The Wrathful Ms. Rath

For feature writing class, we were assigned to write a brief story about a frightening moment. I changed people's names in the story for confidentiality reasons. Like Eli, however, I still find red stilettos highly intimidating... 

***

The orchestra needed an oboist. Ms. Rath, the director, asked the only oboist at Kernodle Middle School to join the orchestra for an afternoon rehearsal. She was planning December concert and wanted to have full symphony for a suite of Harry Potter songs. Sure—Eli could do it. He was in eighth grade, and although he’d only been playing the oboe for three years, he was a promising musician.

Ms. Rath was intense. Her red lipstick, red fingernails and matching red pumps overpowered the rehearsal, and she used her baton like a blade. Instead of gently waving through the quarter notes, she jabbed her baton into the students’ eyes, pausing every few minutes to scream at the violins or yank a bow from someone’s unworthy hands.

“Bar four, now let’s rehearse the oboe part,” Ms. Rath said, clicking her baton at the only oboist.

Eli soloed the lurid opening theme. He squeaked, but timidly he survived playing alone in front of the other students. But it wasn’t good enough.

“That was hideous,” Ms. Rath said. “I can’t believe you even consider yourself an oboist.”

The words hurt, but he quietly agreed. It was better to save his comments for later. After rehearsal ended, he met Davisimo, his confidant and ride home. They walked through Kernodle’s front doors, and in the apparent secrecy, they began talking about the dreadful rehearsal.

“She was the biggest *&@%#$,” Eli said.

He heard the red stilettos violently coming toward him. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

***