After a quick breakfast, I started school, and at 12:45 had a Spanish class online. I was a little worried though because during the first part of the class my teacher could not hear me, which means i could not get an answer to my question.
Sore throat. UGG. I would rather not have it if I could.
For my English class i had to write a memoir so here it is:
I knew this piece perfectly,
and had played it many times for my teacher. I could perform it with my eyes
closed. My tolerant family patiently
endured the two page "Musetta’s Waltz” for so long that they involuntarily
hummed along. And now the day had come to show the world all my hard work. My
piano teacher taught nine students, so the recital was a smaller group. But when all eyes follow one walk to the
piano to play, the audience multiplies exponentially.
The recital, held
at a church near our house, would be at six o’clock. My mind snapped out of my
thoughts as my dad called, “the bus is leaving.” I stepped out of our house, dressed in a
woven yellow top and flowered broomstick skirt of oranges, reds, greens, blues,
and pinks. This time, unlike my last recital, my hair was pulled back so I
could not only see the audience but the audience could see me. As our family drove to the piano recital, I
pondered my two pieces. I had doubts if my first song, “Soldiers March,” would
go well. “Musetta’s Waltz” I believed, would go smoothly. Reaching the brick
building, I found a seat between my friends minutes before the piano recital
began. I began mentally preparing myself to do my best. Three, two, one more
people till my turn..
My name came next
on the off white program. The boy in front of me had just finished “The Indian
War Dance,” and took a bow. As he walked back to his seat, I hesitantly took up
my music and prepared myself for the following events. However, from the first
note to the last cord I performed my piece ninety-five percent right and I
happily returned to my chair thankful my first song was complete. “One more to
go,” I thought. Preoccupied with my last song, I could not enjoy my friends’
melodic pieces. Before I knew it, my turn came again. I carefully placed the worn
sheet music on the glassy surfaced grand piano stand, adjusted the cushioned
seat, and determinedly sat down. The piano, positioned in the middle of the
orange walled room with two thick columns of chairs ominously facing it, stood
before me. Someone coughed, papers rustled, and the whining of a little kid
could be heard. The audience waited patiently for me to begin. I was not
nervous but thought to myself, “Pretend you are just practicing for the teacher
again.” My fingers began to pick out the notes I had trained them to remember.
“This will be going great,” I believed. Then, my fingers stumbled. “No
problem,” I assured myself. My teacher said that piano recitals did not to test
how good you could play but to enable you to better perform in front of people.
And if no one but my family knew the piece, I could keep going and no one would
know. So I began to play again, this time trying to read my music.
Oddly, the once
familiar notes in front of me made no sense no matter how much I stared at
them. I started over again. This time, not only did my fingers mix up the keys,
but my mind went blank. I started again from the beginning, replaying the five
measures I had unsuccessfully attempted. “I’ll make it through the piece this
time,” I thought closing my closest eye to the audience to block them out of
view, focusing my mind on my piece. But it did not work. I got stuck right
where I had faltered the last time. It was very surreal. I emotionally detached
myself from the piano recital and calmly analyzed my situation as random
thoughts raced through my head - “Man these lights are bright… What happened, I
had this down before… What do I do now?” My piano teacher had once told me
about her brother’s piano recital and how, when he had messed up, had run out
of the room crying. “Well I cannot do that,” I thought. I had always played
piano by ear better than by reading my sheet music. So I tried improvising,
hitting dissonant keys and unharmonious chords the whole time. “Okay that did
not work,” I chided myself. It seemed like time had stopped, given me a piece
of music only Mozart could have played, and expected me to do it perfectly the
first time. However, I had practiced my song over one hundred times, it only
had two pages long, and Mozart had not written it. I still was not nervous.
I peered out the
corner of my right eye, my pulled back hair giving me an IMAX view of everyone
watching me. If I had been them, I would have started squirming in my seat,
wincing, or trying to hold in my laughter. I could see my brother’s friend,
hand covering his mouth shaking silently, in the front row. To tell you the
truth, I thought it funny too. “I can’t keep on playing this piece over, so I
will try playing another part in the song that I do know,” I said decidedly.
But I had no recollection of any other part in the
song and really, I was getting tired of playing the first five measures
repeatedly. “I really need to end this so I’ll get up and be done with it,” I
resolved. Simply standing, I gathered my music, gave the audience my most
gracious, apologetic and relived smile, and ended my epic piano piece with,
“Sorry guys.” I began to laugh as I descended the steps, everyone laughing with
me. Once seated, my friend sympathetically whispered, “I am so sorry about
that. I hate it when that happens.” Funny thing is, she has never had nor will
it ever happen to her. During the next student’s song, my teacher discreetly
came up to me and whispered, “Do you want to try that piece again? I will come
up and stand next to you if you want?” “No thank-you,” I smiled and quickly
replied. “I’m good.”
That night, I was
reminded that you cannot take yourself too seriously. What would have happened
if I had? Thinking about myself and what others would think of me, I would have
been a bad representation of Christ. Being able to laugh at yourself is good. I
am glad I could. I would not have chosen to mess up on my piece, but God
certainly knows what He is doing. He gives us grace in all circumstances. He
even gave me peace during my “trial.” Next time, just in case I forget my
piece, I will start playing a new version of “Chopsticks” and wow the whole
audience.
Kinda long but true!
hope you enjoyed,
Allison Pyle
