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I’ve been singing my whole life.
My early memories are of singing
folk songs
while Dad played along on his 12-string guitar.
Then, when I was seven, the piano lessons
that they said would improve my skills.
And when I pronounced, all eight years of me,
that I hated piano,
they added cello,
which helped my pitch and made me hate piano
a little less
and cello even more.
In fifth grade, and sixth grade, there was school chorus.
Singing the same tired songs in the winter,
and the same drowsy ones in the spring.
Then, middle school, and that really
was when I started.
Auditions for the acapella group, tryouts for the jazz one,
testing my range over and over
the same way an anorexic counts calories.
Until finally it paid off, almost two years later,
when I was invited to audition for a district chorus-
the real deal.
Somehow the month of practice flew by
and now I find panic and comfort in numbers:
two more practices (only two!)
six days (I thought there were more!)
and
an English test (how should I know what a heretic is, or leading the witness?)
a Math quiz (when did we learn this!)
an Engineering project (it’s a third of my grade!?)
and a Latin project (maybe I shouldn’t have picked my friends to work with)
all due
the day before.