I was at a school recital, sitting in the performers’ row with my violin at my side. I felt very nervous, being the first time I’d be playing my own composition. When my name was called (“and here’s Lawrence Kwong…”), I felt a flush of anxiety. Transported instantly on stage, I stuttered out the name of my piece, reading off my own score: “An Ostrich with Warm Meth.” I did a double take at my own title, but kept my eyes on the notes. As I started bowing, the notes on the page huddled together, forming little patterns that looked like cartoon heads. I couldn’t make sense of it after a couple beats, and started to wing it, playing the first few measures of Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1. I couldn’t even get that right, and threw in the towel: “Sorry, this is the puzzle version I made, for people to figure out…” I said, quite lamely.

I trudged slowly down the hallway outside of the auditorium, my head hung in abject shame. I was completely flooded with a sense of disappointment, chastising myself for being so stupid and looking like a fool on stage. Tim, Steve, and Deb came around the corner from the auditorium doors, and I overheard Deb saying, “… and what the hell did an ostrich have to do with meth?” It obviously wasn’t the encouragement I expected to hear. They barely acknowledged me with a glance and short nod, then turned the corner down another hall. I felt even worse.

Just then, a surge of new audience members came in the main door, filing directly into the auditorium. I recognized a bunch as my old high school crew, and shouted happily to Scott, who I hadn’t seen in years. He managed only a brief “hey” before averting his eyes and continuing forward. Happened again with the other guys, so I gave up, feeling really down. When I woke up a short time later, all I felt was relief.

posted by Larry at 10:16 PM