Piano

Those black and white keys. How I loathed them growing up. We have an excellent report, now, after six years of lessons! However, I still have maddening fits with them. Those tricky fingerings and stupid intervals.
My mom, she loves those keys. She loves each sound she plunks out on them. Growing up I loved the sound of her playing. I remember listening anxiously for more and more songs. It's why I wanted to learn. I wanted to play just like her.
My teacher could've killed me a half dozen times I swear. Or those practises when I'd slam my hands down on top of the keys letting the friction ring out. All those weeks when I'd frantically practise a half hour before I went. And she knew (my teacher) she had this weird sense of how little I practised.
Mrs. Rawn was so talented. She always helped me sound beautiful. With her, I knew that art was being infused into me with every word she spoke to me.
Every one of those nerve racking (and dreaded) RECITALS! All of those tense muscles, which pulsate in fear. The tingling of each finger as I start to play my carefully picked song, (I always pick the "odd" kind). I try to make sure no one has heard it before. I know my mom loves every minute of my song. Then I get awarded for all my hard work. I loved to perform, though I hide it remarkably well "I'm so nervous, What if I hit wrong notes?" Then I receive praise after my song (even if it sucked!!!). But performing is defiantly the best.
The thrill of standing up and having applause follow you to the piano bench, where nervously each note of your song grinds into your temples. You raise your hand and strike the keys starting to play your song.
"Nadine,"
"Yeah?"
"This sucks! I'm bored already, write something different about the piano!" Denise said in that way that made my skin crawl in irritation.
"Fine! I'll write something else" I replied. Thankfully Denise stopped looking over my shoulder, and left, or else I would have gotten very mad.
Denise is my older and somewhat perfect sister. Straight A's, beautiful piano technique, devoted, loyal (please gag me). UGH! I can't stand her sometimes. I feel like I'm being judged by how much I'm not like her. "Nadine. Why don't you get straight A's, did you practise piano, blah blah blah". Sure I love her tons but come on! Am I a twentyfour science student? NOooo. In fact I did the unthinkable, I dropped out of Chemistry last year (heaven forbid). Denise always won Best overall student in piano, I got runner up for expression. She got high marks in her grade seven exams on piano. I have never taken an exam, poor Mrs. Rawn; she knows I won't play something Denise has, just so I won't have to prove whatever it is I'm trying to prove. The good thing about Denise is that she can help if I need help on the piano. When I was really little she'd let me sit in front of her and play with my hands on top of hers. She always compliments the fact I have longer hands then her (true I tend to rub this one in). It's not so bad having her for a sister. Denise and Deanna, my sisters.
Deanna, the oldest of our sister trio. She had everything. She was beautiful, popular and talented in art. The (to put it mildly) rebel. She was always there to talk to, that is until she got married. It's much harder to talk to her, since I rarely see her without her husband. Deanna was definatly the cheerleader of our trio. She was always supporting. She was a little jealous of the piano, since she never learned it. The hard thing about having Deanna for a sister is that she tends to know how I feel and will try to tell me how to get through a situation, but I want to go through my situations alone; she won't let me do that. She always scolds at me. Deanna has her finer moments, like when she asked me to sing at her wedding and when she came to my pitiful choral class revue with her boyfriend (now husband). I know if I had to call her at three am, she'd answer. When I was little, she'd play stupid games with me. Make snowman in the winter. Cover me in leaves in the fall. Pick me up from elementary school in her Honda civic. Making sure the "cool" kids saw. This one girl got so jealous of me being picked up in a sleek black car. Or the time when she chased this guy who was teasing me in the car and made him apologise to me. She defiantly showed me things I really needed to know growing up.
My parents want me to try to look like her, in the sense that I could be as beautiful as her (in my own way). It's a hard ideal sometimes. Just like with Denise. I don't like being the youngest. I'm just me!
"Nadine? What are you writing about now? There should be a comma there." Denise poked in.
"Read it later!" I angrily answered back.
She left. What was I writing about? Oh yeah the piano. Speaking of piano I should practise. I guess the piano is liberating. I can play my own style there. I can't have Denise's or Deanna's. Just mine. I can however pull a younger sister card and kick Denise out of the room.