You pick a number, say, 44 red and place the bet. The little wooden ball rolling round, and spinning around, like me, while I went from bank, to broker, to under the bed, then to a friend’s house looking for money just to see the roulette wheel spin. Never panic while playing roulette. Although, your hands tremble, you’ll feel like dancing, your hands running against each other, at times spastically running together. You’ll feel exuberant and shell-shocked, for a moment, you will feel like a queen commanding her kingdom, but, in the end, you will be departed from your money and you will have to play the chorale’s matinees.

******

“I know I am not a physicist but I know what he says is true,” I told the therapist.
He was more interested in why I would gamble away the pleasures I had in life – to chance.
“See this red key? I have taken to putting it in my pocket to enhance the sound of my cello. It’s amazing. I actually think it works.”
The mind-man asked repeatedly that I tell him before I do any more thrill seeking. Let’s discuss this obsession with thrill seeking during our time spent together.
I agreed.
“Can we get to the point? Why would you jeopardize everything before you get a chance to prove yourself? Why would you do that? You can’t do this all alone; think about it before you decide to go through with it.”
“Yes, I am. I am going to name it, Blight and Canker.”
“You’ve worked so hard to put this together and to present it to the crowds and you undermine it with a name like that. Then you are afraid like the violin-guy said, you are afraid of the sound of your own cello.”
“I am… not.”

******

Silently the Conductor enters from stage left. His black tuxedo tails flow in the rhythm of his walk, he smiles at the audience, the orchestra. He begins the night’s music with a raise of his hands, wand in left hand. Instruments go up, and bow’s go down onto the strings with the slightest pressure so the rosin will catch the string to create the right pressure, the perfect sound.

The strumming began slowly and built up to a strings oriented crescendo. Some piano’s roll a sound that mimic’s a subway at five or a cell phone’s conversation of good words caressing your ear. Then it fell to a beautiful violin solo played by the maestro of metal and peppermint towels. He stood valiantly while presenting the runs up the scale like his violin was a woman he was caressing, the melody, unbridled kisses all over her neck. I sit center stage, the composer of tonight’s music. Never panic while playing in front of a symphony audience.

Among those who know, I am well known, and I have found a way to live with panic while writing a symphony. Left foot back turned slightly, right foot forward then lunge. Left arm out at your side, the right hand reaching forward as if for your partner’s hand. Acknowledge your movements with a confident smile. Repeat.

This meaningless movement is dancing and for those five minutes spent out in front, center stage, your heart will beat and you will begin a sweat in response, and your mind will go to some of the strangest places. You won’t panic. The music I wrote and presented as the featured point of the evening, burned well under the smiles and turnings of the appreciative audience who did not know there would be dancing in the heart of the composer tonight.

I lifted the cello and began right on the next note to fall, a B flat. Again, I lifted my light fingers down the strings of the cello and followed each note with a confident pull of the bow. I looked at the conductor for time, at the audience for reassurance. I finished at the same time as the orchestra, no small feat. I thought, never panic at the sound of one’s own cello.

I knew the piece’s wavering like the water, air and good timing I had come to know while in the course of composing the symphony. I had heard it in my held breath under water and the reminiscent screams of someone acting as a lead weight in the air. I, also, heard it in the “4/4” time of the fickle, yet, metronome-like roulette ball.

Never panic while the audience’s resounding applause and ovation fill your head. The conductor will wave the composer to stand center stage. We will stoop low amongst the black laurels and white collars to accept their appreciation and winks. Then the peppermint, maestro violinist will hand over a bouquet of flowers whose blooms you will remember, everyday – one cheap thrill at a time.