First Piano Concert

            Today I walked up to my old, yet still beautiful, Wurlitzer piano that sits under the window tanning in the sun. I brushed off the light layer of dust from the bench and sat down on the familiar wood. I ran my fingers over the off-white keys and opened the book I used to play from. The first page I opened to was twelve. Fur Elise, my favorite song.

 I studied the notes for a few seconds then played the first measure. The trill of the few notes brought a smile to my face. I remembered when I first started playing this song, which was eight years ago. I remembered the recital I played this song at. The first recital I ever played in, actually.

I was only ten years old at the time; however, I knew that with hard work and practice I could play any song I could lay my hands on. I ran my fingers over the keys again and took myself back to Saturday, January 22, 2005, the night of my first recital. I closed my mind and let the memory take over my mind.   

 

“On the car ride over to the church I thought about the music. I thought about every practice, and every lesson I’d religiously attended over the last year. I’d improved my skills as a young pianist and this would be the ultimate test of my perseverance. The images passing outside my window were a blur as I played the song in my head over and over again.

“Lauren!” my mom blurted for probably the fourth or fifth time.

“Yeah?” I asked back.

“You nervous?” she asked.

“Of course silly mom,” I said sarcastically. And that was the end of our car conversation because my little stinky brother started singing a song on the radio, very off-tune, I might add.

We finally reached our destination after what seemed like forever. I hopped up the church steps humming my favorite piano tune I knew how to play. I opened the giant wooden doors with the huge handles and colored glass windows. The clean smell of candles and old books greeted me at the door. I ran up the center aisle smiling at every click my fancy shoes made on the wooden flooring.

            I took my seat next to my grampa and the rest of the family, who took up an entire pew. My grampa smelled of black coffee, and had no hair on the top of his head. He’s my favorite grampa but I didn’t want to make my other grampa jealous by ever saying it out loud. The butterflies in my stomach had never felt this crazy before. I opened the little pamphlet with all the students’ names and the songs they would be playing. My name was the fourth one from the top. The butterflies swirled around my stomach again.

            Mrs. Bennett stepped on the stage and made her opening speeches but I was too focused on the giant camera that my grampa was holding. It was ginormous!  And my grampa took amazing pictures with it and I loved being a model for him. Everyone started clapping and I snapped back to reality as Brandon, the oldest student Mrs. Bennett had, opened the concert.

He stepped on the stage right in front of the piano and said, “Hi, I am Brandon. I am going to play Claire de Lune.”

 

And then he sat right down on the bench and started playing it immediately, probably to get it over sooner. He looked nice in a tie as he played his song flawlessly. He finished without one mistake, so the butterflies in my stomach reminded me to do good.

            After Brandon, went Cameron. He was ten, just like me. He was wearing a tie too but didn’t look as good as Brandon, of course. He played The Entertainer really well and everyone clapped for him. After Cameron, went Emily. I couldn’t focus on her playing because all I could think is that I was next. Her song seemed to be over in just a few seconds because then Mrs. Bennett called my name.

            The butterflies started nervously fluttering around uncontrollably as I grabbed my song book and stepped out of the pew. I closed my eyes and flashed back to Mrs. Bennett’s house, where I took my lessons. I pictured myself walking down the long hallway, with all the pictures of birds, to the room with the “practicing” piano. I remembered the latest lesson I went to and remembered how I felt when I played my song without any mistakes. My fingers had just flowed over the keys like it was no big deal. It felt amazing. But then I remembered that I’m not at her house practicing and that I have to perform. Right here, right now.  

I opened my eyes and looked back at my grampa and he gives me a thumbs-up in front of his smile. I smoothed my new emerald dress, which I got just for the occasion, and took a deep breath. I stepped slowly down the center aisle until I reached the beautiful, shiny, black Baby Grand Piano.

            I turned around to face the audience. A sweat drop ran the full length of my back. My mouth felt bone dry but I managed to say, “Hi… my name is Lauren… and Fur Elise is what I’m gonna play…”

I readjusted the bench so that my ten year old legs could reach the pedals on the bottom. The keys are perfect white ivory, almost too perfect to touch with my oily little fingers. I opened my book to page 12 where the song awaited me to play. My fingers went directly to the keys, where the song begins, out of habit. I took one more breath before my fingers started playing. I get through about two lines of music before my hands forgot what to do.

My fingers were playing the wrong notes. Notes that don’t make sense. It was wrong. It was all wrong. I just stopped all together. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. How could I forget? I practiced and practiced. My face got hot. I felt like such a disappointment. I disappointed myself. I disappointed my mom, my dad, my piano teacher, my grampa. Everyone was staring at me because of my mistake at this point. I worked so hard and now there I was lost. I swallowed hard. I took another breath. I got mad at the butterflies and forced them away. I put my hands back at the starting point and started all over.

I focused hard on the notes that the music read. My fingers danced over the notes that I have played over and over again during my lessons and practices. The music flowed up through my fingers and arms and put a smile on my face. I didn’t make another mistake. I finished the song with the loudest “A” chord I could get out of that big, beautiful piano.

The crowd started clapping for me. Except it was more than that. It was a cheer! I even heard a whistle come from my family’s pew! I saw my grampa’s ginormous camera flash about ten million times too! I gave a little girly curtsy in front of everybody, which was funny to a lot of people, and skipped back to my seat. My grampa smiled at me bigger than he ever has.

“I’m so proud of you my little peanut,” he whispered to me.

“Thanks grampa,” is all I could say back with a smile. The butterflies danced around in my tummy with all the joy in the world.  

My mom leaned over and gave me a big thumbs-up, which made my smile bigger. I knew everyone was proud of me because I practiced and I practiced. And I played so good! After everyone had played we all gathered in the meeting room and ate cookies and punch together. Mrs. Bennett walked straight up to me first and gave me a huge hug!

“You did so amazing!” she exclaimed.

“I tried real hard,” I said with a smile.

“Well it was beautiful and amazing and everyone loved it!” she said back, but then got distracted by spillage of the punch bowl and hurried away. I knew she was really happy though, the happy butterflies that happily fluttered around in my tummy told me so.

I was happy too! I was proud of myself! Everything I worked for was worth it in this concert. “I will always work my hardest from this day forward,” I told myself.”

 

And I have.

I opened my eyes and looked straight at page twelve. I put my hands on the keys and started to play. I played the whole song through with no mistakes, and I finished it with an “A chord” just as loud as the one I played when I was ten years old at my concert. And it put smile on my face just as big as the one I had eight years ago.

I took one lesson a week for ten years, and I just barely stopped going but a year ago. The power to play music has never left my veins. I have played every song put in my hands. And even today, a little unpracticed, I can play. I could never dispose of skills that I worked so hard at obtaining. My ten year old self taught me that.