Forgotten Art
A symphony of strings sweetly pierces the quiet air. The choir inhales. Then, suddenly, the hall is ringing with voices. Unbeknown to their thirst, their ears began hastily sipping from the cup that is life - once again, reminding them of their capacity to feel and undestand that which is beauty in a different form, in another language. Their skin, as they realized this, responding with goosbumps, reaching heavenward. When it was over, their hands were compelled to clap and, inside, they were compelled to live. This is the magic of a choral concert. This is a forgotten art.
*I stepped off of the stage and began to gather my things in a fluster. "I'm sorry, Ryanne, I should have given my students more opportunity to practice this piece," the instructor said, reading my frustrated and horrified expression. I just smiled as best as my lips would let be before walking away, deliberately trying to walk slow, when all I wanted was to run away. I now wish I had. I wish I had kept driving when I decided to leave and save myself the embarrassment. I drove halfway down the street and made myself turn around, thinking, maybe it wont be so bad and, perhaps, in the moment, it will just come to me. After all, it does sometimes end up that way. I was right and should have kept going.
Thankfully the parking lot wasn't very full, but I still wondered if I should cover my face with my hand. I fought the tears as they painfully pushed through my eyes and I struggled to calm my face. I was so angry, and it was no use. I was defeated again on that stage and again within myself. The tears began to stream down and my breaths turned to sobs, against my will, as I cursed the fact that I should have become something by now.