The Concert

Untitled Part 1

The set list is shoved at me. Oh joy, just another concert. I am so used to it that I don't even get nervous anymore. It would be nice if my father didn't change the set list twenty minutes before I am to take the stage. I glance over the list, Caprice No. 24, Chaconne from Partita in d minor, the works. Just for once can he pick a piece I somewhat enjoy? I am forced to play flashy showpieces. I swallow a groan before going back to my hair and makeup.

     I sweep my dishwater blonde hair off my shoulders, set in curls. My makeup is natural, just enough so that I won't be washed out on stage. The last thing I need is a headline in the society columns, "Sang looking ragged at charity concert." My dress is a shimmering floor length midnight blue. I look myself over one more time before picking up my violin to warm up. I play the scales upside down and backwards, practicing portions of my set list. God, please let me out of this. I might go insane if I have to sit through one more dinner party. The concert and the parties aren't as bad as what happens after. Let's just say I have quite the motivation to be perfect.

     I walk out of the dressing room, violin in hand. A guard outside the room guides me to the wings where I wait until it is announced that I am to go onstage.

"Miss Sang Sorenson will now be gracing the stage." I walk out. Take my stance. I look straight out at the corner of the room. The bow hits the strings and the rest is blank. Some people describe a type of hyper attention when they are onstage, but I feel nothing. Some say it is like they are pouring out their emotions. I have more emotional attachment to scales than to these songs. I take a bow and walk off stage. My father is waiting for me in the wings. 

"Six hours," he says with absolutely no emotion crossing his face. That means I made six mistakes in the entire hour long concert. It is gong to be a long night. But for now, I have the joy of talking to snobbery elite. I walk out into the ballroom. There are nine boys laughing among themselves in a corner, a few groups of women gossiping, men walking around socializing. My only hope is to talk the least amount possible. I take a glass of water and stand near one of the exits. Of course my wish can't come true, the group of boys is walking towards me.