Tara: Leaving

The chairs around Tara started to fill with cello players and violinsts creating a cacophony while tuning and practicing. One after another each cello player wandered up to Tara and timidly asked her to tune their instruments. Exasperated by their incompetence, she scolded them about needing help.

"Bu my A sting is sticking," protested miranda, "And my C keeps slipping!"

"You've been playing for four years. You ought to be able to tune your own cello," and Tara handed Miranda's cello back.

Silence crept across the room as the conductor's head appeared aove the back row of mushc stands. She wisked by the row of practice rooms on her right, mumuring greetings to the last stands of violinists. More of her slight form became visible when she passed by the shorter stands in the front of the violin section. When she climbed onto her podium and opened the attendance book, the noise resumed at its previous level.

"Everyone here Tara?"

"I've tuned seven cellos so they must be. Why can't they tune their own? They don't even try anymore," Tara complained with disgust.

"You can't expect everyone to be able to do everything you can. You're second chair. It's your duty to help your section," said the cunductor as she turned away to tune the concert mistress' violin.

"I wouldn't mind if only they'd do it themselves once in a while," Tara muttered.

The conductor rapped her stand for attention. "Let's get started. Take out the Mozart, fifth movement." she raised her arms and instruments rose in anticipation of the downbeat. A Hand waved wildly in the back of the second violin section to get the conductor's attention.

"Was that the first or last movement?"

Tara sighed inwardly. It never failed; some goof off would not pay attention to instructions. "The fifth," she yelled.

The conductor's arms swooped down and the first notes rang out. The cellos leaned forward into their sudden crecendo while the first violins scrunched over their music, valiantly trying to play their thirtyseconds in tune. The bows in the viola section bounced off strings in a perfect spicato. the principle violist set down her instrument and peered behind her at the music of the second stand. She then leaned over alsost colided with Tara's bow.

"Watch it!" Tara whispered.

Suddenly the conductor waved the orchestra silent and stared at tara and the violist.

With a sheepish look on her face, the violist asked,"What piece are we playing?"

Tara snorted. "Motzart, the fifth movement," replied the conductor. "Okay, let's start at letter A and firsts, watch the b flats please?"

Just as the orchestra was about to start, Pete asked Tara to switch seats so he could talk to the principal violist. Tara stared at him in disbelief. Th principle cello player was supposed to stay in his own seat and lead the section. Her short hair fluttered as she shook her head no. Surprisingly, the orchestra made it through the rest of the rehearsal without any more serious interuptions. At the end of rehearsal Tara returned her cello to its case and went to talk to the conductor. Unfortunately, everyone else also wanted to talk. She waited outside the conductor's office until the others had finished.

"Yes Tara?"

"I can't stand the orchestra anmore," Tara said.

"Why? Is it me, the other players...Pete?

"It's everyone, but mostly it's the way the orchestra acts. You let them get away with everything!"

"How I run my orchestra is no concern of yours."

"But it is! Why do you let them interrupt? Why do you let them talk so much during practice?" Tara demanded. "They can't even tune their own insruments!"

"You can't expect everyone to do what you can They're not as..."

"Advanced. I know! But these things are simple. Twleve your olds can tune!"

"If you don't like being in my orchestra, then leave!"

Tara whirled around and stormed out of the office. Quit orchestra? She couldn't. Music was important. She had been playing the cello for eleven years.

"I can't go back. Not after today. Maybe I don't have to quit the cello. There must be many other orchestras out there thay may need me."

"Tara sat on a red beat up couch nervously tuning her cello. She opened her music and fingered through it. Every so often she would glance up at the woman sittind at the desk across the room. Tara got up to look at the meaningless art that inhabits every public building. She startled at the loud beep of the intercom.

"Send in the next applicant," said a voice.

"The conductor will hear you now."