A Musical Friend

personal account by Emily Esposito

His only friend is his tenor saxophone. Everyone he has tried to befriend gets sick of his vulgar remarks and crude jokes. His saxophone doesn't laugh behind his back and make fun of him.

"Does he have a mental problem?" I ask my best friend.

"Yeah, he has Attention Deficit Disorder," she answers and looks at the sophomore sitting by himself in the front seat of the bus, with his saxophone next to him as loyal as a dog.

The next day on the bus, he comes and sits in front of me. He tells me stories about ninjas and how he religiously dresses up as a ninja for Halloween. He explains the different weapons they use and demonstrates their poses. It seems as though he has never ending energy. He keeps going and going, like a conductor, never missing a beat.

Every morning on the bus, the sophomore comes and sits with the freshmen. We hear his extravagant tales and often nod politely to make him happy.

"When I do this," he says, rearranging his long brown hair, "it looks like I'm a pyro German computer nerd."

I look into his icy blue eyes and see an empty void as deep as the ocean. He longs for friends. He wants to spend his lunches with friend instead of going to the band room and practicing his saxophone. He gaze shifts and he starts talking about who would win if there were a war between Asians and White people.

That night, I'm at a coffee shop watching my friends in the jazz band. I know that he is in jazz band, but when he comes on the stage, I see a different person. The band starts and the sophomore stands up, taking center stage. He starts to solo. When he plays his saxophone, it's like hearing a beautiful lullaby that is rocking the audience to sleep. His icy blue eyes no longer show loneliness, but passion. He clutches his saxophone as if it was his baby, and taps his foot to the beat. Before I know it, the lullaby has stopped and the audience is standing up clapping wildly. I never knew a human being could produce such beautiful music, much less a sophomore.

During school the next day, I pass him in the hall and he encloses me in a bear hug and then reaches for my friend's groin. As we go our separate ways, I look back at the sophomore that I once considered lonely. I do not have a passion burning inside me like a forest fire, like he does. I do not have something that would melt the iciness in my eyes. In the moment, I realize I am jealous of the boy whose only friend is his tenor saxophone.

Emily Esposito is a sophomore at Roosevelt High School in Seattle.