Opening Lament

``No, no, no, and for the last time, NO!'' Lance bellowed at Randal, who looked at him with pleading eyes.

``But it means so much to me to play the lead for this opening piece!''

``You haven't reached the necessary level. And this piece is a real killer, if you haven't realised yet. That's why we are letting Jim handle it. You'll get the next time if you improve more. And that's final; stop annoying me!'' Lance said with an air of finality before walking away in a huff.

Randal stood there alone in the corridor, his head lowered. There was a much deeper reason behind his want of playing the lead for the opening piece---Aileen was going to be a part of the audience. The two of them had been corresponding on and off for the past couple of years, and she finally had the opportunity to come to New York to pay him a visit and listen to his performance at the philharmonic, and he desperately wanted to impress her.

Now there was little chance. The next concert that they were putting up after this one was nearly two months later, and by then, she would have returned to Chicago, an opportunity lost just like that.

But Lance had a point. Even though Randal was still part of the first flutes, he was still technically the newbie of the group. He was talented---one had to have talent to play in the philharmonic---but among equals, there was always the one who was first, and that was the principal player. There was nothing wrong with the way that Lance had arranged for things to happen; if anything, it was Randal's own enthusiasm to impress that made him temporarily blind to such an obvious fact.

Randal shrugged and fought back the tears in his eyes as he made his way to the sectional and pick up where he left off before looking for Lance.

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-06-30 20:56:42)