Jana Harris

I really fucked up. My E-flat key was loose. I only got a few hours of sleep the night before because Robyn and I were on the phone. They gave me the wrong repertoire list. How was I to know that high altitude affects clarinet reeds? I ran out of beta blockers. I forgot to bring a water bottle. I was worried that they’d hire that asshole who they don’t like because he threatened to blackball them at the union meeting. The acoustics were terrible. The second violinist used a new rosin and that threw her off, which unnerved me. My tinnitus roared the whole time. Robyn auditioned right before me. Just as I blew the first note, it dawned on me that Robyn might be sleeping with the conductor. Someone backstage slammed a door and I had to start all over again. The concertmaster doesn’t know a trumpet from a trombone, but since he’s powerful in a certain tiny corner of the music world everyone feels forced to curry favor with him. I forgot to eat. The audition committee talked the whole time. A clang in the heating system was near deafening. My carpal tunnel flared up. My neck twinges flared up. My arthritis flared up. I only got a few hours of sleep. I would have won the last competition, except that the concertmaster’s student was appointed with no audition, so I kept wondering if the same thing would happen again. I forgot I wasn’t playing the flute. I only got a few hours of sleep because Robyn and I were on the phone all night and decided to end our marriage. I really fucked up.

You look sleazy tonight ma said. Cheap, I said. I’m doin cheap. You got any idea how much it costs to do cheap these days? To do gold City of Paris three-inch platform sandals and this I. Magnin snake dress? I’m doin cheap. You look like a bird, she said a Halloween bird with red waxed lips. —In high school you could either do cheap or Shakespeare, college prep or a pointy bra, ratting a bubble haircut with a toilet brush. I was not allowed to do high school cheap; I did blazers and wool skirts from the Junior League thrift shop. In high school it was don’t walk in the middle of Richie, Leelee, and the baby, you might come between them. You look like a skag wearin that black-eyed makeup, people are gunna think you’re cheap. While I poured red food dye on my hair to match my filly’s tail for the rodeo, ma beat her head against the wall, she said tryin to make me nice. I tried real hard, but the loggers, the Navy guys, they always hit on me. Cause you’re an easy mark, ma said. And I played guilty, I played guilty every time. But now, I said now I’m doin cheap.