Silence.

Absolute silence envelops me. As I stand with heavy, gleaming coils of silver in my hands—my euphonium—and my body shakes uncontrollably, I wonder desperately, Why do I do this to myself? Facing the black screen set up haphazardly in a high school fashion and design classroom, I stare at the two pairs of feet that protrude from below. Anticipation builds. I fixate on the figure wearing poorly-laced boat shoes—a convenient distraction. The voice behind the curtain, like the great and mighty Oz, commands me to play a G-flat major scale. In any other setting, this request would be as simple as turning over the pages of Melodious Etudes, but here, in this audition, I am in another world.

My lungs have collapsed upon themselves to become tulips shying away from the morning frost. Air moves in and out, more and more quickly. Surely, there isn’t enough oxygen in the room for three people to survive. The judges must be able to hear the deafening echoes of my heart pulsing against my ribs—an aggressive tempo of 220 beats per minute. Seconds tick. Still nothing has come out of my horn, and I can feel their expectations hanging in the air. My eyes sweep the room; a blank-faced mannequin gazes at me with cold indifference. Suddenly I feel a nauseating surge through my digestive system; it’s as if my stomach has made a desperate leap for the door. I lick my lips for the seventh time but still they don’t feel slick enough to buzz into the mouthpiece coolly extending from my euphonium. Then, smooth metal connects with my fleshy lips and as a resonant sound flows out, finally, my anxiety ebbs away.

I remember that beyond this bleak classroom bathed in an apathetic, fluorescent glow, there are times that I hold this horn and feel invincible. When the air is more cool and crisp than an autumn apple, when the first stars of the evening are twinkling far above the football field, when the crowd is energized as a single, throbbing mass of cheering and waving, I step out in front of the marching band and music from Les Misérables wails from my horn. I wait for the downbeat to fall, then the drum major points to me.

In that moment, nothing else matters than the vibrating sound waves that travel through my euphonium and cut the chilling air. My voice is replaced by the euphonium’s tone, magnified by my own thoughts and emotions. I forget about the distant stomach pains and the worries of failing as adrenaline rushes through my body like a drug. There are no obstacles standing in my way; the audience is at my command. It is this exhilarating feeling that negates the nervousness of auditions and sweeps away the stresses of the week. Playing music is what I love to do, whether on the field, in my basement, in band class, and even in auditions; it is an absolutely invigorating experience like no other.

Senior Sharon Garrott submitted this essay as part of her successful application to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.