ANGIE
As a ten-year-old forced into piano lessons with my seven-year-old sister, we understood that music, and piano especially, was going to be hard. My parents weren’t around much, always working all the time, so my sister and I stayed with our grandparents, but even without their constant presence, the pressure to do well and excel at everything we did was heavy. And because I was the older child, the expectations mostly fell on me.
I believed with all my might that piano was going to suck, and when my grandparents unboxed our electric keyboard, an instrusive thought whispered for me to destroy it. My sister had no interest whatsoever, but it looked interesting. I liked trying new things, but they were hard.
I was dreading it when our grandparents brought us to the music school, lively and full of other kids and their parents. A few music teachers were out an about, grabbing books off the shelves, or talking to parents, but the rest of them were in the tiny rooms with pianos.
But then a tall, young woman came up to us, calling out my and my sister’s names. My sister, the extrovert between the two of us, waved, and she smiled down at us.
“Hi! I’m going to be your teacher. Nice to meet you!”
She ushered us into her room, our grandparents leaving us alone. She introduced herself, made sure she had our names right, and then dove into a few questions about music. Was it our first time? Did we have any experience? Any concerns?
What felt like a few minutes later, I had played my first song, with my sister watching over my shoulder. My teacher laughed a lot, stumbled over her words a few times, but then would laugh again. She never stopped talking, except when I played the piano keys. She would answer my sister’s questions, but otherwise never took her attention off me.
“Any questions? Concerns? Anything weird?” She asked at last. I shook my head.
“Okay, then. Well, that was a lot, so we’re going to stop here today.”
I looked up at the large clock above the piano. My thirty minutes was over already! It went by faster than I thought. And I had fun.
Every week after that, my thirty minutes seem to go by super fast. She would welcome us each week and allow us to dive straight into how our week went. Her expressions were funny every time we said something audacious, but she would always be laughing. Over time, I got through my first book, although my sister was behind me because she talked more than she played. And it was kind of annoying at first, but my teacher kept asking if I understood or had any questions.
Then one day, she introduced the school competition. I had to memorize two songs and play them perfectly. In front of people! Absolute strangers! I was adamant, but she begged me to try. With a smirk, she suggested that the more practice I had, the better it would be.
So I practiced a lot, but I still thought it was terrible. And every time I played it for her as practice, I thought they were terrible because they weren’t perfect. I always had a mistake somewhere, or my speed was off, or my dynamics were off here or there. But each time, she would nod and smile, sometimes clap, and every time, it was “nice!” or a “good job!” I didn’t understand, I thought it was bad because it wasn’t perfect. I didn’t want to perform anymore. But she dragged me into a group practice class, where it was me and a few of her other students. I was so nervous, but somehow made it through to the end.
She clapped, smiling at me when I was done. “Perfect.”
I smiled shyly, because I while I didn’t make any mistakes, I didn’t think it was perfect, but it was still nice to hear.
She had me do another practice session. Again, and again. So many times until I was starting to get annoyed with the songs I were playing. But each time, I felt a little more satisfied with my playing.
And every time I expressed my doubt that I would do okay, or my reluctance to partake in the competition, she would pout at me, and then go through the following:
“Repeat after me. ‘I will do great.'”
I shook my head.
“I practiced hard, and I will play great.”
I shook my head again, but I couldn’t help smiling.
“I can do it.”
I frowned. She copied my frown.
“I will get top ten.”
I laughed at the preposterous idea.
– – –
I got third place in the competition. Third out of 104 other students.