"What's the audition for?" I asked.
"I don't know," Mark snapped, like this was the dumbest question ever.
On Tuesday, I asked how it was going. He answered, "All right," then said he scheduled his audition for Thursday, so he could work with his private drum teacher.
"Great idea!" I said. I was impressed by his maturity and logical reasoning.
On Wednesday, Mark asked to double his private lesson time. His weekly lesson is 30 minutes, but he wanted the more time to perfect the solo.
"Absolutely!" I said. I arranged the longer lesson with the instructor.
On Thursday, he called after school to tell me he was home.
"How'd the audition go?" I asked, crossing my fingers.
"I didn't do it yet," he snarked. "It's at 6."
I was silent, trying to process that information. Then I realized what it meant.
"Wait..." I said. "Is the audition at the high school?"
"Yes," he said.
This was news to me. I thought it was at his school, during school hours--he'd never once mentioned this little tidbit.
I glanced at the clock. It was 3:45, and I don't get off work until 5. My mind started racing with solutions. The easiest one was to say, "Ride your bike." Except that we tried that the day before, when Mark rode to drum lessons and got lost. He did not have time to get lost today.
"Mark, it takes me an hour and 15 minutes to get home on Thursdays!" I yelled. "Seriously, you're telling me this now???"
"I told you before," he started, but I shut him down. We did not have time to argue.
I finished my work, and took off at 4:30. With any luck, I'd roll up to the curb with moments to spare.
But the traffic gods were on my side (see Kelley, God does look out for fools!), and I arrived at the house at 5:36. I pulled into the school parking lot at 5:40, and asked Mark where the auditions were.
"I don't know," he said. "The auditorium?"
"You're asking me?" I said. "You're the one with all the info. Didn't they give you a flyer?"
"No," he said. "They didn't give me anything."
"Well, let's go look. We're 20 minutes early, but I'd rather be early than late."
Mark looked at the clock, then back at me.
"I said the auditions go until 6," he clarified. "It's not at 6."
And that's when my head almost exploded. No, that is not what he said. I remember, very clearly, his exact words--because he'd uttered them only 90 minutes ago.
We now had mere moments to spare and no idea where to go.
I started with the most logical choice, the band room, where a woman was talking to a mom and a student. Mark tugged at my sleeve urgently.
"C'mon, Mom," he said. "It's in the auditorium."
"Fine," I said. "You go look there. I'm gonna talk to this lady." I pretty mush discounted anything that came out of his mouth now.
The other mom and student walked out with Mark on their heels. I introduced myself to the other woman, who turned out to be the music teacher.
I apologized for being late. "I know the auditions only go till 6--" I started.
"No, they went until 5:15," she corrected. It was now 5:45. "But I can do it now. Do you have the info sheet?"
Smoke came out my nose and ears. I looked at Mark, nervously biting his nails and shaking his head.
The teacher handed me a form to complete. Sure enough, here's the first thing that jumped out at me:
She took Mark into the band room next door, where he banged out some rudiments on the snare drum. I was halfway through the form when he returned.
"That's it?" I asked, still writing. "All done?"
"Yup," he said.
"How'd you do?"
"I dunno," he answered. "She didn't say anything."
An audition that short meant he'd done really, really well, or really, really terrible. It's always a toss-up with Mark.
I finished the form and handed it back to the teacher. And then I asked her to fill me in on any/everything else I should know, since obviously, my messenger was not to be trusted.
She told me about a percussion workshop the next day (required for incoming freshmen). She also told me about the summer music camps--one in July for percussion, another in August for the whole marching band. I immediately noted them in my phone calendar, as the chances of Mark bringing home informational flyers is slim to none.
"Anything else I should know?" I asked.
"Nope, just show up tomorrow!" she told Mark.
But Mark had other ideas.
"I don't have to go to that workshop," he said, as we left the room.
"What part of 'incoming freshmen' don't you get?" I asked. "It's specifically for YOU! You. Are. Going. No more discussion!"
And so he did. Grudgingly. And loved it. And told me he couldn't wait for the second workshop next week.
As for me...well, luckily, I have wonderfully supportive friends.
"Breathe in. Exhale. Don't kill him," my friend Kelley texted me.
I texted back that I'd save myself four years of stress if I strangled him now, instead of waiting till graduation.
Which prompted her to call and talk me down after the audition.
"You're on speakerphone," I warned, to let her know Mark was also in the car.
"Hi, Mark!" she said. "You're still alive! Boy, do you owe me BIG TIME!"
"You do," I said, nudging him in the ribs. "Seriously."
But Mark just rolled his eyes.
And I did the same. Because yes, the middle and high schools usually inundate me with email and phone calls, but only when relevant to current student activities. Obviously, Mark was in a fuzzy zone here, between schools, and not all that keen on keeping me updated. I'd worry more if I hadn't personally exchanged email addresses with the band teacher, thereby cutting out my not-so-reliable middle(school) man.
I just sighed. And so it begins...I thought. My friend Jill always told me high school rushes by, but now I'm not so sure. He hasn't even officially started yet, and I know this won't be the last time Mark "forgets" to tell me something important. Let's just pray that he (we) makes it out of high school alive!
(And if he does...it will all be thanks to Kelley!)
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