The Stolen Solo

Mia stood in front of the mirror adjusting the alignment of the green velvet dress. She’d selected it weeks ago after a woman at the department store had pointed out how it “really brought out the green in her eyes.” It did. It also hugged all of her curves, and not in a trashy way. She looked polished and glamorous but not too glamorous. Tonight was the night. A reviewer from a large syndicated newspaper was expected to be in attendance, as was a member of the enrollment staff from the Juilliard school. Mia had been chosen to perform the solo that would open the show, or so she had been told. She may or may not have invited everyone she knew as well.

For weeks, she’d played her violin until her fingers were cramped and beaten. The notes of Vivaldi’s Spring played in her dreams and the back of her mind even awake.

The Community Orchestra wasn’t exactly the Philharmonic, the eight hundred seat theatre they were playing in wasn’t exactly Carnegie Hall, but for Mia, it was her opportunity. She had every intention of putting on the level of performance one might here in Carnegie Hall or The Gershwin. A standout performance could change her entire life and she knew it.

She watched the hands on the clock reach 5:30 PM, two hours until the curtain and the biggest night of her life. Her phone buzzed, a text from her friend Lisa “You’re going to be great! Just do what you do” Mia smiled, she was nervous but she knew she was ready. Lisa was a good friend, always there for her big moments.

Mia packed her violin case with rosin and a spare set of strings. She noticed that the dress moved with her which allowed her bow arm the freedom she needed without sacrificing elegance. It was perfect. Her hair, dark and silky, was swept into a neat bun. She had splurged for a new shade of lipstick, Bold Crimson, the girl at the MAC counter had called it. She was making a statement, staking claim to this moment.

The drive to the theatre was a blur. Autumn leaves and streetlights flickering on reflecting on the rain-soaked asphalt. Mia’s heart pounded as she drove into the parking lot. She thought her little rusty Honda looked out of place among the sleek SUVs of the concert’s wealthier attendees. Carrying her violin case, she headed into the theatre. Backstage, the air droned with the chaos of preparation.Musicians were tuning instruments and warming up, stagehands were adjusting lights, and the director, Mr. Hargrove was barking orders and flipping through his clipboard with angst and enthusiasm.

“Mia! You finally made it!” Mr. Hargrove waved her over, the clipboard tucked under his armpit. “You warm up in the green room until we call you. Get warmed up and stay focused. It’s a big night!”

Mia nodded, the butterflies in her stomach almost getting the better of her. “Yes Sir. Just yell at me know when you are ready for me.”

Hargrove, looking in the direction of another recent arrival now, smiled and hurried to greet them. Mia found a place to set up in the green room, a small space with uncomfortable chairs and a coffee maker that smelled as if it had been on a bit too long. Other musicians were already there, talking about the concert and tuning their instruments. She saw her friend Ethan, the first chair cellist, who smiled when she found a seat near him.

“Are you ready? This is your moment.” he asked.

“I’m nervous but I got this,” Mia said, forcing a laugh. “I Just hope I don’t trip on cord or drop my violin, or vomit on the stage.”

“You won’t do any of those things. You’ve been killing it in rehearsals.” Ethan said in a warm tone.

She pulled her violin from the case and began playing scales.She found the familiar notes calming. She’d chosen the first movement of Vivaldi’s Spring to showcase for her technical precision and the depth of her skill. She’d spent hours perfecting every movement. When she played it, the melody seemed to bloom like the season it was named for. She was going to prove that she was more than an elementary music teacher who gave lessons to bored school kids. She closed her eyes and imagined the audience giving a standing ovation.

At 7:15, Hargrove’s assistant poked his head into the room. “Orchestra to the stage for tuning.” He looked at Mia, “You’re up soon, you ready?”

Mia’s pulse quickened as she followed the others to the stage with her violin tucked under her arm. The theater was already full. The murmuring voices from the audience drowned out Mia’s heart beating in her ears. She glimpsed men in tuxedos and women in sparkling gowns through a gap in the curtain. Faces fixed with delighted anticipation. Her moment was almost here. This was it.

The orchestra began to tuned, a cacophony of strings and horns finally settled into harmony. Mia adjusted her posture, seated in the second violin section, knowing soon she’d be stepping forward for the solo. Hargrove had told her weeks ago, “Mia, you have got the passion and talent. This year’s solo is yours.” She clung to those words and replayed them through every long practice session.

The lights dimmed, and the curtain was drawn back. The conductor, Ms. Ellison, stepped onto the podium with her baton in hand. The orchestra began the opening piece, Mozart’s The Magic Flute to warmup the crowd. Mia played her part while her mind was playing the solo. She visualized every bow stroke and note.

When the music ended, the audience cheared and clapped. Ms. Ellison turned to face the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “before we continue, we have a special treat to open our Spring Concert. Vivaldi’s Spring from The Four Seasons, performed by a soloist who has shown remarkable talent and dedication.”

Mia’s heart felt as if it may explode. She hugged her violin as she got ready to stand. This was it!

“Please give a warm welcome,” Ms. Ellison said, “one of our brightest stars, Ms. Sophie Carter!”

Mia began to stand, the name a truck, knocking her back to her seat. Sophie Carter? The flutist? She’d joined the orchestra less than a year ago! Mia’s eyes darted to the front of the stage, where Sophie, the petite, blonde, 19-year-old was stepping forward, her flute gleamed under the spotlight. The audience rose and applauded. Sophie beamed. She had clearly prepared for this moment.

Mia’s hands were numb. Her violin suddenly heavy in her hands, felt like it was crushing her. Was there a mistake? She looked towards Ethan, he avoided her gaze but the look on his face said he was thinking the same thing she was. Mr. Hargrove stood in the wings, clapping with the crowd. He didn’t look confused. This was no mistake.

Sophie’s flute began to play the melody Mia had spent weeks perfecting. The orchestra joined in. Mia forced herself to play, her fingers mechanical. Her head was a storm of anger and emotions. She had questions and needed answers. Did Hargrove lie, or did she misunderstand? The memory of the words, “This year’s solo is yours,” it felt like a betrayal.

When the music stopped, the audience erupted in ferocious applause. Sophie took a bow, a curtsy really. Her face was radiant. Ms. Ellison took her hand and raised it victoriously and the crowd’s enthusiasm grew. Mia made the motions of clapping, her hands stiff, her smile a crooked and forced. She wanted to be happy for Sophie, she couldn’t. Sophie was kind and deserving but the burn felt of rejection, betrayal.

Backstage, Mia saw Hargrove with his hand on Sophie’s shoulder talking to a man, probably the Juilliard representative she’d herd was supposed to show up. Her face was on fire. She knew the knot in her throat was too much for even the smallest sound to leak past.Blinking back tears, Mia quietly slipped through the back door of the theatre and made her way to her car.

Mia tossed her violin in the back seat with the least amount of care she’d ever shown the instrument that had owned her for almost two decades. Nausea was overtaking her. She had to go, anywhere but here.

The first red traffic light Mia ran, she got lucky. Her little Honda growled as she raced towards the expressway. She was reading a text from Lisa when reached the light at the bottom of the on ramp, “Where did you go?” She didn’t see the dump truck that was halfway through the intersection, the driver lighting a cigarette with both hands as he rolled through the light. His attention was drawn to the brass Zippo his wife had given him for Valentine’s Day, the little heart with their initials engraved on the side.

“Where is this young violinist you’ve been telling me so much about?” the man from Juilliard asked.

“Well, I was hoping to introduce you after the concert,” said Hargrove. “Someone said they saw her getting sick in the parking lot. I hope she is ok.”

“If she wants to set up an interview, let me know. I’m going to get going, I received a notification on my phone saying there’s been a fatality accident. I want to get going before the traffic starts backing up.”