Looking around in the orchestra room, you spot an old violin coated with sticky residue from rosin. Play it and you’ll find yourself enjoying one scratchy tune. Look out world, it’s Violet.

Violet and I have been together since 5th grade. I started violin in fourth grade and my mom got me a rental. Though it had a really shiny rock in it, it still lacked the companionship I so longed for.

It was a lovely late afternoon in summer when my mom brought violet home. When my mom arrived with it she told me I couldn’t open it but I couldn’t help it.

The sunlight glimmered of her golden brown coat as I slowly opened the case and there she was. I know this sounds lame but I even teared up a little; I had never seen anything so heavenly. Well maybe a whole bunch of corn on the cob, but I was 9 years old at the time, can you really blame me?

She had a couple of flaws—some chipped part at her curvy bottom, but she was all mine. I wrapped my finger around one of the strings and gave it a strong pull. The sounds resonating form the string was divine even with my mom shouting at me for opening the case.

Once school started, I couldn’t help but flaunt my mediocre violin skills as I showed off Violet. Then the unspeakable happened: I dropped her. There was a dead silence as I picked her to give the diagnosis; it didn’t look like anything looked off. Relieved, I packed her up and went on my way.

At home, I celebrated by playing like a fool; twisting all the knobs and tuners. I cranked one of the peg tuners as far as I could and it snapped. The A-String. Not only that, but the string whipped across my face so fast that I actually started bleeding. I flung her back into the case, furious and oozing blood.

After awhile, I realized that I should have resisted showboating and just played from my heart. My teachers have always told me that there’s no “I” in “team”. Although I usually replied with a snarky comment about  “I” being in “violin,” it occurred to me that in the end, it’s not about how good the violin looks, but how well you play.

After that episode, we never looked back; we just played.

We’ve been everywhere together, orchestra-wise.  Kansas City, the Lake of the Ozarks; we’ve seen victory and we’ve seen defeat, but every single time we played quality music. She has been my extension for fine art for a good seven years and though she’s looking rusty, she’s still got it.