Time seemed to fly by, somehow it's already 5pm and my turn to use practise
room 6, my performance is gonna be in half an hour so i have twenty minutes
in the room to practice. However I'm using most of that time just mentally
preparing and warming up. I'll run through the song in parts going over the
harder bits more than the rest. it feels like I'm running with the music, that's it that's what should be like, though my father disagrees, my piano teacher says 'the key to a good piece is feeling it, it has to take you on a story, a journey'. I can feel the music and aside from the
butterflies in my stomach that feel more like sticks poking around, I have a
strong urge to get onto the stage and start playing.
The speakers make a rackling sound that startles me, breaking the soft silence after i had finished my piece, then it starts speaking, "can Shen Otomashi please make his way
backstage." I get up and make my way out of the practise room to the
backstage area where I know someone will be waiting for me.
I get there and sit down in one of the chairs there's stil 7 minutes till I need to
start my performance so I won't be on stage for another 5. I sit and stare at the
navy blue curtain that is waiting amiably to be pulled across the stage again.
You can tell it's getting tired or the boring ritual, the stairs heading up to the
stage look just as worn as they callously wait for our inevitable
encounter.
I can hear the other pianist still playing but it's the end of his piece
and i can't feel much emotion coming from the notes just dull sounds echoing
round the hall in front of me. His part finishes softly however and i can hear the silence
then he stands, bows and exits. The man standing by the steps calls me over
and brings across the rope blocking the stairway. I walk up the stairs, the awaiting silence drawing me in; I'm nervous but not scared; excited but
reasonably calm. I can hear the soft applause as I walk across the stage. I bow.
I sit . I place my hands in my lap. I breathe in, then out and I can feel the
tension, the expectation, but I close my eyes, lift my hands and begin to play.
As I hear the notes ring out and the chords come pouring down like a tuarent
of rain, I picture myself in a clock tower. I can see all the cogs turning and
through them the silhouette of the city against the night sky. The gold clouds
from earlier come back and I think of Eve in the audience. There's a soft warm
breeze and you can see the stars shining bright against the nave blue of the
sky. The gold clouds are encircling me rising softly as I gradually crescendo,
casting a gold shimmer across the clock face. I continue the story and as the
night darkens the gold clouds seem to become brighter and more alive…
slowly the piece comes to an end and I find my self back in the concert hall. I
play my last note and the shocked silence is deafening, the tension almost
unbearable. I place my hands in my lap and wait a moment, then stand and
bow before exiting. In a split second it was over...