Of Irritation and Sheet Music

The day before I started high school, I went to band camp, where I met the other members of my high school band for the first time. That night, I wrote: I think I will actually learn a lot in Band this year.

I was right, but not in the way you might suppose.

There were three other girls and eight boys in the clarinet section with me. They all seemed like decent musicians and fine people. I had no problems with any of them...except for this one boy.

It's hard to explain why I disliked him so much. He was cute, he was well-dressed, he seemed smart and he seemed kind. But there was something about him, something...something...

Irritating. He was irritating.

He talked to everyone, even people he just met, as if they were old acquaintances picking up conversation right where they left off. I didn't like the pretense of this. He raised his hand during Algebra and asked the teacher to explain the problems again. Such interruptions slowed down the lecture portion of the class considerably and cut into the schoolwork portion. During clarinet sectionals, he offered words of advice and encouragement to the other players. I was stymied; nobody asked for his opinion, and I didn't understand why he felt the need to share it.

All of these things irritated me—maybe because I am such a guarded person. I keep myself closed and wrapped up tight, and I am naturally suspicious of people who seem likely to try to pry me open. At fifteen, I was especially adverse to those sort of people. Therefore, I was especially adverse to this boy. If he had talked to me like I was an old acquaintance, I would have spent the conversation thinking, "You don't know me, so stop acting like you do." If he had asked for my help with a math problem, I would have given the briefest explanation possible and quickly bent back over my work. If he had tried to offer me clarinet advice, my only response would have been to shrug.

But I didn't have to do any of those things. The boy and I didn't talk. In fact, although we had multiple classes together and were constantly near each other, I was convinced that he probably had no idea who I was. Fine by me. Relieving to me. It was better to be irritated from a distance than to be irritated up close and personal.

Then Christmas rolled around, and with it, the Hometown High Christmas band concert.

This next part is a little fuzzy. After all, I had better things to do during Christmas at fifteen years old then pay attention to insignificant details that I didn't know I would need later for a blog post. What I do remember, though, is that there was some problem with the sheet music for a few of the songs. Not enough copies, probably. Sometimes we had to share copies, and not all stand partners were great at taking turns bringing the music home for practice.

Whatever the case, I also remember that the boy and I were not stand partners (that would have required us to talk, which I was still avoiding). But we did play the same parts for some of the songs. And for some reason, which I still don't understand, the boy decided that I was the best person to borrow sheet music from.

Trying to pry me open is the number one thing you can do to make me suspicious of you. Asking to borrow something is the second, particularly if that thing is sheet music. I had way too many experiences in junior high with people borrowing my sheet music and never giving it back. Besides, the concert was just days away, and I had to practice.

He said he would make copies and bring it right back. My internal response was, "Yeah, right!" But what was I supposed to say? "Bah Humbug; you can't have it"? It was, after all, Christmas.

Reluctantly, I let him take the sheet music. I supposed I'd never see it again. Goodbye, sheet music.

Imagine my surprise when he returned it promptly. A day later? Maybe two days later? I'm not sure. But I was stunned. I didn't know what to say.

He knew what to say. He always knew what to say. He deposited the sheet music into my hands, chattered on about the best copy machine settings for sheet music, probably thanked me, and left.

It was a small thing. Not a big deal. But it sparked a new thought in me. The thought was: Maybe he's not so bad after all.

And that's how I began to become friends with Best Friend Boy.