The Ubeat: A story for the strong.

 

The Upbeat

Introduction

My heart was pounding as the time drew closer to five. The past eighteen years of my life had all culminated to this one evening, and I felt like I could explode with the anticipation of it all.

“Honey, we have to go!” my husband, Mark, called out from the hallway as I fumbled through the closet for my shoes. “It’s already 4:30. We should be leaving if we’re going to make it on time.”

He came into the room wearing his newest black-tailed tuxedo it. I loved the way he looked in his conductor’s uniform; It infused his already handsome features with a touch of intrigue and mystique. 

My eyes ran over the length of him; 17 years of marriage and he still made my heart go thump. 

A coy smile broke onto his face. “How do I look?” he asked, noticing my visceral reaction to him. 

I took a break from my shoe search and went to him. “Tall, dark and handsome, as always.” 

My hands shook slightly as I ran my fingers along the silk fabric of his bowtie. “It’s crooked,” I said, smiling up at him sheepishly as I worked to straighten it. 

Mark took my hands and held them in his. “Don’t worry, Em. You’ll do great.” I stared into his light hazel eyes, shrouded by thick dark lashes. He could read me better than anyone else. A smile flickered across his face, bringing out his deep set-dimples. “But not if you aren’t there.” 

“What about the boys? Did you find the --”

“You worry about getting out of here,” Mark said, turning me around and leading me back to the closet. “I made sure to dress the boys in the outfits you laid out, and their hair is somewhat presentable. But if we don’t leave now, you’re going to be late for your first big night.”

I stood in front of the closet, my mind racing as I thought about what would be taking place in just a few short hours. Tonight, this very night, I would be performing in a professional orchestra. I had dreamed of this day for so long, and now that it was here, it hardly felt real. 

I felt Mark’s strong, warm arms wrap around me, instantly setting me at ease. “You’re ready,” he said, sounding far more confident than I felt. “You wouldn’t have made it through auditions, or months of grueling practice if you weren’t.”

I took in a deep breath. “I’m ready,” I repeated calmly, though my insides felt like they were being washed on the heavy duty dishwashing cycle.

“Mom! Timmy won’t give me my shoes!” 

I turned to see my oldest son, Bryan, come running into the room, his face flushed with anger. “Timmy keeps saying they are his shoes. But his shoes are smaller, and mine are bigger!” 

Mark came to stand between us. “Bryan, Mommy’s busy right now.” 

“But, I can’t go without my shoes!” Bryan huffed.

“Don’t worry, bud, I’ll help you.” Mark left the room, his coattails flapping behind him. “Timmy, give Bryan back his shoes!” I heard him calling down the hallway.

I went back to my own shoe search, glad to let Mark handle the sibling squabble. After some digging, I found the box of ridiculously expensive heels Mark had insisted on buying me for the show. 

Bryan sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with his big brown eyes as I slid them on. 

“Here, Bry.” Mark came back into the room holding a pair of boy’s black dress shoes. “It took some convincing, but I got ‘em.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Bryan said, jumping up from the bed to put them on. 

“So ...Bry, do you remember what we talked about regarding tonight?” Mark asked as Bran wriggled his feet into his shoes.

“Yes.” Bryan let out a sigh. “To not shout, or scream, or make any other types of loud noises.”

“And . . .” Mark pressed.

“And not to clap until the very end.”

“Or what?” my husband asked in his calm, even voice.

Bryan shuffled his feet. “Or we’ll have to eat grandma’s pot roast for a week.”

My mouth hung open. “Mark, tell me you didn’t use Grandma’s cooking to threaten the boys with!” 

Mark looked at me with wide, innocent eyes, “What? It works.”

I finished lacing up my heels and wobbled over to whisper in Bryan’s ear. “Don’t worry, sweetie; I’ll never make you eat grandma’s cooking.” 

His dimples grew even deeper as he smiled up at me -- a spitting image of his father. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, sounding like I had saved him from a most gruesome death. (To be honest, her cooking was horrible.)

“Just as long as you never put me in a nursing home!” I added as Bryan kissed my cheek and ran out of the room.

“And you,” I said, teetering my way over to Mark and giving him a playful poke in his chest. “You be sure to watch me carefully during the performance. I’ll probably need to be brought out on a stretcher because I’ll be having a nervous breakdown.”

Mark bent down to kiss me on the forehead. “You won’t have a nervous breakdown.”

“What’s a nervous breakdown?” Timmy said, coming into the room wearing the outfit I had picked out for him, but with his hair not even remotely close to being “somewhat presentable.” (I blamed the boys’ unruly hair on Mark, whose own hair took about a quart of gel a day to tame.) 

Mark ruffled Timmy’s mop of disheveled black curls. “It’s nothing,” Mark laughed. “Mommy’s just nervous about tonight.”

Timmy looked over at me. “Don’t worry, Mommy. I’ve heard you practice. You’re really, really good. You’ll do great!” The sincerity in his small, five-year-old voice caused tears to spring to my eyes.

“Thank you, honey. That means more than you know.” I smiled down at him; I would never understand how you could love someone with all of your heart and still have room to love another child and husband with your whole heart, too. 

“Alright, hun, time to get going,” Mark said, sliding his arm around my waist and leading me out of the room.

“Wait, I need to get my shawl!” I wriggled out of his grasp and headed back to the closet. 

“Shawl?” Mark said. “You don’t need a shawl. You look amazing in that dress, and you always complain about the heat when you practice under those lights.”

“But --” I swallowed hard as I looked down at the rough, rope-like scar tissue that covered both of my arms and then back at Mark. “I think it would be better if I covered up. Don’t you?”

Mark’s head cocked to the side as he regarded me. “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful,” he told me with added tenderness to his voice.

I laughed. “You’re my husband -- You have to say that.”

Mark came over to me. Running the tips of his fingers over my scars, he said in a low, gentle voice, “You are beautiful, and you don’t need to hide one single thing about yourself.” He lifted my chin so that our eyes met. “This is a part of what made you you. And you -- are perfect.”

I breathed in deeply. As usual, Mark had found a way to win me over to his reasoning. 

“Aright. No shawl,” I said, swallowing back the lump that had formed in my throat. I rarely left my room much less my house without covering up my arms. But I had to hand it to Mark -- He was my biggest supporter in helping me to accept my body, as he did, scars and all. 

“Besides,” I said as we left the room, “this is about the music. Not me.”

“No.” Mark slid his hand back around my waist and gave me a squeeze. “It’s about the music, and you.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he added, “Now let’s go rock this thing.”

My mind felt numb as I sat in my chair, staring at the thick, red, velvet curtains that kept us hidden from the audience. Tonight, the orchestra hall was filled to capacity, which meant we would be playing for over two thousand people. I had played in front of a crowd before, but nothing like this. I could not wrap my head around the size of the audience. What would that even look like from the stage?

 My hands started to sweat as I held tightly to my instrument. Mark had given it to me fifteen years ago, and it was the only French horn I would play. The old horn and I had accomplished much together -- tonight would mark the biggest achievement yet. 

 My foot tapped anxiously on the ground as the nerves set in. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began chanting, ‘You’ve got this, Em. You’ve got this.” over and over in my mind until I felt my nervousness start to subside. 

Moments later, I heard the announcer’s voice through the speaker as he stepped to the mic to begin his introduction. My eyes snapped open at the sound of the curtain parting. Staring straight ahead, I watched as the little sliver of audience we could see grew and grew until I was looking out at a crowd of 2,500 people all waiting to hear the beautiful sounds of the orchestra; The same sounds that had brought me through some of the darkest times of my life. The same sounds that had saved my life.

I sat straighter in my seat as Mark walked in quick, deliberate steps out onto the stage. With his back turned to us, he gave a long, slow bow towards the audience and then, in a flash, he was at the podium. His dark eyes were tense as he lifted his wand. 

The violinists readied their instruments, anticipating his signal to begin. With an almost imperceivable flick of his wrist, the signal was given. Instantly the concert hall was filled with the light but piercing notes of the violins, all 18 of them playing together in perfect unison. 

My breath caught as the cellos joined in, causing a peace to settle in the air as their deeper, richer tone coupled together in perfect harmony with the violins. Then the flutes and clarinets began to play, along with the basses and bassoons until all of the instruments resounded together in a magnificent, rapturous chorus. 

All but one. 

My heart beat claps of thunder inside my chest as my moment of entry drew near. I kept my eyes forward, watching Mark's every movement carefully as I waited for his cue to begin. 

Raising my horn to playing position, my eyes caught hold of one of the many pale streaks, splattered like paint across both of my arms. In a flash, my mind went back to a time when things were different. Much different . . . 

I tightened my grip on my horn and forced my eyes back up to Mark. That time had no hold on me now. I was here now. This is who I was.

I took in a final drink of air before pressing my lips to the familiar mouth-piece of my horn. 

In a subtle movement, Mark motioned his baton towards the other four horn players and me. 

This was my time. 

How far I had come . . .

***Hope you enjoyed this little taste of a tale that I can not wait to tell! "The Upbeat" will be coming out in full at the beginning of 2018!***