"I'm keeping you in girl's choir."
A very simple sentence, is it not? To a healthy person, this sentence would be of absolutely no importance. They would shrug and say "Well then, sucks for the upper choir."
I'm not a healthy person, though, at least not when it comes to the realm of emotions.
It's been over 24 hours since she told me this, and yet I'm still sporadically bursting into tears over it. Why?
The only reason I ever consented to sing in a "Beginning Choir" was the expectation of advancement.
And I thought that I did advance.
I thought that I accomplished so much, that my vocal skills have grown exponentially, that I conquered it...For a while, I tricked myself into believing that I was actually good enough, that I actually belonged in the world of fine vocalist.
You quickly corrected this for me, though. "You have pitch issues." I know enough about music to know that my voice DOES fall easily off of the center wavelength of vibrations that creates the pleasing sensation known as "music". I also know enough about flattery to know that what you really meant to say was, "You can't sing."
I've been told directly that I can't sing. My friends tell me this. Rockband video games tell me this. Even my own parents tell me this. But you told me otherwise. I went to your piano, humble and shy, and sung for you. You stared at me with those glistening eyes and told me, "Sing up! You can sing!" I believed you, foolishly so, due to all the contrary evidence, but yet and still, I believed you. I believed that I was WORTH it. I suppose I should thank for, for this gave me confidence and happiness that I can rarely bring myself to feel. I sung loudly, I sung proudly, and I believed for so long that I was singing beautifully. I was much better than when I entered, so much better that the contrast would astound you.
Or so I thought.
The highlight of my sophomore year was the time before tryouts to advanced choir. I was so ready to wear those flowing dresses, to sing the compositions that they sung, such wonderful, beautiful, magical compositions (not that our pieces weren't beautiful, but even you have to admit that the pieces that upper choir sings from have that extra sparkle of musical genius to them), so ready to sound that beautiful, so ready to be a part of that. Oh, I had hope like I rarely had hope in goals before. The craziest thing of it all is that I BELIEVED IN MYSELF. For reasons that I cannot fathom, I rarely develop confidence in my abilities, but, oh, I believed. I believed and I hope and I TRIED.
Oh, how I tried. Sections of weekends were dedicated to walking around the house, singing the pieces, honestly believing that I was making music. I poured so much energy into practices in class, so much of myself into every note that my weak little lungs could breathe. You say my ear is hard to train, but you'll never know how hard it tried, how hard it listened to every note on the piano and every sound from the surrounding vocalist. My voice wasn't meant for European vowels with all of its Southern dialects and tensed muscles, but I did everything in my power to make it adjust to the beautiful sound that my ear collected. That first hour of every schoolday was the highlight of my life. Sure, I may have rolled my eyes as if the sight reading was beneath me (which, to be honest, didn't entirely retain my attention), but a little remedial sightreading would be worth it next year.
Next year. That was supposed to be the year where you smiled at me and said, "Welcome to Advanced Choir," (I knew that there wasn't a snowflake's chance in hell that you'd be welcoming me into Vocal Ensemble), the year I'd associate myself with the finest musicians and become a fine musician myself.
Silly me; I thought I was actually good enough to step into next year.
Did your co-worker ever tell you why I quit band? I often claim that it lost it's luster, but you were dead on when you noticed my passion for music, yet you could never hope to understand just how much it means to me. Would you like to know what I really told her that day when I sat in her office and explain why I didn't put band on my schedule for sophomore year? "I keep dragging the quality of the band down." Yes, she pulled the "Oh, that's not true," trick, but I wasn't fooled. As you could probably tell from our breathing exercises, my lung capacity isn't that fantastic. This dramatically ruins the sound quality of a clarinet- oh, how airy and whispy it sounded in contrast to the rest of the incredibly talented bad. I couldn't stand to weaken their potential that much.
If I had any idea that my fate would be the same in choir, I never would have trespassed on your land of excellence. I thoroughly enjoy choir, much as I thoroughly enjoy band, but I love music enough to not tamper it when I can't produce it. I'm so sorry- I thought I was producing it in choir. Am I the reason that the choir's potential wasn't met? Oh, how stupid I was. I should have known that you moved me to the back for the reason, but, of course, I was foolish enough to sum it up to "Well maybe my voice is too powerful." If I had any idea that I really was that out of tune, I would have been dead silent for the sake of the wonderful talents that encompass our choir.
You could have just told me, you know. Yes, I am very sensitive, and, yes, I do fall to pieces very easily, but I would have much rathered a cold truth than a false hope. If I don't have a good voice, tell me, and I'll make sure it doesn't ruin another state festival.
I'm so sorry.
So many times within the last 24 hours that I've wanted to tell you, "I can't do it next year." I tried, I failed, and now I wish that I could move on, that I could take it as another failed attempt at art and try again with the next interest. I should have known- even my own PARENTS warned me against this. I should have known, but hope was far too tempting.
I'm weak, I know, and I apologize for this.
Wanna know a secret? Wanna know why I did so horribly on Jubelie? I couldn't breathe that day- I was cramping so badly that I couldn't focus, I couldn't breathe properly, and I surely couldn't sing. Perhaps I should have told you, but you were far too busy, far too in a rush, and you probably aren't the type to take excuses anyways. Besides, I honestly thought that I did well on the other pieces. Dear gosh, you'll never know how hard I tried, how every second was spent trying SO HARD to get on pitch. That may just be harder than I've ever tried at anything before.
Oh, if I would have known that my silence would cause me so much pain, perhaps I would have told you.
"Pain?" you may wonder. "By God, it's just choir."
Perhaps to a healthy person, it is just an arrangement of letters on a schedule.
But I'm not a healthy person. Getting into advance choir was EVERYTHING to me. You never know how my eyes water when I listen to them sing- they're angels. I wanted to be angelic as well. I wanted it SO badly, SO strongly...
but I guess I can't get everything I want.
If I'm not good enough, then I'm not good enough. I am able to understand this. No, I don't sound like an angel. But, God, how I wanted the chance to, how I thirst for the chance to be surrounded by THAT level of quality, for my voice to rise up and mix in with them, to, for a second, be a part of heaven. I'm not an angel, though, and no God would let a demon into heaven, so I'm hell bound. Perhaps calling Girl's Choir "Hell" is a little strong- after all, choir is a fun class, regardless of what level, but it will be a living hell for me next year. I failed. I failed myself, I failed the qualifications, but, worst of all, I failed you. You expected better of me. You wanted better of me. You believed in me when no one else did. But I failed you, and I'm sorry. Would you forgive me if I walked into class the first day of next year and just fell into tiny, unrepairable pieces? Would you forgive me if I opened my mouth, but the sound was too ashamed to come out, being aware of how unwanted it is? Would it be a crime if I was too heartbroken to do it anymore?
You put so much energy, so much care, and so much time into me, and I appreciate it, I really do, and I know that you don't mind putting more time into this failed attempt at an angelic vocalist. I just wish that I was worth your time.
No comments:
Post a Comment