She opened the case and gazed at it in awe. The golden metal shined bright, a bright new instrument. It had not yet been tainted by her fingerprints. She carefully took it out of its case and let her fingers adjust to the cool metal. She placed the mouth piece into its proper place, and slowly placed her lips onto it. She took a deep breath and blew. Out of the bell, connected to the instrument that looked similar to a tuba, came a Bb. She moved her mouth away and smiled, happy that she could play a note. She sat down in her chair and sat the instrument on her lap, slightly amazed at the fact that it was much bigger than her. Looking at the sheet of music in front of her, she pushed down the valves, that had just been oiled, connected with the instrument to correspond to the scale. Bb, C, D, Eb, F, G, A, Bb. She tried the scale, stopping every now and then to fix a mistake. She didn’t care; however, simply playing her instrument was enough to make her heart soar. Her mother walked in and looked at her.
“You’re practicing AGAIN? That’s the third time today.”
“I can’t get this scale. And I’m performing tonight.” She replied to her mother. Her mother smiled.
“Keep trying. You’ll do fine” The girl looked at her sheet of music in dread. She’s rather spend her time on scales, then performing in front of people.

~*~*~*~*~

The same girl sat in her room seven years later, reading the latest novel in her series of books. She glanced over in the corner where her instrument sat, now collecting dust. Instead of the untouched metal, it lay there with bumps and bruises. No longer gold, but now a bronze. Her mother walked in the room.
“Honey, you should really practice your instrument… you haven’t picked it up in days.” Her mother told her. She rolled her eyes and closed her book.
“Do I have to? I know all my music.” She told her. Her mother gave her a stern look and left her room.  The girl gave a heavy sigh and picked up her instrument. She sat it on her lap and sighed, she now had to prop up her knee just to get level with it. She pushed the valves down, watching as they slowly came back up. She took some of her valve oil and quickly oiled her instrument. Soon the valves were fine and she took a deep breath into her Baritone. A Bb emerged from the instrument, the same pitch that hadn’t changed since she was a kid. Only this time, when she played this note, it seemed repetitive and not magical. The scale, that she couldn’t quite get right all those years ago, seemed effortless. It all was repetitive, no magic. The magic no longer came from scales. She took out her concert piece and began to breeze through that, finding that little magic she felt long ago. Sure the magic wasn’t there for the scales, but it was there for the performance.