Chapter Three

I watched my teacher’s pudgy hands hop on the piano keys, pounding out scales for warm-ups. Chrissy played some pretty emphatic warm-ups. I sang some pretty emphatic warm-ups. I let my voice fill the entire room, pushing against the walls, as if it longed for a larger, more acoustic space.

“Don’t force it, Miriam...come up on top...there we have it.” Chrissy critiqued. “Now for the Handel. Let’s work on the Delirio.”

I flipped through my binder until I found the appropriate page. My binder was highly organized; the songs were carefully categorized in the order which I happened to shove them in. Chrissy had pulled out her enormous book of Handel arias from the shelf, and was waiting for me to find my music. We giggled as a page from “Till There Was You” floated out of my binder, the holes having ripped. I stuffed it into the pocket in the front flap of my binder where it joined other ripped selections such as a page from the chorus of H.M.S. Pinafore, an aria from Carmen and the last page of Menotti’s “telephone song.”

Finally ready, we began.

“Float, Miriam.” Chrissy admonished. I tried the first set of melismas again, but they were still strained. Again. The same, only ending in an aggravated, squeaky “ahhh.” Chrissy stopped playing. “Relax” she smiled. I chuckled tensely. She heard the strain in my voice and I knew I’d already failed. “This piece is not good for today.” She said, shutting the book and restoring it to its place on the shelf. I was annoyed at myself, but I didn’t object.

“I guess I’m just having a pathetic singing day.” I muttered.

“Not necessarily.” She said still looking at music books, trying to decide which to bring out. “It’s just not a Handel day. Today, we’re going to sing the fun things. Let’s do the... Many A New Day. You know it. You like it. Don’t worry about how it sounds; just have a good time singing it.”

And so the lesson went, but I had a hard time having fun.

That afternoon at home was no better. I tried so hard to make something work; but everything I sang sounded dreadful. I was in the middle of screaming out more warm-ups, hoping to get a fresh start, or something, I hardly knew what, when Kitty burst into my room.

“Here, Miriam I wrote you some music.” She said with a huge smile. I took the piece of paper she offered me and looked it over briefly. It was a sheet full of rests on hand drawn staffs.

“Very funny.” I said.

“Well, you don’t want to kill you’re voice.” She pleaded.

“Oh dear, what will they think of me at college? I’m supposed to be some amazing freshman who just won a large scholarship. Wait till they find out I can’t sing worth anything anymore.”

“Not today you can’t.” Kitty agreed cheerfully. “So why don’t you be quiet for a while.” she suggested. I glared at her, but I had to admit, however grudgingly, that she had a bit of a point. Giving it a rest can be better than forcing it out.

“Even the best singers have bad spells.” She said consolingly as she left me to my misery. I couldn’t resist: I began to sing Lascia c’io pianga.

“You can lament all you want, Miriam, but do be quiet for a while, please.” Kitty shouted back. I laughed as good naturedly as I could manage, and stopped singing. I picked up a book on American History with a sigh, and resigned myself to my silence.

It isn’t always a huge deal when your younger sister begs you out of desperation to be quiet for a while, but it is a problem when you know that you sound terrible and it doesn’t improve no matter how much you try. My frustration built, and though Kitty apologized and gave me her blessing to resume my racket, I knew I sounded horrendous.

My next lesson was worse than the one I’d just had, and at the end I could see Chrissy was struggling to decide what to tell me.

“I think” She began at last “that a holiday wouldn’t do you any harm. You’ve really been stressing yourself out over your singing recently. For the week you are forbidden to sing anything difficult. Stick to easy Broadway, and don’t overdo it. Imagine your teacher telling you not to practice!” She laughed.

“You would think I should be able to follow a request like that!” I laughed, though I felt more like crying.

“I would tell you not to sing at all.” she said and waited for this to sink in. Once she was satisfied with how horrified I appeared she added “but I know that’s a bit to difficult to stick to, and easy to break unconsciously. For today however; no more singing.” My doom was sounded, and I left my lesson with those ominous words ringing in my ears. What was I to do? I wondered.

I spent the rest of the day reading, tromping around outdoors with Kitty, half distracting Mom with my complaints, and in general feeling sorry for myself.

“You don’t think I’m an awful singer, do you?” I questioned Mom and Kitty at dinner.

“No, don’t be silly!” Mom said emphatically, and promptly, which soothed my vanity a little.

“What about you, Kitty?” I inquired.

“I think you’re the worst singer ever and those people just gave you the scholarship out of pity. And oh, all those operas and stuff you’ve been in, they didn’t really want to cast you as the leads, they were just...umm...trying to delude you into believing you were a genius, I guess.” Kitty replied.

“That’s what I’ve always suspected.” I feigned agreement. “I thought maybe I was imagining it for a while.” I added, suppressing my laughter.

“I think your singing is gorgeous, darling.” Mom assured me, reaching over and stroking my hair.

I persistently wondered: What was I doing? I didn’t really know anything about singing compared with so many amazing singers out there. Why was I even trying?

At church on Sunday I was nervous about singing; the ladies there always say they like to sit next to me because I have such a pretty voice.

“This is silly. Absurd. Don’t think about your stupid singing now, of all times.” I told myself, and I made myself think about the words of the song.

After services our preacher’s wife astonished me by exclaiming “I just can’t get over how lovely your voice is, Miriam. I know it doesn’t matter how good our congregation’s singing is, but I just love listening to your lovely voice.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Oh. Thank you.” I stammered.

I dreaded my next lesson. What if my singing wasn’t really improved at all? The people at church aren’t really musically inclined, and I wasn’t willing to implicitly believe their opinion alone. I drove to my lesson in a state of trepidation.

“Don’t try to impress anybody. Just sing the song pretty.” Chrissy admonished. I sang “Goodnight My Someone.” Just as pretty as I could. It really is a sweet song, and I let it have its way.

“Excellent.” Chrissy praised, and my eyes lit up.

“You really think so?” I asked eagerly.

“Yes. Taking a break can be a good idea occasionally. Let’s work on some Handel. How about the...”

I smiled from ear to ear.