XPLR | Colby Brock

~139~

Hey... you guys should really nominate me for best fan fiction on the Fiction Awards... I saw @sparkllystars already did... thank you!!! What? I'm allowed to have some self promotion...

I walked down the street of a happening New York City street, right through Times Square. I can't even count the times I've been in this part of the city on my own, but that's only because I've never been to this part of the city alone.

It's night time, almost, about 5pm. I had to be here early. The drinkers and partiers haven't come out yet, but I knew they would be when I left the broadway show center. That I still don't know the name of. Oh, God, this is destined to be a disaster.

Back in high school, when my orchestra would go to sight reading competitions, my director would always complain and complain and complain about the sight reading process. It goes as follows:

1) No talking, whatsoever.
2) Your director has five minutes to study the score.
3) After that, he has five minutes to pretty much just "explain" the score, as in who plays out where.
4) Now he's got three minutes to do whatever he wants, that includes singing and counting.

Most musicians who go through a similar process cringe at the idea, it's a long and tedious process, and it's bound to make your head hurt. Besides the point, Mr. Dawson always hated it. He would always say, "They're teaching you how to be soft. In the real world you'll get a few hours notice, then you have to show up to the venue and give a cold read on the spot! And hope you'll do good."

I chuckled at the memory. I never believed it would be happening to me, but here I am.

I looked at the address I had written on my hand and looked up at the show center. In big words on an even bigger poster said: MISS SAIGON.

I've never heard of this musical. Of course I wouldn't have, because why would it be easy for me? Why couldn't it be Hamilton or Dear Evan Hansen, or some mainstream musical I know the melodies of? Ironically, though, having heard the music before the performance was against the rules of the sight reading process. But that one was just a given, obviously.

I walked inside the venue where I was met by a tall guard. "Can I help you?" he asked. He was much taller than me, he looked like your stereotypical security guard. I said, though, with confidence: "I'm Rose Romano. I'm a last minute stand-in pianist for the pit orchestra."

He nodded. "Right, the conductor told me I would be expecting you," he said, "right this way." I followed him through the rows and hallways until he brought me to a room in the back. When he opened the door, all eyes turned towards me, and I could feel my confidence disappearing.

The security guard, Tony, spoke for me. "This is Rose Romano. The stand-in," he said. I nodded a thanks to him and tugged my coat on tighter. Weather here will always be cold to me, seeing as no where will be as hot as California. Albeit, nowhere that I'll live.

A man stood up and walked towards me, holding his hand out. I took it and he gave me a firm handshake. "I'm Hal," he said. I smiled at him and nodded, hoping he didn't notice how sweaty my hands were.

"Thanks, Tony," he said to the security guard, and Hal placed his hand on my back and gave me a little nudge so I would follow him. He guided me to a piano and I sat down. "We've got a lot of work to do," he said. "I'm Hal, I'm conducting. These are our strings," he introduced. I noted that there were no violins. It means I might have melody a lot. "And our brass and woodwinds." Nevermind. "And percussion. Which you're apart of for the night."

A boy at a mallet keyboard waved to me. "Hi," he said, "Rose, right?"

I nodded. "How old are you?" someone else asked with notable aggression, "you look a little young to be a professional pianist. I thought we were getting a professional," the same old man said. He played viola. Well, he wasn't old, but he was at least in his thirties. "I'm twenty," I said, "and I'm full ride at Juilliard. Trust me, I can hold my own for some broadway background music," I matched his aggression, narrowing my eyes at him.

I caught myself, and I eased myself. I've never done that before. I've never been that confident. I smiled. The thirty-year-old probably thought that I was smiling at him, and I'll let him think that for the sake of peace, but I wasn't smiling at him.

Wow.

"Break it up, you two," Hal said as he handed me a book. "It's almost completely sung through, so just watch me and you'll tell when we're starting a new song," he said. I flipped through a few pages, and I looked up when I felt the mallet board boy lean over towards me. "You'll get used to Chris," he said. "He thinks he's cool because he has the same name as the male lead. He's that kind of guy."

I chuckled at that. I took a deep breath and opened the cover of the book, though after I took a picture of the cover. It's beautiful. "What is this musical about anyway?" I asked, to break the silence. Chris scoffed and looked at me. "You don't even know what it's about?"

"No," I answered nonchalantly. "My teacher who recruited me didn't even tell me the title, and as a full time student I didn't have much time to investigate," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. The mallet board boy opened his mouth to say something, but a girl with a cello between her legs said, "Take it easy on her, Chris. We're just lucky to have her. It's about a Vietnamese accidental prostitute falling in love with an American soldier during the Vietnam War. It's a love story about their perils."

I smiled a thanks at her. Before I even got a chance to get a feel of the music, we were already tuning and warming up in the orchestra pit. "Do you have any pit experience?" Hal asked as the crowd in the two terrace stage began to enter. "Kind of," I said. I was in Phantom of the Opera. This is kind of like that.

I glanced up during my very few rests, during the set changes and intermissions. I had held it together pretty well.

This is amazing, I decided. There was something so fitting about playing with a group of people and telling a story. And every now and then, Hal would smile at me and nod, telling me that I was doing good.

I ran my hand up the board to play a chromatic scale during one of the final songs. I laughed softly during a particularly funny line of one of the last songs.

When the long show, nearly three hours long, finished and the stars of the show came out and gave their final bow, a light was cast down on the pit orchestra. There was thunderous applause. I waved with the rest of the musicians, even mean ole' Chris was smiling.

All our differences were put past for a moment, we had all become one for the sake of music. And I loved that. I love this.

Needless to say, and rather lucky for me, I was given a job offer at the end of the night.