The Story Of Memoir Essay Example
The Story Of Memoir Essay Example

The Story Of Memoir Essay Example

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  • Pages: 3 (686 words)
  • Published: August 27, 2021
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Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, forcing me to be constantly wiping my forehead. My heart was beating so vigorously that I could hear my heartbeat becoming faster and faster. My eyes were glassy and my expression was dazed. I tasted the bitterness of the rosin which was footing amongst the humid air. The sticky air made my clothes cling to my arms. The butterflies in my stomach were the size of teacups. The strong stench of the chalk dust created nausea. Every second that went by, the pit in my stomach grew.

We have a playing test today and I have forgotten all about it. “All right class, as you know, we have a playing test today,” Mrs. Billsco announced while stroking her silky, hip length. I sank in my seat while pinching my leg, hoping that it was all just a dream.


“Is everyone’s violins tuned?”. “No.” I murmured under my breath. “Good, turn to page sixty-six in the pink book.” Mrs. Billsco said sweetly. My clammy, cherry red hands were shaking so much that I could barely turn the pages. I felt like I could barely breathe. “Are you okay?” a soft voice said behind me. Briskly, I turned around to face a girl.

“You look really sick.” It was Mel, the perfect student. Mrs. Billsco absolutely adored her because Mel can do “vibrato”. “I’m fine,” I replied, sniffled. I turned back around to face the charcoal, black music stand. There were scribbles all over the music with the fingerings, the number of beats, and the notes. While reviewing the music, I listened to Mel practicing the music flawlessly, not messing up an

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of the notes. Listening to her play made the butterflies increase in size. Then, Mrs. Billsco returned to the room. “Alright class, so how the playing test works is that you have to perform the same piece in front of the whole class. And we will be going in alphabetical order.

So, Mel, you are up first.” She chirped, clutching her attendance chart. All fifteen students turned to face Mel. Mel sat up straight holding the bow and violin perfectly. Then, placed the bow between the blackboard and the bridge, just like how we were taught in class. She ripped the maple, wood bow across the fingerboard, achieving a full, mellow sound. She placed her fingers carefully on the correct spots. I looked at Mrs. Billsco to see her smiling proudly. When Mel was done, everybody clapped in awe of how flawless and clear the sound was.

Meanwhile, Mel humbly smiled and blushed, pushing her jet black hair behind her shoulders. I turned around and started to hyperventilate. My eyes started to burn, tears, the size of saucers, welled in my eyes. I’m next. Once my peers stopped clapping for her, Mrs. Billsco said in a monotone voice, “Vanessa.” I felt everybody’s eyes on me, like thirty needles being shoved in my back. I tried to mimic how Mel looked like. Sitting up straight, putting on a brave face. I brought the bow in the middle of the violin and sliced the bow across the strings in a circular motion. I put my fingers down clumsy, playing at a snail’s pace. All of the notes were a loud SCREECH and SCRATCH.

My sweaty hands slipped all over the

fingerboard, trying and failing to play all of the correct notes. Once I was done play, there were scattered claps. I glanced up at Mrs. Billsco, seeing the disappointment in her eyes. She sighed heavily and called the next student. It felt as if a boulder has collapsed in my stomach. “Vanessa,” Mel whisper behind me. I turned around, seeing a friendly smile on her face, “your form is really good, just beware that in different parts of the bow, you have to use different pressures. Oh, and you should be always looking at your fingers, not the music.” Her advice made the tears, sweat, and disappointment go away. Not because she said that I was good, but because she thought that I can become better.

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