Confessions of a Flute

Normally, I despise bragging, boasting, swaggering, crowing, and gloating...
However, I want the world to know that I am swell. From years of experience, I have learned that the world tends to close its mind to the possibility that instruments may have personalities. Now, pardon me, there a few believers. Such as my girl,she is a believer, clearly, or else she wouldn’t be typing this as I narrate it to her. My girl and... hmm, maybe her music teachers, I’m sure at least one of them is a believer. My girl is nodding and saying, “definitely,” so apparently it must be so.
My girl, knows everything. I’ve heard her say that sometimes people who love their
instruments, start to remind her of instruments, she laughed and nodded again. She says, “Yes, like one of my music teachers reminds me of a saxophone, the other, a tuba. That’s just how it works.” My girl... can be strange. I know that she doesn’t remind herself of a flute. She scoffs and says, “definitely not.”
I, am a flute. A brand A, silver plated flute. Actually I just made that up. I don’t even know what kind of flute I am, which, I realize, helps to play into the stereotype of all instruments being the same, but really, we’re not. I’ve hardly ever met a trombone that I’ve liked, distasteful creatures they are. Anyhow, this, is all
about me, because I want the world to know, who I am, and why I differ from other
flutes.
Now it all started back in fourth grade. She said, “I want to play the drums,” her mother said “Tsk tsk Karlie, pick something else,” so she picked flute. With no reason, at all. All through fourth grade, she didn’t particularly care about it, after all, fourth grade was her busiest year. She had these five best friends she couldn’t stand to be without. (Sadly, I wasn’t part of that clique...yet.) When fifth grade rolled around, and her friends who played trumpets and saxophones got to be in jazz band, Karlie became a raving lunatic. (She just laughed and said, “I did not...”) Karlie remembered a flute being in jazz band once not so long ago. She immediately made it her goal to be as good as that girl, and to be in jazz band, her sixth grade year.
And so began the practicing. Lots, and lots of practicing. We got into jazz band, the same year that Karlie began flute lessons with a man by the name of Bill Shontz. I loved to play Disney songs, and that is what Karlie played when she had her first lesson with him. I was happy as could be, I was showing off for this new teacher, who had much less hair than her dreamy old band teacher. Suddenly, Karlie’s breath was flowing into me less and less. I wondered if she was having an asthma attack...Out of worry, I stopped functioning immediately and realized Karlie was crying. She continued to have an emotional break down while this new private lessons teacher looked at her worriedly. My girl had no idea why she was
crying, but she was... and from then on, she hated going to lessons. She now
reports, “I’m glad I did, they helped in the long run, even though I only went to a few of them.” She's so intellectual.
Suddenly...into middle school! A whole new environment, new flutes, new people, new teacher. This teacher...very odd. Exuberant if you will. I wasn’t sure if I liked him or not. He tended to jump around and make strange noises during band rehearsal, but Karlie laughed, so I tried to like him. When she had her first lesson with him, I knew I had to suck up my discomfort, and do my best. I did. He was impressed, my girl was pleased, I was pleased. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Never have I been happier then when I am being pulled out of my blue
velvety case and assembled in that band room. There is an excitement, a passion for music that is a constant presence in the air. What’s not to love? I also noticed that my girl is never as happy as when she is in that music room. So! For five years now, I have been playing in that room, happy as can be. Sometimes the music is hard, painful. I have to work and use so much energy that afterwards, I feel like my keys have been pushed through into my body. Some of the most beautiful songs have left me feeling so ugly. Ugly, but accomplished. I know my girl is pleased, I can feel it in her fingers. An energy that she fills me with, and in return, I play the music. It’s a stellar relationship.
I know the world. I have played in pit bands for musicals, and marching bands. I have played in pep bands at basketball games, and in “Galileo”, a marvelous play with the most exotic music you’ve ever heard. I’ve played in a show to raise money for sixth graders to go to Canada, I’ve played for Mongolians to go to college. I’ve played in my girl’s fifth grade band called “The Ladybogs,” I’ve played endless concerts for patient parents, the same songs over and over. I’ve played in jazz bands, and I’ve played a piece written by my girl called, “Song of the Walrus.” My girl shudders as I bring it up, but I thought it was fun.
I...am not an everyday flute. I am a hero, a fighter, a believer, a dreamer. I am a musician. I play to give the world something nice that wasn’t there before. I am dedicated to my girl with my whole heart, if anyone else touches me, I will bite their heads off. I know the logistics of that seem impossible, but please don’t doubt me. I am a flute, I am POWERFUL.