December 4th, 2012
Dear Meggie,
The school is having a goddamn talent show. And why does this matter? Because you want me to do it. And why do you want me to do it? Because apparently, I need to look desirable and talented for Skeeter. As if.
You want me to play the piano, because that’s about all you think I can do musically. I can play over ten instruments, Meggie. Ten. Piano is just one of them. You think being a composer will come easy? No. You have to work. You always have to work.
I’ve been looking at the pieces you downloaded from offline, but none of them are too challenging, and I could practically do them in my sleep. I decided myself on Gaspard de la Nuit. It’ll take practice, but I’m not really looking to impress Skeeter. I’m looking to impress myself.
I already have the sheet music for it and everything, and I’ve played through half of it. You came over the other day just to listen. Sure, my mother may not appreciate my talents, but my father does, and he always feels so terrible about ditching us, that he’ll buy “gifts” for me and my sister. I got a piano. And a flute. And a clarinette. And a saxophone. And a violin. And a cello. I could tell you more, but you’ve already seen my collection.
I played you what I already know, and I was breathless when I broke in the middle of the piece. I really put my all into that playing. You just sat there, staring at me, your mouth slightly open in awe. I smiled, and cracked my fingers.
“Wow, Harriett,” you told me. “Just… wow.”
“I know, I know,” I said, “It isn’t done yet, I still need to finish learning it, but I just want to perfect it-”
“It’s fine, Harriett.” You smiled at me. You got a phone call then, from Sarah. You had to go and hang out with her now. She said it was important.
“Bye,” I whispered, as you rushed out the door.
I worked so hard on it. I just have the last page to learn. And then it’ll be perfect. I’m almost excited about the talent show. Until I remember. It’s a talent show. And I have terrible stage fright.
There’s that part of me saying, “Go ahead, you’ll do perfect. You’ll do so perfect, that everyone will look at you in awe when you’ve finished. You’ll get a full ride to Juilliard. You’ll be home free to become a composer. Life will be perfect.”
Although things never turn out right for me, Meggie. Never.
Sincerely,
Harriett