Autobiographical Sketch Essay

Submitted By AnaHenley1
Words: 716
Pages: 3
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Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes was all the time I had to pack my life away. My heart was racing at a rapid tempo faster than any metronome. Palms sweating and eyes dry I grabbed what was important as the time ticked away. I can’t say exactly why I’ve come to live on my own since there are different versions to the story and mine seems to be the least important. All I know for sure is that I was losing my family, my life, my plans, even my home and I wasn’t ready. Would any soon to be fifteen year old be ready? I was just starting high school, just now discovering myself. You see in the past few years I had learned the true meaning of the word bully and in a failed attempt to escape them I had become distant and my clothes darkened. I thought I could also discover myself in the process. My extremist parents on the other hand thought I was discovering Satanism. You do the math. One of my few real escapes however was music. My flute is my best friend. Though I guess that wasn’t always the case.
In the fourth grade my teacher took our class to the band room for the first time. For most of my peers this would be their first time experiencing playing an instrument so of course they were more excited than my autistic brother coloring. I was quite the opposite. I’ve been playing instruments for the majority of my life, violin, cello, bass, piano, harp, well you get the idea. Needless to say this wasn’t my first time sitting in fold up chairs with a black stand in front of me. I was a little less than enthused about sitting though the forty-five minute spiel of a band director trying to convert fourth graders to band. But I waited, and eventually he went to the back and came out with instrument mouth pieces. Of course as the fates would have it the only one I could get a sound out of, though barely, was the flute. It reminded me of the times I’d blow over the tops of milk jugs. It was beautiful, sleek silver that glittered like a star. I thought “I’m going to love this!” I hated it! How could something so beautiful be so difficult? While the rest of my band mates looked down their instrument to learn how to place their fingers, mine was off to my right saying hello to my neibors face. I was more than ready to lock up my case never looking at another flute again, until my mother bought me a Liberty
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