I knew I was going to win. How could I not? I had practiced my heart out to the point where my rosin was beginning to wear out, a crevice emerging in the center like a valley. Blisters covered my hands. Today was the day.

I got up early so I could practice a little before I packed up and headed to the audition. The notes flowed from my cello with an elegance that I could scarcely comprehend. I didn’t feel like I was playing it. I couldn’t feel my hands moving, my hands gliding along the black fingerboard. The music filled every space of my body until I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I became the black notes on the music staff, with single pitches that come together to create something beautiful. It felt like I was dancing as I bowed upon the strings, leaning in and occasionally swaying as I put every ounce of passion I possessed into each and every note.

I finished, gracefully lifting my bow after the final note ran from my cello. The morning greeted me as the sound still echoed in my ears like the remnants of a beautiful memory.

I was going to win.

I carefully placed my cello into its case, but before I zipped it closed, I gazed upon my instrument. It seemed so human, in the way it wanted to speak, in the way it needed to be heard. I smiled at the thought as I shut the case closed.

When we arrived, my mother asked me if I was nervous.

“No,” I replied. I was not conceited or cocky. I was honest. “When I play, no one else is there. There is only the music.”

“Good luck,” she whispered with a grin as I entered the small room, holding my cello tightly in hand, its gorgeous melodies waiting to be released. That’s what I always told people: the cello makes the sound, I just let it be heard.

The woman, an elderly lady, waited, a clipboard caught in her firm grip.

I sat down in the chair in front of her, gazing at the other people who patiently waited. I realized they were my opponents, this was a war, a battle, and I stood on the floor of a battleground. This thought sent my mind into chaos.

An unfamiliar feeling sat in the pit of my stomach as I pulled out my endpin, resting it upon the carpeted ground.

A girl outside plucked her Dvorak piece. Frankly, I was intimidated. I begun to panic. Was my music selection a good choice? I had not chosen a classical piece, but a modern one, a solo from a film score. Fear, a terrible, unpredictable emotion, crept into my mind, telling me I wasn’t good enough even though I was going to win…wasn’t I?

I placed the music on the stand, staring upon the notes. I began. Instantly, everything vanished – the woman, the girl outside, even myself. All that remained was the sound, the enchanting rhythms that my cello sang.

Images flooded my mind. The music I performed was intense and dramatic, but hypnotically beautiful. A scene played in my head as I closed my eyes. A war was taking place on breathtakingly gorgeous hills, the sun bright, the sky shockingly blue. Two groups of people charged at each other. Every individual was screaming, all of their mouths in perfect O’s, even though the combined sound of their heavy footsteps overpowered their voices. In a place so magical and beautiful that war seemed impossible, the vision ended as I lifted the bow from my string. I opened my eyes.

The lady stared at me, her stunning blue eyes focused on me. My heart skipped a beat, but I said nothing. I gathered my music and left, not sure how I did. The people in the hall protectively hugged their instruments to their chests as they gazed at me, walking down the hallway. I began packing up my instrument.

My mother emerged from behind the bulky black case.

“How’d it go?” she asked eagerly, her voice the only sound I’ve heard since I begun playing.

“I got lost,” I replied, easing the wooden beauty into its case.

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” my mother sighed sympathetically. “What happened? Did you look away from the music?”

“No,” I said. “I got lost in the music, in the sounds. I don’t know how it went.”

My mother smiled.

We sat in the hallway, waiting. My stomach churned anxiously, doubtful thoughts stirring my previously confident mind. I listened to the other auditions. The girl with the Dvorak piece was extremely talented, a fantastic violinist, but I couldn’t get lost in her music. I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Finally, the auditions ceased. The woman turned out the light in the room and exited to the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

Quite loudly, she announced, “Where’s Penelope Trout?”

I stood up, not knowing what to expect. I walked up to her until I was only two feet away, our eye contact forming a bridge between us. She gripped my shoulders and whispered, “My dear, you’ve won because I lost myself in your music. The sound you achieved was astounding. I’ve never heard something quite like that before. Congratulations. You’ve won.”

I was speechless. I beamed and my eyes watered out of pure joy. A rush of perfect excitement darted through my body, coursing through my veins, taking control of my mind. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could only imagine the possibilities. And they were infinite.