#551: Butterflies at the Hollyhocks

In the sheet music
at the chamber orchestra
gig, there were a number
of notations above the stave
indicating the manner in which
the music should be played.
Nothing unusual about that,
but where one might expect
to see things like allegro
or andante or accelerando,
usually words that begin
with an A, instead she found
instructions such as “play
this badly,” or “only wrong
notes here,” or “fall behind
the beat at least 10 BPM,”
“louder than possible,”
and, the violinist’s favorite,
“make squealing noises
à la dying cat.” She did not
like this piece, but it was
a gig, and she was paid
handsomely for it, so she read
down the chart in her
workaday-like way, expertly,
missing none of the cues,
interpreting all the notation
as best as she could, finding
some relief after a movement
for which there were
“sharks in the water,” to
arrive at the coda where
she was to ply her instrument
“with contempt for imported
convertible sports cars.”
She felt butterflies at the hollyhocks.