I peel off the plastic, and pull out the brand new pantyhose. I scrunch up the beige material, and struggle to fit my legs into it without slipping of the glossy, wooden floor. I gently tug the dress off of the hanger, and slowly change into the black dress. I smooth down the wrinkled ends. Careful Maddy, I remind myself for the hundredth time, don’t ruin your dress… No matter what. I picture myself back in the small store in Korea, taking measurements for the dress. My grandma had got it made just for my concerts.
Why can’t I have longer arms? I think, as I stretch in an awkward position to button the back of my dress. I walk to the tall mirror, and try to tie the sash. Finishing with a sloppy bow, I untie it, and leave it hanging. I turn from the mirror, and grab the light brown feathered headband. Dragging my feet behind me, I feel the soft wood turn into a rough, tiled bathroom floor. I open the mirror cabinet and pull out a brush. It takes a while until the bristles flow through my hair like silk. I comb through one last time with my fingers, then lay the headband on my head. Seeing that my work is complete, I hop out of the bathroom, grab my black flute case, and hop down the carpeted stairs.
“I coming down!”
* * *
Only an hour has past. An hour since I was back in Connecticut, getting ready for the concert. Now I stand in the streets of New York City, by the back entrance to Carnegie Hall. Musicians surround me. I spot a young girl about seven years old. Thank goodness, I’m not the youngest. For some reason, I feel alone in a way… Out of place. As if Dad knows what I’m thinking, he squeezes my hand. Suddenly, the doors open.
I look out from the backstage door, and stare at the stage. How am I ever going to get on that thing? Finally realizing that I can’t stand there forever, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and take my first step onto the stage.
Shivering, my accompanist and I walk up to the middle of the platform. I stop at the center, and as he walks towards the grand piano, I look at the audience. Oh. My. Gosh. What happened to the usual, small, crowd? Why did so many people show up? I start to think about what Dad made me do yesterday. He had told me to move on if I make any mistakes, and to practice that, I purposely played my song with mistakes, so I know how to carry on. I first had found it amusing, playing the climax with a bunch of wrong flats and sharps… Now I’m just scared of errors.
My hands get moist… Really moist. As if my hands were a faucet, sweat pours out and makes my flute slippery. My legs shake as if they were to give out. Beautiful white walls and columns surround me. Long drapes fall like water, and tickle the floor. Suddenly, my flute feels like ice in my sweating hands. I gulp down, blank everything out, and focus. I try to push away the fact that a bunch of people are staring up at me. Instead, Dad’s words ring in the back of my mind, “No one will notice if you make a mistake.” Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…
I bring the metal cylinder towards my mouth, and suddenly, music fills the room.
When I look back to that 8th day April, the thing I remember best was standing up on the cream colored stage, grinning from ear to ear as I receive my plaque. That day I realized; that concert was only the start of my music career. And there’s always going to be more and more chances and events in the future... always.
AmericanProtégé
Presented to
Madeleine Park
Flute
Judges Distinction Award
of the
American Protégé International
Music Talent Competition
2012
Chairman of Competition
Dr. Mark Weinstein
Carnegie Hall, New York
April 8, 2012
