The Rest Chair Game — Between the tall music stands, Tobin tapped his shoe and invented a game: every time his clarinet part had a rest, he would move one pencil from his pocket to the next empty chair. Read the full story →
Between the tall music stands, Tobin tapped his shoe and invented a game: every time his clarinet part had a rest, he would move one pencil from his pocket to the next empty chair. If he counted perfectly, he could enter on the high A without squeaking. The band room smelled like valve oil and dusty carpet, and the percussion bars shone cold under the lights.
On the third rest, he noticed Luma’s stand across the aisle had no pencil at all. Her fingers hovered over her flute music, lost in a forest of black notes. Tobin’s own next entrance was coming soon, but he slipped from his safe chair, sock-soft on the floor, and left one pencil on her tray. Then another by the bassoonist’s page, where a corner kept curling. He missed his high A. It came out as a small, feathery puff.
Nobody laughed. Luma lifted the pencil, marked her place, and whispered, “Got it.” When Tobin sat back down, his pocket was empty, but the room felt padded and warm. His next note rose cleanly, and the rests around it seemed to hold hands. Next time you see his open music, can you guess which empty chair still remembers the game?
