by Dina Mcnulty

Created on: June 21, 2008

The Organ Recital

My sister and I would sit in Mrs. Stout's sunroom each waiting for our turn with butterflies in our stomachs. What lurked behind the sunroom other than the huge organ was anybody's guess. Through the door leading out of the sunroom was only blackness. Soon Mrs. Stout would emerge from the darkness to retrieve her next student. She always wore a dress, stockings, and heels. Her dark hair was neatly folded into a perfect bun, and one knew just by glancing at her, that she was a woman who believed in precision.

My sister and I fought over who would be first to get the nightmare over with. We eventually settled on turns. We knew ahead of time who would first go into the blackness with the hunchbacked and towering Mrs. Stout.
A small light above the majestic organ would greet me and I would sit down. The organ was the only thing I saw in the dimly lit room. Enveloped in an enormous array of colorful buttons and keys, I felt very small. I would take a moment to gather my nerves, find my position, and then attempt to guide my clumsy fingers to the appropriate keys as I stretched my neck and strained my eyes to follow the notes perched above the keys.
The person in the sunroom would be left to ponder the blackness. Mrs. Stout had a son and a husband, so we were told, but there was never a peep out of, or a view of either. It was as though the bony fingered Mrs. Stout appeared out of nowhere to scare children with her piercing blue eyes that narrowed in disapproval at each strike of the wrong key. There was never any small talk, and never any questions about how our week went. What Mrs. Stout was really thinking was anyone's guess. The organ only helped to set the haunting mood. I felt claustrophobic and desperate for fresh air as I sat in the dark room which seemed far too tiny for the overpowering organ.
Nervously, I played the piece that I was suppose to practice throughout the week, knowing that with every sour note, it would become even more clear that I had failed in my duty. Mrs. Stout would clear her throat in annoyance and tap the correct key impatiently with her pencil as I fumbled to find it. There were never any words of praise or encouragement.
Then it was finally over. Whew! I had another whole week before the moment I panicked and realized that once again I had not practiced nearly enough to satisfy the sharp eyes and ears of Mrs. Stout.
No doubt, my sister felt the same way. We complained non-stop but my parents made it clear that

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>