the band slowly rising in volume. The count in my head has struck 10. I’m itching to claim my place and my throne. The count strikes 6 as I glance left at my equal, soon to be inferior lead trumpet player. The count is 4. He brings his horn up getting ready do what he does on regular bases. The count is 2 I take a glance back at the band singling out the woman in the sax section giving her a grin assuring her and all onlookers that this guys regular won’t be enough. The count is 1. It begins.

Together we lift our trumpets rear back and wail. We play notes faster than people can count ripping through rhythms and runs like none other. It’s solo time. He goes first, doing things I never thought possible with a horn, but now that I do I shred through my solo like a feral tiger. For what seems like eons, we battle. This is a war that neither of us can afford to lose. The song was coming to an end and I knew that I had the last solo; more importantly, the last note. I could see someone just to the right of me getting ready to cut off the band. I grin to myself and ask, what’s the point? The question that had pushed me to do things that I never thought I could do. The question that pushed me passed what is commonly known as the realistic. The answer was simple. This is my world, and I own it. With that I take one last breath.

Right as the last note is cued I rear back and play my highest and loudest note possible then hold it. The so called “lead” player looks at me wondering what I’m doing as I imagine his puzzled amusement. Seconds go by. I rip and tear down scales and runs doing things I did not expect. I’m on autopilot. There are more important things than what my fingers are doing. I can feel the thousands of people watching as every second go by. I don’t know when it started but, I can hear thousands of cheers. Am I done? I’m almost afraid to move a muscle in fear of falling down. I feel almost weightless. Was it this dark before? Everything seems to dim into itself. Did I win? My mind is scrambling trying to figure out what is going on. Finally I just close my eyes and ask myself with a simple victorious grin. What’s the point?