Saxophonist by Renée Théobald

Monologue by Emma Smith '24

Fall 2020

On a usual day, my golden skin shines brightly

Leaving flecks of light on passerby

My music fills the air and hearts of Paris

And my owner and I are content

But to my owner I am but an instrument

A vehicle through which his own genius passes

To me, he is just the same

And yet here we lie

Making wonderful music

Believing we are each individually responsible for the smiles we create

The tapping of shoes in beat, the tips tossed at his feet

But this morning the clouds are dragging us down

The day is dreary

Wet

Empty

Days like these are not good for musicians like me

Humidity leaves my reed wet and misshapen

Today, my sound is dull

A few passerby glance at us and nod politely

Most just sneer

Their eyes brush over my golden skin

Finding the impurities and shaking their heads

But my owner sees the beauty in every imperfection

He knows of my hardships

My life has been a long one

Long ago, I was the image of perfection

My skin shiny and complete

My reed was brand new, of the finest cane

My first home was a small instrument shop on the Rue de Marseille

It was always quiet during the week

The only noise a light and airy oboe between the shop owner's lips

But the weekends were bustling with people

Young and greedy musicians looking for a bargain

They didn’t care much for me

I was out of their league

Pricey

Beautiful

With a rich and robust sound

I spent countless days in that shop

Collecting dust

My shiny skin becoming duller from hands

Touching

Looking

But never taking me home

Never putting me to their lips

My value wasting away with every day

Until he came in

The rest of the shop was empty

His steps echoed as he walked up and down the aisle

Searching for the perfect instrument

He touched many of us that day

The trumpets

The clarinets

The trombones

And then he reached me

I was by far the oldest instrument in the shop, and he knew that

His fingers danced along my keys

He smiled in admiration and lifted me up and out of my case

I didn’t expect anything

I thought he might toy with me for a few minutes

Dirtying me and dashing my hopes

Then return me to my case

Where I had stayed all of my life

Collecting dust

But then

He brought me to his lips

He breathed in deeply

And he played

My sound was shrieking at first

After so many years of unuse

But as his fingers pressed my keys, I warmed up to him

And we made the most beautiful sound

I had been waiting for that day my entire life

The ability to make the exquisite music I was created for

The shop owner simply stared in disbelief

Once we finished, she insisted that I was the one for the customer

She said I must have been made for him

Destined to live in this shop until he came along

And brought me to his lips

And played

He purchased me at once

Brought me onto the streets of Paris

And began to play

And that’s how we have spent our days since