Dream come true

Notes flowed through the air as my fingers twirled around the strings. My tender fingers danced on my antique 1967 violin. The wood was crafted with rigorous details that crafted a delicate artifact. I played beautiful symphonies through the night in my wonderland of music. My head spun as I painted a majestic paradise through each piece. The prolonged feeling burst through my veins.

I played and played, and at the end of my final piece, my eyes fluttered open, and I gracefully woke up for school. My older brother had always been the inspirational sibling I looked up to. He was a grand violin master, and his music always filled my soul. It had been a long time since he left for music school across Europe, and the memories of him and his violin ached through my heart. I cautiously picked up his leather-bound violin and headed to school.

Everyone around me was staring at my antique violin. Today at school, my grade level was finally picking our electives. I thought, “I could give the violin a try.” I rushed to the lengthy line of other students waiting to audition. Alex, the school violinist who no one could beat, sneered at me. He pointed at me, then my violin, and laughed. “You really think you have a chance at violin?” he smirked and walked away.

I skeptically dropped my head down to where I held my violin. Despite his doubtful comment, I held my head high and walked into the room. I hadn’t practiced or known what piece I was going to play. I plucked a few strings and skidded the bow around like I felt in my dream. The notes flowed in a cautious way, echoing off the walls. I dreaded the judges’ reaction and timidly looked up. When I reached for the door handle, someone suddenly clapped. I felt accomplished, bowed before the less intimidating judges, and walked out prouder than ever.

My friends waited for me outside the auditorium, and we headed to class together. They were all incredulous when I told them I picked up the violin. I had been friends with them since 2nd grade, and now, 4 years later, they found out I knew how to play the violin. I just nodded and played along because I didn’t want to face the scrutiny of no one believing I learned violin from a different reality in just a single night.

My parents never bothered to ask me what elective I chose. I also didn’t feel the need to tell them everything that was going on. I went to school as usual, just as I had for the past month, and no one questioned it. Everyone just assumed I had played for a long time. Except for Alex, who smirked every time we passed in the hallway.

The following days were pointless until our music teachers called out the names of those who earned a spot in the orchestra. I carelessly dozed off for about half an hour when I woke up to 20 pairs of eyes staring at me. Alex looked pissed, and everyone was clapping. I waited for someone to break the news to me, when suddenly Melissa spoke up. “Alex has held the record for first chair in the orchestra since 3rd grade!” She exclaimed, “For 3 years straight,” she blurted.

The wheels in my head started turning. I, who had not touched an instrument since about a month ago, was apparently the best violinist in my grade. I did a silent cheer in my head when I realized that the arrogant Alex wasn’t first anymore. My celebration was soon cut short when the rage plastered on Alex’s face scared me back into my seat. He looked as if he was about to explode. He caught me staring and plastered on a fake smile.

That night, I couldn’t help but notice that instead of the usual calming symphonies that played on through my head, a cacophony of destruction headed my way. The noise echoed deep into my head. Alex’s prominent gaze lingered in my mind as I replayed his reaction over and over. The noise soon became unbearable, and I woke up in a cold sweat.

The next day at school, my friends were congratulating me. The orchestra had violin practice today, and my friends Wyatt and Preston had also made the orchestra. After school, Preston, Wyatt, and I headed for the auditorium. Many of my classmates were there, but the most noticeable of all was Alex, moping in the corner of the room. I hung my head in dismay when I noticed him; I didn’t expect him to make such a big deal about not making first chair.

I set up my violin and waited for our teacher’s directions. I immediately started warming up my shoulder and neck, as if I had done it a million times, and this was just another time. However, despite my calm, smooth moves, everything that came through my arms was improvisation and pure confidence. Surprisingly, I did well and just followed Ms. Wazowski’s directions.

The next few weeks passed through a haze of notes swirling through my mind. I didn’t expect to understand all the musical terms and notes every normal violinist would understand. I carried the ancient violin around for months with beaming confidence.

During the winter, my brother came home from his studies abroad for Christmas. He noticed the violin was gone from his old room and questioned it. I dragged him into my room and slowly explained everything to him. I thought I sounded like a lunatic with every seemingly unconvincing word I spoke.

Surprisingly, he understood. It shocked me to the core, but he explained that while the dream was fake, it had given me confidence so substantial that all I had to do was copy moves from every one of my night lessons. I had a remarkable memory that no master could copy, granting me special talents.