Personal Narrative-Stairs

Three stairs. Three steps up. Frozen, I stood there, staring at them. It’s not that hard to walk up three stairs, just do it! My nerves nailed me to the auditorium floor. The thought of singing a solo in front of an audience and a judge made my heart pound, hands quake, knees shake, and stomach flip. My choir director, Ms. Ploof, prepared me well for the singing portion of the contest, but failed to warn me about these horrible nerves. Seconds passed. Then a minute went by, and I still stood there. With everything in me, I forced my nerves away as I pulled my right leg off of the ground to make my first step.
Stair one. I can do this.
Stair two. Just breathe. I am ready.
Stair three. Go out there and sing like you have never sung before.
When I reached the top of the stairs, my internal pep talk eased my nerves just enough for me to manage a deep breath. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four. As the breath escaped my lips, my throat became dry like sandpaper. Regret flooded over me. I thought about bringing my water bottle with me, but made a last minute decision not to. For a moment, I considered running back down the stairs to find water. It would have bought me time to
completely relax, but just as I was about to turn around, I heard Ms. Ploof whisper to me. The pounding of my heart drowned her words, so I turned to face the origin of her voice. She sat quietly at the shiny, black piano near the edge of the stage. The music for my song rested in front of her. Past her, the rest of the stage remained empty, aside from the cream colored panels that lined the black curtains, dividing the stage into two parts. Momentarily, it would not be empty, it would be occupied by a single individual, performing a solo for the very first time in her life. The thought sent cold chills down my spine.
Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four.
I took a second deep breath as I started walking toward center stage. As I passed Ms. Ploof, she looked at me, gave me an encouraging smile, and shook her hands, signaling for me to shake off my nerves. If only it were that simple. I could feel the lights becoming brighter and warmer as I moved nearer and nearer. This was not my first time under this kind of light, but for some reason, they seemed much brighter than ever before. Worry washed over me, adding to my nerves. What if the lights show my sweat? What if the lights make me look sick or something? Will the judge dock me points if I do not look okay? With my focus preoccupied by the questions running through my head, I reached center stage much quicker than I expected. Once again, turning slowly to my right, I gazed out into the audience.
The other Royalton choir students were sitting silently in the front two rows anticipating my first words. Halfway up the aisle to my right, my judge sat at a small table illuminated by a desk lamp. My music lay open just below it, my score sheet in front of him. His pen scribbled away as he filled out the necessary information. Past him, in the far corner of the auditorium, sounds of teenagers finding their seats echoed off the walls. Their silhouettes were the only thing visible through the blinding stage lights. That should have made me happy, knowing their reactions to my singing were invisible to me. However, it just added to my already overwhelming nerves. I blinked hard and refocused on the familiar faces seated right in front of me. A few of the older girls gave me goofy smiles, head nods, and thumbs up, as if to say good luck. My nerves disappeared for a moment as the corners of my lips slowly upturned. A slight movement from the aisle shifted my attention back to the judge. He laid his pen down and glanced up to me. My cue to begin.
My heart dropped.
Uh-oh. I’m not ready. I can’t do this. What was I thinking! All at once, my brain went empty. Everything I practiced; my song, the lyrics, the notes, the introductory sentence. It all slipped away. With a racing heart, shallow breathing, and sweating palms, I looked to Ms. Ploof for help. She gave me a small encouraging nod as if she could read my mind. I shut my eyes and imagined myself back in the choir room with Ms. Ploof. Singing the solfege and doing my breathing exercises. The familiar tapping of the piano keys rang through my brain; my voice accompanied it. It felt so normal, so comforting. I took one last breath. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four. As I exhaled, I could feel my nerves melting
away.
Opening my eyes, I offered Ms. Ploof a timid smile that gradually elevated into a confident one. A nod followed my smile. She readied herself for the first few notes of my song while I confidently recited my introductory sentence. “My name is Alison Przybilla; I am junior from Royalton High School and I will be singing This Little Rose by William Roy.” I filled my diaphragm just like Ms. Ploof taught me and began my song. Before I knew it, I was holding the last note, fading slowly, and counting eight beats in my head. A soft applause filled the auditorium as I breathed a sigh of relief. Overwhelming pride enveloped me as a huge smile spread across my face. I did it.