Winnie C.

Piano

My mom made me play the piano when I was five.
I threw a tantrum and refused to go.
Dad said to go and play because it won’t be that bad.
We left and drove down to the piano school.
 
My teacher’s name was Konstantinos Papadakis,
a name I could never remember.
He made jokes about pianos to make me laugh.
He was all right after all.
 
I started to play the piano.
The white keys were as white as a ghost.
The black keys were as black as coal.
The piano was all right after all.
 
Dad asked how the piano lesson was.
I told him it wasn’t bad and there was a concert next month.
I practiced day and night to perfect my piece.
I struggled from time to time, but it didn’t stop me from giving up.
 
We left five minutes late on the big day.
Dad sped down the road.
I was worried that the concert would start without me.
My palms began to sweat as we got closer to the concert hall.
 
Everyone was late so the concert was delayed.
I got a chance to practice before my big performance.
Finally, the concert began.
I started to play fast, but after some time I slowed down.
 
It was a night I would never forget.
The fear of stage fright was finally over.



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