Jay Versus the Saxophone of Doom

by Kara Kootstra

  Nothing much happens over the next week, and on Thursday morning I wake up the way I normally do—to the sound of Jodie’s hair dryer and Dylan’s music blasting from their respective rooms. A yawn escapes my mouth, and as I sleepily push the warm blanket to the side I start thinking about what I need to do to prepare for the day’s events. (Side note: Luke has often made fun of me at sleepovers because he feels that I need to replace my bed covers with something more “age-appropriate.” True, my blanket may or may not have bears on it. And they may or may not be dancing. And they may or may not be wearing brightly colored T-shirts with alphabet letters on them. But in my defense, it is the softest, most comfortable blanket ever made. And sometimes, a good blanket just has to come before style. I have no regrets.)

  Okay, what do I have going on today?…Math in the morning, so I’ll need to stick my homework in my binder. Social Studies in the afternoon, and I’m just about out of lined paper in that binder so I’ll need to refill it. History textbook, lunch bag…wait. Lunch. Something is happening at lunch. What am I doing at…? RIGHT. Today is the day I’m meeting with my new tutor at lunchtime. Just thinking about it makes me groan. Don’t get me wrong—I am happy to be getting the help, and I’ll be even happier if this means I have a chance at passing my Music test, but giving up my lunch hour for the saxophone? Yeah, not exactly my idea of a fun time.

  Plus, I have no idea what to expect. I mean, I’ve had plenty of coaches—is a tutor kind of like that? It’s possible, although I’m fairly certain he/she will not be running anything that resembles a flow drill in hockey (a drill where you literally don’t stop until the coach blows the whistle…it’s pretty killer).

  —

  GAME TIP #8: You would think this would go without saying, but never participate in a burrito-eating contest before practice when you know the coach will be running a flow drill. I mean, c’mon…that’s just common sense.

  The morning goes by without incident and I have all but forgotten about my lunch meeting until I run into Luke at his locker.

  “Let’s go, I’m starving,” I say to Luke as he grabs his lunch, shoves his backpack into his locker, and shuts the door.

  “Um, I thought you had something over lunch hour…your saxophone thing, right?”

  I let out my second groan of the day. “Oh man…I gotta head over there right now or I’ll totally be late.”

  “Enjoy yourself…and try not to think of me eating my lunch, you know…relaxing, nothing to worry about…”

  “Yeah, yeah. Catch ya later.”

  I go back to my locker to grab my saxophone and glance at the large clock in the hallway. It’s almost noon. I shove my sandwich into my mouth on my way to the music room, accidentally dropping some crumbs and a few pieces of lettuce behind me. I would normally take the time to clean up after myself but I really do not want to be late for my first tutoring session. Besides, if I pass out while attempting to play the saxophone, at least Luke will have a trail to follow to find me.

  I enter the room and spy Mrs. Jennings, who is talking wildly, complete with exaggerated hand gestures, to some kid who is attempting to eat a bag of chips.

  “…and that is why we must pass the gift of music to all who seek it!” The boy does not look convinced but nods his head slightly. “Ah! There is he is now! Jason, I would like you to meet Benjamin Davidson.” Benjamin is a tall, lanky kid with a face full of freckles and thick, dark-rimmed glasses. I think I’ve seen him around the school once or twice, and I’m pretty sure he is in seventh or eighth grade.

  He grins at me and sticks out his hand. “Hi there, I’m Ben!” It seems weird that his hand is extended toward me since no kid has shaken another kid’s hand since 1950…but I shake it all the same.

  “Well, now that we have the introductions out of the way, I’ll leave you to it!” With that, Mrs. Jennings leaps, literally LEAPS out of the classroom. I turn to see if Ben is laughing but he’s already opening his saxophone case and putting the instrument together. Now, you should know, I’m a pretty shy guy. I’m not usually the one to begin conversations, but given this is a bit of an awkward situation, I feel as though I should try in some way to break the ice with this Ben kid.

  “So, you got stuck with the saxophone too, eh? They seriously need to start making class lists that start from Z and work their way up.” Ben looks up at me, seemingly confused. “You know, because all the kids with last names at the top of the list get to pick things first?”

  “I didn’t get stuck with the saxophone, I picked it! I’d already learned the trumpet and the flute, and I really wanted to give myself a bit of a challenge.” He grins again and continues to put the pieces of his saxophone in place. Great. Just great. I’ve got one of “those” kids, the kind of kid who wants a “challenge.” You know what kids who like challenges also like?

  1. Learning random facts about lizards…because it’s just so interesting!

  2. Eating twelve-grain bread.

  (TWELVE grains? Is that really necessary?)

  3. Raising their hand multiple times in class.

  (Give it a REST already.)

  4. Being the teacher’s pet…enough said.

  Now, before you start saying, “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Jay,” let’s just be honest. We all judge books by their covers. I mean, if you had picked up this book in the library or a bookstore and the cover had a picture of some kid giving a thumbs-up and the title read something like How to Be Your Best You! it’s more than likely that you never would have opened it to page one. (Unless you want to learn how to be the best you…in which case, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you are probably reading the wrong book.) So yes, I know that everyone says we are not supposed to judge someone that we don’t know, but even if I don’t KNOW this kid Ben, trust me…I know his type. I have met his type. I have sat next to his type. It’s not that I have a problem with kids like Ben…it’s just that I can’t understand them. AT ALL.

  “It’s going to be pretty hard to play that, you know.” Ben is looking intently at me and I realize I have probably been out of it for a few minutes. Mrs. Jennings must be rubbing off on me.

  “I…I know, that’s why I thought I should get a tutor.”

  Ben laughs, a nerdy, high-pitched laugh, and opens my case. “No, I mean it’s going to be pretty hard to play that if it’s in the case.”

  “Oh. Right.” I start taking out my saxophone and glance at the clock: 12:15. Maybe Ben can teach me how to play the saxophone in forty-five minutes and I’ll be done with tutoring and him forever.

  “Now, I should warn you, you’re not going to learn the saxophone in a day. It’s going to take time, a lot of hard work, and a ton of practice. I’m thinking we should set up a tutoring schedule…maybe twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

  Waste another fifty or so lunch hours? Yep, that sounds about right. Let’s check the score:

  CHAPTER 6

  “Ready?” Ben is sitting across from me with his saxophone strapped around his neck.

  “I guess,” I reply, which in this case means NOT AT ALL AND I WILL NEVER GET THIS SO WE MIGHT AS WELL STOP TRYING. By the way, Ben is giving me that goofy grin again, so I can tell he doesn’t get the hidden meaning.

  “Okay, the first thing you’re going to do is put your instrument together.”

  After two months of Music classes, it’s the only thing I can actually do. Without faking it.

  “Okay, good. Now, attach the reed and tighten the ligature.”

  Ligature. Apparently the weird metal thing has a name! I am absolutely thrilled by this new knowledge. Can you tell?

  “Great. Now attach the strap, put it around your neck, and show me how you hold your instrument.”

  I follow his instructions, holding the saxophone the way I do in class. Wait, I lied before. That’s TWO things. I can do TWO things with my saxophone.

  “That’s good, just loosen your grip a little bit with your left hand, and your right hand should be farther do
wn.”

  “That feels weird,” I complain, trying to reposition my right hand to feel more comfortable.

  “Trust me, by the time we’re finished, it will feel as normal as breathing.” Yeah, um…not likely, Ben. “Okay, so now that we’ve got a better hand position, we’ll use the rest of our session to work on our embouchure.”

  “Omba-what?”

  “Embouchure. It’s how your mouth is positioned in order to make a good sound with your instrument. It’s one of the most important things you need to know in order to play the saxophone, so we have to make sure we’ve got it down before we start playing.”

  “So, we’re going to spend the rest of our lunch hour…NOT playing the saxophone?” At this pace, no wonder he wants to meet twice a week. This guy really needs to work on his time management.

  “Look, you need to be able to do this in order to make a decent sound. Playing the saxophone is more than just holding down a key and blowing into your mouthpiece. You have to have the right foundation in order to ensure your tone production is right. There are so many elements to making music, which is one of the reasons it’s so satisfying when you finally master it. For instance…”

  He keeps talking, but I’m not really listening. I just need to be able to play a few notes on a saxophone, and Ben seems a little too intense for my purposes. I wonder if it’s possible to make a tutor switch, or switch my instrument, or switch my school…

  “So, let’s give it a try,” Ben is saying, and I am starting to realize that I have a major focus problem.

  “Uh…right. We’re giving what a try, exactly?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t realize that I have not been listening for the past five minutes.

  “Your embouchure. Everyone’s is a bit different but it kind of looks like this.” Ben starts slightly pulling in his bottom lip and pushing out his top lip. It is all I can do not to laugh out loud, until he motions for me to try. I look around to make sure no one is in the vicinity, and start imitating Ben’s lip pose.

  “Okay, that’s a good start. Try to put your top lip out just a bit more. That’s better, relax your lips…”

  “Awww, taking a few kissing lessons, Squirt?” I turn around and there’s Mick Bartlet, arms crossed, leaning in the door frame. Of course it had to be Mick. Immediately, my lips stop doing the omba-thingy and I attempt to act natural, which of course makes me look totally unnatural.

  Ben starts saying, “Sorry, this is a closed tutoring session. If you need help, you can schedule with Mrs.—” Mick cuts him off.

  “Yeah, I think I can figure out how to blow into a horn, but thanks.”

  “There’s a lot more involved in perfecting your musical craft than simply producing a sound out of an instrument. For instance, one must consider proper pitch and tone,” Ben says, starting to give Mick the same lecture he gave me. This time, I’m the one that cuts him off.

  “What do you want, Mick?” I ask, although I’m sure I already know the answer.

  “Oh, I was just passing by and thought you might like an audience. You’re a regular musical genius, Roberts. Standing ovation! Bravo! Encore!” Mick begins to applaud and whistle. When the bell rings he pretends to tip an imaginary hat my way and leaves the music room, laughing. I quickly start taking my saxophone apart, never more grateful that lunch hour is over.

  “So, keep practicing your embouchure, and I’ll see you back here on Tuesday?”

  “Yep, sure thing.” I hastily stick the pieces of my saxophone into the case and get up to leave. Even though it was even worse than I’d imagined, I hear my mom’s voice in my brain, reminding me to use my manners. I reach the door and turn around to face Ben, who is still putting his saxophone away.

  “Uh, thanks,” I say, awkwardly.

  Ben smiles. “No, problem. See you later.”

  I nod and walk out of the room, thinking about how much I don’t want “later” to come.

  I have hockey practice after school so I get home as quickly as possible to grab a light snack before I go. Practice goes smoothly, mostly because Mick is not there. He started feeling sick near the end of the school day and one of his friends told the coach he went home with the flu, which is pretty incredible considering the kid is almost never sick. He has, like, some super immunity to sickness or something. (Side note: Just in case you didn’t know, having an “immunity” means that you have built up a resistance to something. For example, I am currently trying to become immune to my mom’s tuna casserole. I force myself to take one extra bite every time I eat it and to keep it down. So far, I’m up to eight.)

  To my amazement, when I get home after practice, the TV is Jodie-and-Dylan-free. Jodie is in her room and Dylan is at a friend’s house. This means I have full access to the TV, without having to fight either of my siblings about what we’re going to watch, for a full fifteen minutes until dinner’s ready. After a few moments of looking for the remote (which is under a hoodie Jodie left draped over one of the chairs) I settle into the couch and hit power. I haven’t even had a moment to look through the channels when I hear my mom calling.

  “Jason? Jason, honey!”

  “Yeah, mom?” I hit the mute button.

  “Do you have homework to do?”

  “Mom, I just got home.”

  “Interesting, that doesn’t sound like an answer to my question.”

  “I have a tiny bit of Social Studies. I’ll finish it after dinner.”

  My mom has now entered the living room. “What about Music? I haven’t heard any saxophone sounds coming from your bedroom.” Apparently, I can’t escape the saxophone even long enough to watch a TV show.

  “I…I’m working on my…omba…shurm right now, you know, really getting the foundation laid for playing my instrument,” I say, stealing a line from Ben.

  “Really? Well, I’m glad to hear you’re taking the saxophone so seriously. I know that music’s not really your thing, and I thought you might be a little bit nervous about having to play an instrument in front of people.” My mom sits down beside me on the couch, and I can tell she is ready to have one of those conversations. My mom has an amazing ability to know exactly what I am upset about before I even tell her I’m upset about it. It’s like a weird, mom X-ray thing she has going on.

  “Yeah, well…I mean, I’m not super excited about it or anything. But I’m getting someone to tutor me at school, so I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you for being so responsible and getting a tutor. And I know you can do whatever you put your mind to,” my mom says, patting me on the back. That’s every parent’s line when they know you’re going to be bad at something.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, hoping our conversation might be over.

  “You know, I can kind of relate to what you’re going through,” she continues, and my hope immediately vanishes. “When I was young, I had to give a speech in front of the whole class, and there was nothing I hated more than talking in front of people. I stressed out about it for months, and I could barely sleep the whole week before.”

  “Let me guess…you practiced really hard and the speech went fine and everything worked out,” I finished for her.

  “Oh, not at all. I forgot an entire section in the middle, left the room crying, and threw up in the bathroom.”

  “Um…thanks, Mom, that…that really helps.”

  My mom laughs a little and moves closer to me on the couch. “My point is, I’m still sitting here today…I got through it! Everyone has their own talents, and not everyone is good at everything. Someone who is really good at music might not have the skills you have to play hockey. All your father and I expect of you is to do your best, your very best, at whatever you do,” my mom pauses, “and try not to throw up,” she adds, nudging me.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I say as my mom gives me a squeeze and gets up from the couch. Finally able to relax and watch a show, I un-mute the TV just as the front door opens.

  “I am not watching one of your dumb
cartoons,” I hear Jodie say behind me.

  Awesome.

  I wake up on Saturday with just one thought:

  It’s Game Day.

  Sometimes it feels like the only reason for getting through the week is to make it to Saturday, as if it is the only “real” day. I don’t allow myself to worry about school or the saxophone, and even though I will have to see Mick in a few hours (apparently it was only a twenty-four-hour flu…just my luck), I don’t let myself think about him, either. Today it’s all about the game. I go through my routine, which includes eating a good breakfast, making sure all of my gear is packed, and yelling outside the bathroom door for Jodie to get out so that I can get in. Even through the door I can hear her eye-rolls.

  Luke’s parents are driving us to the rink this particular Saturday and I barely make it to his house on time since I had to wait FOREVER to get into the bathroom. When I arrive, Luke is having a conversation with his mom that I’ve overhead a million times before.

  “Mom, it’s gross!”

  “You need energy, Lukey. This smoothie has spinach, quinoa, eggs, and six different kinds of nutritional powders.” Luke’s mom is handing him a glass of terrible-looking green mush.

  “Which is exactly why it’s GROSS,” Luke says, attempting to hand it back. He sees me and hollers in my direction, “Back me up, Jay!”

  “It looks absolutely delicious and nutritious, Mrs. Benson,” I say with a smile.

  Luke scowls and tries to hand the glass to me. “Then YOU drink it.”

  “Oh, I am already too full from the healthy breakfast my own mother was sweet enough to prepare for me,” I respond, smiling once more at Luke’s mom.

  Luke shakes his head, plugs his nose, and guzzles more than half of the green stuff. He makes a gagging sound, gulps down the last bit, and puts the glass down on the table.

  “There. Gotta go.”

  “What about the flaxseed biscuits I made?” Mrs. Benson is saying as we make our play for the front door.