Joy in Jazz

Blood was starting to slip out from the skin behind my lip as I lifted my saxophone up. A bead of sweat fell off my forehead as I made eye contact with a stranger sitting in the front row, and it was as if I could see my anticipation mirrored in their eyes. The stage lights reflected in my eyes and off of the sleek, dark wooden stage that I stood on as time slowed down. I was in the zone. 

This was the most important moment of my life, and as such would change the course of it for good or for bad. Being one of the guest soloists in the most competitive jazz competition in New York was no small ordeal. If I perform at the level they expect me to as a feature performer, then my biggest dream of being one of “The Greats” in jazz will be fulfilled and I’ll be able to continue to live this life that I so desire. I’ll be able to sustain myself and fuel my passion; my only reason for living. All of my hard work will have paid off and I will finally be able to be happy and feel the slightest satisfaction in my struggle. I’ll be able to honor my parents. 

If not, my life might as well be over.  I will no longer be me; that person will have died on this stage. I might as well have died in that lobby years ago with them. I will go the rest of my life as someone mediocre, forgotten as soon as they’re gone. My worst fear. 

I took a deep breath as the mouthpiece entered my mouth, and my eyes glazed over as my mind flashed back. Scenes from my childhood passed in front of my eyes while time stood still. Critical moments in my life and career as a musician suddenly occupied my mind as a movie does on the white screen of a cinema. Is this what they talk about when one’s life flashes before their eyes? I suppose that this was life or death for me, therefore it is appropriate that a reflection such as this one should occur. 

Raindrops slammed onto the roof of our home as I sat leaned up against the window watching. That day, many years ago, when I was only 7 years old, was the first day of my life that I heard jazz. A symphony of melodic harmonies so raw and yet so perfect flowed from a record player sitting in my dad’s office to my ears. He had never used that gifted record player. It only sat there collecting dust, but I suppose that the power outage brought by the storm might have brought the idea. 

As I sat there turning my focus from the rain to the music, he and my mother grabbed hands and walked into the room where I sat. They began to sway to the music in the living room, dancing right in front of me. It was beautiful. The rain, the music, the love. I had never felt the feeling that I felt at that very moment. Words cannot describe it. Passion mixed with determination and desire, dipped in a puddle of peace and clarity. From that moment on, I craved the feeling. It was a feeling that only came to me in moments where jazz brought things together to make sense. 

This soon became a common feeling when I began playing the saxophone and performing in various ensembles. When I turned 8 my parents gifted me the most beautiful tenor saxophone that I had ever seen. Its golden shine sparkled in my eyes as I ran my fingers over every key and lever. This was the key, the key to a future that I had dreamed of since that one rainy afternoon. I joined the school band that year and quickly jazz became the only thing that I thought about. I would eat breakfast, and somehow the arrangement of the food turned my mind to jazz. I sat in math class, trying to pay attention, but the complex algorithms and formulas dragged me back to the sheet music that was practically burned into my mind after hours of meticulous practice. 

Soon enough I found myself in my last year of high school, standing on a stage in my last concert. It had come time in the song for me to stand and perform my solo, my very last solo in high school. I knew that it wasn’t, but it felt like everything in my life would change after that solo. Like the final notes of the song would drag me out of the final parts of the first stage of my life and throw me into something unknown. This scared me, but I knew that it was necessary. 

The concert ended, and I went to collect my things as my band director came up to me. “Oliver, that was fantastic. I really am proud of you and how you’ve grown over these last four years. Have you thought about what you’d like to do after high school?” He set his hand on his hip while he waited on my response. 

“Well, this.” I moved my hand around, pointing at the stage, my music stand, and my beloved saxophone. “I can’t imagine anything else being what I do with my life Mr. Calahan.” 

“I’m glad you said that,” he said with a smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and set it in my hand. “Tonight, I want you to call the number on this card. They came up to me after the last song and told me they wanted you to be a core member in their band.” I could hardly contain the shock and excitement on my face. “Will you do that?”

Almost stuttering I responded, “Yes sir of course I will!” I looked at the card. It had in bold, dark letters ‘New York Jazz Academy’ and under it the name ‘William Vandergrauf.’ “Thank you Mr. Calahan.”

“Don’t sweat it kid.” He set his hand on my shoulder and got serious. “You have real potential, Oliver. I mean it, like Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Stan Getz potential. You just have to take it, and not let anything get in your way. I mean it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir I do.” His sudden seriousness threw me off. 

“Good.” His normal, light complexion returned. “I’m gonna miss ya kid. Have fun with the biggest cats of New York.” He let out a chuckle and walked out to the crowd. I stared at the card. This, this was the key to the life that I had dreamed of since I was 7 years old. Here I was now, 11 years later, and it was finally happening. I grabbed my music and saxophone case and started to walk out as I heard someone scream. It startled me. Everyone around me seemed to freeze for a moment before another scream was heard. Everyone in the auditorium ran to the lobby to see what had happened, and so I did the same. The commotion only got louder and the crowd became closer and more hectic. It was hard to keep my balance. I found myself stumbling over a few times, having to catch my balance using the shoulder of the person next to me. 

The brighter lights of the lobby blinded me for a moment. As my vision returned, I was at the front of the crowd and Mr. Calahan was in front of me. His face was graven and his countenance dark and distraught. Something was wrong. He shook his head slowly and it looked like he mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” That’s when I realized. Behind him laying on the ground were my parents. Blood covered the white tiles under them and cash was laying soggy in it. My dad’s wallet laid next to him, open with its contents pouring out. My mother’s purse was the same, the leather strap broken. They had been waiting on me to come out, and they were killed. They were killed just for what was in their belongings- money. 

In shock, I dropped my music folder and my saxophone. The pages of the music I had just played flew all over the floor, falling into the puddles of blood and my saxophone followed, crashing onto the floor. Everything went quiet, but I screamed. I couldn’t hear anything but a high pitched ringing, but I screamed and ran forward to my parents. Mr. Calahan caught me and held me tightly. I assume that he didn’t want me to see more than I already had, and today I thank him for that. 

I fell to the floor and a pair of police officers came into the lobby of the fine arts center, immediately going to my parents. Mr. Calahan was talking to me, I knew that. However, I couldn’t hear anything and my mind would allow nothing but chaos inside. Right as my life was starting, it ended. 

Later that night, I sat in the house of Mr. Calahan while the police asked me question after question. What did my parents do for a living? Was there anyone that I knew of that would want to do this to my parents? Had they borrowed money from anyone? Were they ever involved with any suspicious characters? Were drugs ever brought into the house? It angered me. How dare they insult my parents in such a way right after they had died. They were good people, the best people that I knew. They both worked hard to support us and to support me in my pursuit of being a great jazz player, but they never borrowed money or turned to crime to support us. They would never do that. 

Afterwards, Mr. Calahan took me to my house to pick up some things and I spent the night at his house. Life afterwards was confusing. I never called the New York Jazz Academy, and to be honest I think I lost the card in my parents’ blood when I dropped my things on the floor. That solo on that dark, yet beautiful stage was the last time I had ever played jazz. Jazz was my joy expressed in the most melodic and perfect way, but I had no more joy. So, with what could I play music?

About a year and a half went by and it was my 20th birthday. I had lived with Mr. Calahan and his family since the tragedy and just worked after graduation. I didn’t have any plans for the future, any aspirations, dreams, passions, or desires. I was simply surviving, day by day, trying to make sense of what had happened. I left my room that day, ready to just relax and not do much, but to my surprise I found Mr. Calahan and his wife sitting on the couch in the living room. 

“Happy birthday Oliver!” There was excitement in their voices, but at the same time a calm. I always appreciated that.

“Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Calahan,” I said with a smile. I sat down in the chair adjacent to them and asked, “So what’s up?”

“Well, for your 20th birthday, Nancy and I wanted to do something special for you.” Nancy, and Mr. Calahan. For some reason he had always remained Mr. Calahan for me but she turned into Nancy rather than Mrs. Calahan. Maybe it was me sitting with one foot holding onto the past and one foot accepting the future. Mr. Calahan turned behind him and picked up something heavy. He set it on the ground in front of him, facing me, and shock covered my face. 

“Go ahead, open it.” He motioned for me to open the case, a case I knew all too well. I knelt down and slowly undid the latches. The sound brought me back. I lifted the top up revealing a beauty I had not seen for a year and a half. It was my saxophone, the one that my parents had gotten me when I was 8 years old. Tears started to stream down my face. It was almost as if I could see my parents in the reflection of the newly polished gold color of the instrument. 

On top of the bell of the saxophone sat a white business card. I picked it up and turned it over to read the same letters I had read that very night, ‘New York Jazz Academy.”

“Now, I know you’ll be a little rusty,” Mr. Calahan began with hesitation. “But they still insist on having you. I know how you feel about music now, but it would just be a chance to try it and see how you feel.” Puzzled, I looked up at him. What could it possibly be? “It’s not an audition or an offer to join the band, but an invitation to be a guest soloist in their supreme jazz orchestra. They started it three years ago, and since then it’s become an annual event where soloists from around the world are called in to perform. If you want, Oliver, this could be the start of something new.” 

I looked at him with hesitation in my eyes and a spark inside me. It was true that a year and a half ago my joy was robbed from me, but this could be the source of something new. This could be the moment that I had been waiting for and didn’t even realize it. What I had been practicing for my entire life. I looked down at the saxophone, and then back up at Mr. Calahan. “Okay, I’ll do it.” 

Mr. Calahan smiled at me, and that world seemed to fade from my eyes as I returned to reality and stood back on the stage of the Stern Auditorium in Carnegie Hall. My vision zoned back in and I realized that the stranger sitting on the front row that I had made eye contact with was Mr. Calahan. Next to him sat Nancy, and they both emanate warmth, and joy. 

The jazz orchestra behind me stopped playing while the drum kit kept on. It was my time. This was the moment I had waited for my entire life. This is what I had practiced for years for. This is what I dreamt of that one rainy afternoon when I was seven years old. This is the dream that my parents had for me before they died. I took a deep breath, and let out everything I had. The notes flowed so perfectly, and without thinking I played. I was born for this, and I fought for this moment. Soon, my joy returned, and my future was set.