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I inhaled deeply, trying to calm the bats that had driven the butterflies out of my stomach. This was my first piano recital. There were lots of seven and eight year olds waiting their turn. I was fifteen. I wasn't an athlete like my brother and I didn't have the willowy modelness of my sister, who, even at ten, promised to be a knockout in the future. I knew I had something to prove.
I made my way to the piano, not looking out at the audience and sat stiffly on the bench. I closed my eyes for a moment and swallowed. I looked at where my music would have been had my teacher not insisted everyone playing from memory. I reached for the keys with tentative fingers and pressed the opening chord. The crowd disappeared as I settled into the music, letting my fingers find the notes.
The rest of the students finished their pieces and our teacher took the podium. She cleared her throat. "I'd like to thank everyone for coming today," she said, scanning the crowd. "These kids have worked hard and I am very proud of each of them. However, one stands out above the rest because of her hard work this year. This is her first year taking piano lessons and she has progressed swiftly."
I ran through the list of students in my mind, wondering which student was about to be named.
"Our award this year for outstanding talent is Blair Reagan."
I blinked, not sure I'd heard her correctly. My teacher beckoned to me and I made my way to the front of the room. The crowd applauded as she hung a medal around my neck.
I was finally a musician.
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