Gemotions

He hated the sound of the trombone. It was the instrument the band director was asking him to learn. After years of mastering the trumpet, he was being told his lip wasn’t strong enough for the high notes. "The trombone is a better fit for your overall sound," the director had chirped, oblivious to the fact that his trumpet was his pride.

He felt a deep sense of irritation. The brass section was loud, cacophonous. He fumbled with the slide, the notes wobbling and uncertain. During practice, he slouched in his chair, his usual enthusiasm gone. He stopped talking to the other trumpet players. Each time he saw his old trumpet case he wanted to cry. His heart sank with every slide-out, every out-of-tune blare.