CHAPTER ELEVEN A — THE JOURNEY TO MERIDIAN
The bus assigned to our ensemble arrived forty minutes late on performance day.
Its driver had been sent to the wrong entrance, and the parking lot filled with anxious parents before anyone located him.
Voss called the transport company while Asha checked the students against the attendance sheet.
Felix discovered that one of the percussion cases had been placed on a different vehicle.
He looked ready to panic.
“We can borrow a snare drum at the hall,” I said.
“But those are my sticks,” he replied.
“Then we’ll find the case before you decide to panic.”
Dev and Felix’s father searched the second bus and found the missing case behind a stack of folding chairs.
We departed with eighteen minutes to spare against the posted arrival deadline.
The students sat in uneasy silence until someone started tapping a rhythm against the window ledge.
One by one, the others joined in, turning the rattling bus into an improvised percussion section.
I asked them to save their energy for the stage, but my warning was halfhearted.
At Meridian, the lobby was crowded with musicians in matching jackets and teachers holding clipboards.
Our students wore mismatched dark clothes because the ensemble could not afford uniforms.
Wren stared at a group whose members all had identical instrument cases.
“They look like a real orchestra,” she said.
“So do you,” Dev answered before looking embarrassed that he had spoken.
Wren offered a small smile, and the moment passed without anyone examining it.
We unloaded the instruments and followed the stage manager down a corridor lined with soundproof practice rooms.
A junior ensemble from another district had occupied our assigned warming room.
Their coach insisted the schedule gave them ten more minutes.
Asha found the printed assignment and pointed out the room number.
The coach apologized when he realized the error, but his students had already scattered their cases across the floor.
Voss suggested waiting outside until they packed up.
“We’ll lose our warmup,” Felix protested.
I looked at the corridor and saw an empty stairwell landing with enough space for a short standing exercise.
We gathered there and practiced breathing together without instruments.
Then I asked each student to describe one moment in the score they enjoyed.
Felix loved the thunderous entrance near the end.
Dev loved a quiet sequence in which the cello seemed to answer the piano.
Wren loved the moment when the clarinet carried a melody alone before the other instruments returned.
Their answers were all different, and that delighted me.
We did not need June’s rigid script to know why we were there.
When our room finally cleared, the students tuned quickly and walked to the stage.
The stage manager held the door open while the last performer adjusted a music stand.
I heard Wren take a deep breath behind me.
“You’re ready,” I told her.
“We’re here,” she corrected.
That was better.
