Beginner Piano

There are a lot of terrifying moments in a person's life.  Public speaking would be one.  When I was about 14 years old, I had been studying classical piano for many years.  I had played in several recitals, a lot of them in intimate places where you walked 5 feet from your seat to play and then walked right back after.  I had a teacher who constantly pushed me to do better.  So, when the opportunity to enter a recital in which I would be playing in a grand forum came, I wasn't able to resist her urges to play. 

When we arrived, I looked about the venue and wanted to be sick.  It was grand, with vaulted ceilings and pillars, and seats that stretched back.  We wouldn't fill every seat in this place, I thought.  Yet, when I peeked behind the velvet curtains to see where my dad was sitting, I saw that every seat had been filled... And I couldn't find his face.  I stood waiting, and idly conversed with the emcee.  Three had already gone.

There was one boy ahead of me, and then it was my turn.  I stood in the eaves and watched the pudgy teen make his way to the piano.  As he sat, his shirt became untucked, and he tried to shove the shirt back into his pants.  He paged through his music sloppily and then finally settled on one.  He rustled through the pages again and then played the same chords again: one, two, three.  And silence.  He looked earnestly over his shoulder at the emcee standing next to me.  She gathered up the microphone and some notes and bustled onto the stage and dramatically sat next to the boy.   She turned the page to the beginning for him, and again, he played the same lackluster chords and stopped.  Realizing it was time to put the poor boy out of his misery, the emcee stood and gave him a warm congratulatory applause, to which the audience mimicked.  He moved off the stage, hiding fat tears that were rolling down his cheeks.  The emcee turned to me, gesturing that I come onto the stage.

I looked out at the crowd, still not able to discern my father's face from the mass.  I walked out, sat at the piano, and stared at the bright keys.  It's time to play, I realized.  Go.  My fingers played a couple of chords and then my brain shut off.  I could feel the crowd shifting uncomfortably.  Play, my brain urged, go.  My fingers would not listen.  If there was ever a time in my life where I thought I was consciously having a medical emergency, this was it.  I looked around, wondering if anyone else realized what was happening to me.  I looked into the eaves at the emcee, and she looked at me with consternation: is this kid gonna play or not? I willed her to come sit next to me on the piano seat, to jovially turn the music and pat me on the back for not knowing the music.  Yet, she did not come.  I stared out at the audience, still not seeing my father's face.  I was alone.   I could try to play the music, the piece I had memorized to the point of exhaustion, I could hope that my fingers would suddenly do what my mind was urging it to do.  Or, I could get up and walk off the stage and leave this terrifying situation.  I stared hard at the keys... I played three chords and froze again.  Okay, you tried, I thought.  Time to go.

Seven years later, I was a senior in college.  I had taken a piano class to fill my requirement for a fine arts credit.  Originally hoping to move slyly through Beginner Piano, I was found out when the professor realized I could read music.  Once I was in intermediate piano, I saw what would be the biggest obstacle for me... It wouldn't be the music theory tests or the one on one exams... It would be the final exam which was being apart of final recital.  I had nightmares about it: naked, I would have to play a full sonatina with a crowd of people staring at me.  I counted down the days.

The day of my recital was a funny one.  I woke up with a full terror knowing I had a recital that day.  No backing down now... Time to just do it.  When I looked at my phone, however, something, somewhere, had a different plan for me.  My sister had given birth to my tiny nephew.  Oh darn it, I lamented, when I wrote the email to my professor.  I must, I repeat, must be with my sister on this hallowed day.  The message back from my professor was one of understanding but with a chilling final message.  "Any performer who is unable to attend the final concert will need to perform a solo concert with the department's music head."

Goddamit.  Is this worse than a concert, I wondered.  The day of my exam, I was more relaxed than any other day.  It was the end of my semester.  I had endured a firing squad for my thesis, I passed my exams... This was the last piece.  My degree literally depended on my passing of a basic piano class.  I walked into the exam room, it was a man I had never met before and a female assistant.  I handed them my music and sat down at the piano and began to play

Midway through the piece, I realized the same thing was happening... I had forgotten the music.  At this moment, however, I made a decision to keep playing.  Just go.  I could hear the professor quickly paging through the music to catch up with me, but it was too late.  I kept going and ended the song with a dramatic banging on the chords.  The professor looked up from trying to find where I was in the music to kindly clap.  He smiled.  I smiled.  It was done.