Emily has
played a flute for several of her fourteen years. I remember visiting when she had been playing
only a few months and I recognized the song she played—The Great Rock Candy Mountain.
A year ago
she and Laura moved here, with instruments.
Emily was assimilated at once into the high school marching band, swept
up even before school began. When she
came back from band camp a year ago she said her flute broke almost at once,
but someone loaned her a flute.
So began our
regular treks to music stores, for this repair or that. We went to the music store recommended by the
high school band to have some spring replaced or key unbent, and picked up the
flute on the way to an event. “Try that out,” Aunt Janice suggested,
pulling away from the curb. It wasn’t
even repaired!
We found a
music store several towns south of us.
The staff could always repair whatever went wrong with the flute. The last time we were there, before a concert
before the end of the last school year, I asked into the price of a replacement
student flute. I flipped my calendar
three months ahead and wrote “Buy Flute.”
My daughter
purchased Emily’s old flute on EBay. It
was a well used student Armstrong flute when Emily got it. She named it Luna, for Neil Armstrong’s trip
to the moon. Emily practiced often; the
band has an extensive repertoire; the kids are expected to be proficient, from
memory. Frankly, I never thought Emily
much of a flutist, but I admired her spunk.
She and
Laura and I went to the flute store last week, and laid Luna on the
counter. We could hear a student’s
lesson from a room down the hall; we had the showroom to ourselves. The man behind the counter brought out three
used instruments, told Emily to run the scale then play one of her marching
songs. She repeated on another flute, then played a note I’d never heard. “Low C,” the man said. Emily grinned.
The two of
them eliminated one flute, then another. The man brought out another flute for
Emily to try. I waited in another corner
of the store. The last flute sounded so rich and mellow I went back to watch
her play. Emily was beaming. She can really play. She even riffed a couple notes. It was the one, a Gemeihardt.
As he was
writing up the deal, the man reached into the case and brought out a two
thousand dollar Gemeihardt. “Try this
while I ring you up.” The sound was
beautiful, and this from a grandma who is tone deaf.
The musician
behind the counter took back the flute and played it for us. He played it like a jazz instrument; the
notes talked to each other. He told
Emily its pads made the difference. Then
Emily took Ginny, and a new bottle of valve oil, and we left.