To Jake

To Jake

This year marks fifteen years since the day we met. I’m so glad we did. Life wouldn’t have been the same without you. Do you remember that day? I know I do. It was one of the best days of my life.

It was the summer of 2005. A Saturday afternoon. I’d been talking about taking clarinet lessons for months, after that old friend of ours Mr Brunton had that Open Day. Do you remember him? The kind Canadian? You smile at his name. Yes. I liked him, you say. He was kind and funny. We learnt lots from him at school.

Yes, that Mr Brunton. Anyway, I’d been talking about taking lessons ever since that day. I’d finally won my parents over. I was finally doing it.

And so we went to the shop. John Myatt’s Woodwind and Brass it was called. It’s closed now, isn’t it? You ask. Yes. The owner moved on to another town last year, I reply.

We went to the shop to find a clarinet for me. I thought I was just getting an instrument. I didn’t know that I would find a best friend.

You were there in a display case. An older model. One that didn’t sell. The man behind the counter made me look at others. But I wasn’t sure. We were about to leave. And then I saw you. You caught my eye with your graceful keys that seemed to glimmer in the sun. You entranced me with your beautiful ebony shape that was smooth to the touch and fit in my small hand perfectly. Just the right size. You cast your spell on me with the twining intricate blue logo daubed on your skin. It’s rubbed off now, over time. But I still remember what it used to look like. You were beautiful. You still are, to me.

I knew then that you were the only one for me. I wouldn’t even look at the others i had half mused over a few moments ago. I knew you were the one for me. And so you came home with me, snug in the velvet lining of your sleek black case.

It was hard at first. You weren’t sure I was the one for you, always causing squeaks and false starts in lessons. You tried to persuade me it wasn’t right. That I should quit. That I should leave you behind and try something else. That maybe you were too old to start another life. But I wasn’t giving up without a fight. You had opened my eyes to a new world full of music that filled my mind with peace and my heart with wonder. I knew then (and I still do) that I never wanted to live without it in my life. And so I kept going, stumbling through notes and struggling with fingering (and if I’m honest, I don’t think I will ever reach your G sharp on the side without a stretch). I persevered, learning new pieces and battling through so many scales and arpeggios that I thought they would never end. You liked my determination and stubbornness to succeed and that I always (and always will) treated you with kindness and respect. Nobody else had ever done that with you before. And so we slowly found our feet, one step at a time. With each exam we passed with merits, I earned more and more of your trust. Until finally you realized that I was the one for you.

I’m not sure when it was. Perhaps around grade four, when the squeaks turned to notes. When we started to get on well together, as if we were two parts of one whole. Perhaps we are. It feels like it now, when we work in harmony and notes sound like molten gold across the room.

We’ve had our good times and our bad times, like any pair of best friends. We’ve had some wonderful adventures, travelling far and wide across the country to play some marvelous music. We’ve had our good times when exams went perfectly and earned us distinctions or when those audiences loved our music in grand concerts in the park. We’ve had our bad times too, when lessons didn’t go well or when you were ill over that screw loose on the side that one time. When I took care of you, cleaned you, serviced you. Those health checks were just the once. But now we do them every year. Because I can’t bear to lose you.

We’ve grown old together, always learning new things and finding surprises we didn’t know existed along the way. Like that Woodwind Jazz Day in St Albans where we learnt about that side key for B flat and even met a famous musician. That was so much fun. I think I still have his autograph somewhere. I know you enjoyed yourself too. Perhaps there will be another one we can go to.

 We’ve grown old together, through school and university and out the other side. Other friends have come and gone. But you have always been by my side.

And two years ago, when health issues stole my sight, you were there for me. I was so scared. But you held my hand through it all. I thought I was alone. But you were always beside me. You never left my side, offering me a shoulder to cry on. I n the depths of my darkest days, you shone your kind light into my life and gave me a thousand reasons to carry on. You encouraged me to keep going when the seas of anxiety and depression overwhelmed me. Sometimes, you were my anchor, keeping me safe from harm. Other times you were a small boat, sailing out to rescue me. And you did rescue me. And afterwards, you were by my side when the seas vanished and the suns returned. Your soft voice calmed my nerves and soothed my soul. You didn’t mind that I struggled to see the notes, even when I got frustrated and broke the music stand. I’m still sorry about that, by the way. But you didn’t mind. Instead, you were patient with me and even helped me to take each day at a time. Can you believe I even finished that degree? I can’t. But it is true. I did it. And I couldn’t have done it without you.

And now I’m feeling better, I plan to try to thank you for that as best I can. I know it’s your birthday soon. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. It’s going to be a big party, a grand occasion. We’re going on a wind band tour to Kent. We’ll visit some castles and cathedrals and row down the river (I hope Alison doesn’t push us in!). We’ll play some fabulous music to audiences big and small. We’ve even got some of your favorite pieces in the repertoire; Holst, Gershwin, Grieg, Moment for Morricone and even some John Williams. A beaming smile crosses your ligature and you give out a toot of happiness. I knew you’d love it. For fifteen is a grand old age for a clarinet. So we’ll celebrate it in style.

We’ve come a long way since that summer’s afternoon. Perhaps some days have been difficult. Perhaps things didn’t always work out. But I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.  It’s been a whale of a time. And I wouldn’t have done it with anyone else.

I’m not sure where the next fifteen years will take us. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. But I know that I plan to do it with you by my side. Forever. And ever. Because you are my best friend. And I can’t imagine life without you.

Yours forever,

Sarah.