GLYNN WASHINGTON, HOST:
OK, so first, you got to understand that it wasn't just me. In fifth grade at Fancher Elementary in Mount Pleasant Michigan, we all loved Mr. Hansen, right? He wasn't just a music teacher; he directed the city orchestra. Mr. Hansen spoke to us about music like we were adults and made us feel thrown into the pieces. Here is where the tension - feel the tension, feel it. It's tight - stretched tight like a rubber band. Wait. There's the break - the release. Isn't it wonderful?
His joy became our joy. But Mr. Hansen had favorites. And for a young nerd, there could be no higher honor. These favorites were the first in the orchestra - the first violin, the first cello, the first flute. I went to the orchestra sign-up with high hopes. Mr. Hansen began by apologizing. We don't have many open spots. This is a highly select group. I sat crestfallen. But, but if there is someone who would maybe like to play the cello - I leapt to my feet, raised my hand, cello, yeah cello. I was going to be the first cello, and it was going to be awesome.
Mr. Hansen examined me. Do you have a cello? No. Can you afford to purchase a cello? No way. Then he looked at me intently. If I were to loan you one of our cellos, would you care for it the way a new mother swaddles her freshly born baby? Yes. Say again? Yes, I'll take care of the cello like it was a baby. We'll see. He pointed me toward a large nylon case and inside, there it was, my cello. It smelled like cello. And later that night, I started speaking like him. Mother, mother, I shall practice my cello. And at the end of the first two weeks, Mr. Hansen had us all play sheet music to determine rankings. I played, and when I saw the rankings posted to the door, I was crushed. Mr. Hansen placed me fifth - fifth. It was an insult of the highest order, and just as I started to curl into a fetal position, I spied another note. It said that every Monday you could challenge anyone to move up the rankings a spot.
Murder flooded my eyes. I would challenge for this seat until I earned my rightful place amongst the first. So I did. I challenged and bumped fourth cello that very day. And I practiced, and I practiced. I wanted Mr. Hansen to notice, to believe, to inspire and be inspired by my love of music. I challenged for third seat, and I won. And then one day, I saw Mr. Hansen taking all the firsts out for ice cream. I practically screamed in frustration - look at me. I like music. I like ice cream. Look at me.
I challenged the second that next Monday, performed with even, strong, delicate strokes of my horsehair bow on the strings of the cello. I looked at the first. She was trembling in her sneakers knowing she was next. Mr. Hansen winked - actually winked at me before declaring me the winner.
One more challenge. I practiced until the tips of my fingers bled from pressing down the strings, but I would not tire. Then I heard this loud snap. My heart leapt into my throat. I'm scared to look down. I look down, and I see the strings hanging loose from my cello. The piece of wood that holds the strings up, the bridge had fallen off. This instrument cost hundreds and hundreds of dollars, and Mr. Hansen had given it to me. And I had broken it. I tasted vomit in my mouth.
I walked out of my room and told my mother. She looked at the mess like she had something in her mouth as well. Momma, maybe we can fix it. Maybe, she said. We've got to figure a way to get that bridge to stick back on there. Well, I've got some Elmer's glue. All right, we painted some of the glue on the cello. We pried the bridge into place; we squirted some extra glue around the bridge just in case. I stood back - it looked pretty good. Thanks, mom.
The next morning at orchestra rehearsal, we all start to play. Mr. Hanson makes a scrunched up face - just the strings please. He sniffs about like a hound dog. We all play - now cello, cellos - just the cellos. We play. He looked at me. You, play. I played. Then this man that I admired more than any other looked at my instrument. What have you done? Well, my momma - is this paste stuck to my cello - paste? No, no, that's not paste. That's, you know, a little Elmer's glue. It's a little glue. Everyone come here at once. The orchestra gathered around me and my cello. I want everyone to know and to understand that these precision instruments are held in place by pressure, by tension and not by paste. He removed the bridge from the first cello, showed it to everyone, then simply shoved it back into place. Do you understand? The first cello she smirked at me - paste. Solvent was later procured, screaming commenced, paste removed, more screaming. Finally, my cello was returned.
When I showed up for the next rehearsal, Mr. Hansen whispered simply, sixth. I gazed down at the first chair as if it were protected by iron bars. I looked at Mr. Hansen. I had so much love to give. But I knew then, I would never play the right notes.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "HEARTBREAKER")
ALICE RUSSELL: Heartbreaker, I cannot breathe.
WASHINGTON: Today, on SNAP JUDGMENT from PRX and NPR, "Unrequited."
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "HEARTBREAKER")
RUSSELL: So over, self-signed decree...
WASHINGTON: Amazing stories about love given when you feel no love in return. My name is Glynn Washington. Get ready because this is SNAP JUDGMENT. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.