Chen

                   I was late to orchestra on Saturday, so Vales** was going to kill me. I was concertmistress, and it was my duty to set an example for the orchestra I was to lead, composed of only two members left since the three years hence when I joined it. I was always late, but I do a lot of things I don't like to do because I am expert self saboteur  I didn't have a good practice week, either. But I arrived, and I was expecting Vales to roll his eyes instead of kick me out. Instead Chen was there, and Marrissa was in my chair, and I was very, very confused.
"You aren't concertmaster?" Rashida works at my orchestra as one of the administrators and Cheerleader for Everyone.
I was startled, and I said "no," and ran on stage. I then told Marrissa she probably shouldn't sit in my seat because I was the best and I deserved it. Actually, I said,
"Do you want to sit there or.. because I can now?"
I felt sassy and prepared, but then I looked ahead of me. In a warm light which irradiated from him coldly, Chen was my violin teacher, and he was going to actually kill me instead of roll his eyes. Chen was conducting today because Vales was out of the country. I wanted to die better than to sit under Chen's flailing conducting arms. I wanted Vales to kill me. I figured that although Vales had told me for a record three years,
"I will cut off all your fingers. Does anyone have a pencil? Yes? Ah, thank you, I will use this to throw at you if you play a wrong note. Where were we? Measure 75? Ok, uno, dos, tres.. We start here, three measures before, and this pencil is sharp."
Death by Vales would be much easier. I wanted to take the pencil, because Chen was going to make someone search for the pocket knife his or her mother said only to use when there were strangers. Chen was a stranger, and he told us to begin at measure one, in two. We started and Chen took out his knife because he started talking.
"WHAT IS THIS? YOU PLAY LIKE THIS? OH NO. OH. OH. OH. YOU PLAY LIKE THIS? THIS IS IN TWO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
            Chen is famous for the shards in his words. People say it's because he's Taiwanese and they have a different culture there, one that's more harsh and less round on the edges than that of Americans. People say his accent is strange to children in DC, even though a lot of Asian kids go to my orchestra. People say Chen is mean.
"Start again."
           I was dead because I was concertmistress and my orchestra just sounded like a lawnmower sawing away at a cat's tail embezzled with the goods of a thorn bush and all the insects that ate from it. We were a cat and a lawn mower and dead insects moaning. We were dead because Chen was screaming,
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU HAVE FIVE MONTHS, AND THIS IS WHAT YOU'VE GOT? WE EXPECT YOU TO PRACTICE, YEAH, BUT WHAT DO YOU DO? WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS?"
Ari was laughing. He was laughing, and laughing, and Chen was screaming, and I wasn't smiling, even though I thought I would be.
"WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?"
         I met Chen when I was seven and in C level. I was perfectly fine with sitting in the back and maintaining a positive yet demure attitude towards the orchestra. I was extremely enthusiastic, and I loved my violin. I thought violin was a young instrument, because my last conductor, Ashton, used to sing,
"black socks, black socks, red socks, red socks," to us and told us to say, "bacon, eggs, and ham," whenever we bowed after concerts. My first concert was Ode to Joy. I was a second violin, and I had no idea what I was doing, and I was lost. So I decided I would play as fast as I could, and finish before anyone else to get it over with. I did, and everyone had the same idea.
Ashton left. I was first violin.
Chen at the wall behind the window, and there was a strange boy named Sam. He showed me he could play his violin with his teeth. The first thing I ever heard him say was,
"How many instruments to I play dad? Oh I play violin, saxophone, bass, keyboard.."
I was afraid of the orchestra. Chen placed the music on my stand, and it had high notes. I was afraid of the orchestra. Once seating came along, everyone was afraid of him. He yelled at us the first rehearsal. Parents always lined the wall parallel to that of the orchestra whenever class started, just to be there, just to make sure their children didn't play their violins with their teeth and get poisoned from rosin. This time they lined the wall because of Chen. One rehearsal, my mother sat with the Education Administrator before she left eating Coffee cake, and Mr. Chen wasn't yelling at me. That wasn't how it was. I was concertmistress and I deserved to be there.
             In E level, two years later, I was in a jury, and I had to memorize some piece that kept me there an extra three months I suppose. Jury is the way out of a level, and I was ready. I had my scales ready, and my etudes, and I was the best of my section (without Alan), so I could go. I am an expert self saboteur. My jury panel was two Asian women, and one Asian man. I looked again and identified him, resentfully. He smiled. I was an expert. I played, and I played well because these were the days when I could sabotage myself because at least I practicemkld before. This time, I knew of my friend's folklore of Chen after my concertmistress tenure, and I was scared. I played my memorized piece, and reached the middle. I froze.
Please don't freeze, what are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
This is what I told myself. I look at the identified man, and he smiled at me. The two Asian women looked at me. I looked at my violin, played, and finished. Chen smiled, and I left. Then I cried.
I didn't fail, because the next week I was in F level, ready to be concertmistress again, and I was.
              Now Chen was yelling at me because I didn't practice that week and we were a lawnmower and a cat and some insects, except this time there was a dog involved and a possum as well. Chen gave me his smirk, snapped his neck, and leaned into the yellow of the light. He looked like a mountain in Disney, the kind that exude demons and wild animals to kill you. He was going to kill me.
"WHO IS YOUR SECTIONALS TEACHER?" His rage was fierce. In a way, Chen is part Beyonce, because he always is.
"WHO IS YOUR SECTIONALS TEACHER?" I am not Beyonce or Chen, I am not fierce. Chen thought I was incompetent, so he had to ask again. I was staring at him, and he was not smiling.
"you are..." I smiled, just because I was beyond uncomfortable. I was not used to this. I didn't deserve my seat.
Ari was laughing.
"Start again."
                 Two years ago, when I began my career as a first violinist for my orchestra, the teacher for the first violins was Ms. Erenspeck. I met Ms. Erenspeck when she first broke her wrist, and her hair was boring, as it was short and brown. She was a substitute for a teacher who would later run out of the cafeteria where her baffled students ate salty pizza, frighteningly crying because she had just been fired.She had an Andy Warhol shirt, the kind with the quadrants, and it was purple. She sat in the middle of the room and taught violin without one, but only for five minutes. The other eighty-five were her telling stories of her school, her arm, and probably cows.
                The next time I met Ms. Erenspeck was when she went to the sort of wrong-ish room to sub, and all of us students went to the other sort of wrong-ish room, and we spent the entire time socializing and hanging out. She spent five minutes teaching because we had loafed from her class, and eventually we found her staring at a wall. Her hair was red, I think.
               The next time I met her she had blonde hair in a fauxhawk. We spoke of cows and Elliot's Afflack voice, we spoke of her middle school (a place I was desperate to attend because of how cool she was and because middle school was not fun). I was in first violins, and she was my teacher. I sat last chair. We spent five minutes playing because Elliot's voice was so humorous, and she had to tell us about her wrist. She had a violin in her hands. My mom came to get me early the day we spoke of cows, and I told her I liked that class a lot.
"That is not class," she told me.
              Everyone left that year, and when I returned it was me, Ari-Jan, my friend whose name started with an A, and Simon I believe. Our teacher was not Erenspeck, because there was something brutally wrong. Erenspeck had retreated to the seconds, and we were first rate. We had to get a first rate teacher. We weren't cows we were cattle. We had to report to Chen. I wasn't afraid of Chen the first day because of C level, but Ari-Jan slightly much so. So was my friend who's name started with an A. I don't believe Simon liked him very much either. We had only seen our music for a day, but Chen's words weren't of mercy, they were of Chen.
"Why don't you practice?"
We had just gotten that music that day.
                 A year later, or perhaps it wasn't, anyway, sometime during some Winter, the first violins of the JO and YO had merged to produce our Kennedy Center Christmas Spectacular, and Chen was our teacher. His face was red with angry veins. His arms moved cryptically. His scarf pulled against his neck. Ms. Nash walked in, and so did Berard. Chen looked a bit sad, and he left. Ari-Jan laughed a bit to himself.
"Excuse me," Ms. Nash said. In the movies they have the big Black women whose words you respect like a bible because they speak that, also.
"Hello, everyone," Maestro Berard always smiled.
                 Chen left, and it was all of the first raters in the room, looking at Ms. Nash and Berard sitting at desks, twiddling our thumbs. Ari-Jan and I sat at parallel desks, and the room was segregated with firsts.
"We need to know about Mr. Chen. Is he... Does he say anything?" Ms. Nash looked concerned.
I thought, what is this?
All of the firsts were new people. By this point, Ari-Jan and I had known each other since E I suppose, even though we hadn't become good friends until the current moment. I had my C level memory, he had his juries. The firsts in YO had,
"Well. He called us all idiots once. He said we were stupid."
Ari Jan laughed to himself. He looked at me because I bet he was thinking, "what are you doing. What are you doing?" I was thinking the same. Chen was going to be deemed second rate and abusive because these kids are new. Chen was the school bully, but he was also the cool kid. He was tough, and once you get used to that, you realize he's quite fabulous and it makes sense that you laugh after he tells you he wants to cry because you couldn't play with a fourth finger. When you do, and he gives you that little toothed smile, eyes genuine with your progression. Chen's spirit animal is the alligator in All Dogs Go to Heaven because you think he's going to kill you and then he turns out to be a drag queen wanting to make music with you. Chen is not a drag queen, but he's fabulous. I assure.
I told this to my mother after class was over, the part about having to talk to Nash and Berard
"Well maybe he is abusive. Maybe, you're just used to it. You don't realize it, you know? Maybe the new kids on the block are good for you."
I wanted my mother to be wrong forever and forever and forever and forever. I didn't want this to be the truth because truth is abusive.
              The next September, Chen was our best friend. Sam was there, and once he played, Chen told us,
"You make me want to kill myself. You make me want to throw myself out that window. I cannot open the window because the window doesn't open. You make me want to kill myself."
Sam, Alina, Marrisa, Malayna, and me laughed about this down the hallway. There was a cadence in his voice. It sounded like, you MAKE me WANT to KI-ll MYSELF. Only the important words are daggers. His sass was absolutely fabulous. Chen wasn't our best friend because he was sassy, though, he was our best friend because he was nice. He stopped class so we could speak of turkeys, theatre, and a lot of times the perks of Alina's life because Alina can speak of anything at anytime, and usually does. Once Alina was telling us of her fruit adventures as she lived in Thailand, and Chen related instantly,
"The fruit from my country? It's.. it's.. Ackguh! It's SOOO good! My! It's SOOO good! I miss it. The fruit here? Auckguh! What is it? I cannot. It is not like the fruit from my country. I have it mailed to me."
Ever since then, we hadn't the need to stand, or to really try. We could just go and talk about American culture and our weeks. It was therapy. Therapy from the guy who just told Sam he wanted to kill himself because of Sam. At his birthday party, we had cookies, brownies, and soda. Chen said he was allergic to most of it, and we could eat what we liked. I was late that day. I gave him a Capri Sun for good measure. He smiled at me and told me to eat up.

"Oh. WHAT IS THIS? YOU PLAY THIS? THIS? YOU CANNOT PLAY THIS. OK, OK SO THIS IS MY SECTION. I TELL THEM WHAT TO DO, THEY DO WELL, OK, AND YOU DO THIS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? OK SO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO IS, YOU HAVE TO PRACTICE, OK? YOU GO HOME, YOU GO ON... YOU... YOU.. YOU.. YOUTUBE, YOU LISTEN TO THE SONG OK. AND YOU PRACTICE. EVERYDAY YA. SO I KNOW YOU WON'T DO THAT. BUT WHAT IS THIS I CANNOT HERE YOU. I yell because I care. I care. I care.. care.. care.. because the music. I care the music. I care. And you cannot play like this. You cannot play like this because it's unfair. It's unfair to the music. It's unfair to you. five minute's break."
I wasn't sure if I had lost or gained hope in Chen. He was becoming old Chen. My memories of him with the brownies and cookies he treated us to on the belated birthday party we set up for him were instantly replaced with that in which Ari-Jan and I arrived late eating cake (because there was a party during lunch) and he yelled at us because we were late and we didn't get him any. I didn't want to laugh, I wanted to cry. He was killing me. I couldn't breath with daggers in me. But then he was Chen again. I was sabotaging myself because we sounded like cats and death. He cared, he cared, he cared, he cared, he cared for the music, and he cared for us.
Ari was laughing.
"WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING FOR?"
Maybe not so, but Chen was back. Chen gave us cake and then got mad at us because we ate it all. Once break came, Ari came up to me from his principal second violinist seat, smiled devilishly, and said,
"Your teacher is funny. He's so mean he's funny. WHO AM I? WHO AM I?"
"He's Chen," I said, because he was.

**Vales, my conductor, is Mariano Vales. He composed the music for Zorro, which is why I link you to that article. He's the coolest Argentine I know because I only know a handful (I'm sorry Ariella and Lucia). That's why he counts in Spanish. You should support him and see the show because it's supposed to be a good show, and he'll make good use of your money once he gets paid. He's an excellent person to talk to, and very personable.