Swan Song

This is the personal narrative I had to write for my English class.

I come from a musical family. I'm a singer, I always have been, and yet there was a very long time when I couldn't handle the thought of singing to anyone else. A year ago, I took a class that changed my outlook, made me face my fears, and brought my voice out of hiding.

I was in a bookstore when I first heard about the class. I was minding my own business when I ran into some good friends. Suddenly my friend Hannah was running her mouth a mile a minute, flailing her arms, and jumping up and down excitedly."You'll love it! You're a natural! And we're doing My Fair Lady which is like my favorite musical ever. PLEASE take this class." I smiled politely, said I'd think about it. "You can't think about it. You have to sign up, like, yesterday. You might not even get in this late. C'mon, you have to try!" Reluctantly, I got my phone out and signed up for drama right then and there.

The first day of class was awkward for me. It was a close group, and I was the outsider. I took furious notes. The next week, our teacher gave everyone a handout. "This is a part of your grade." she said as I started to read, "You won't be judged on talent, you'll be judged on effort and preparation." I felt a cold sweat on the back of my neck as I got farther down the page. Auditions.

I would have to give a monologue. Not a problem, a year of speech had made me comfortable talking in front of any group. I would have to sing for everyone – that was the kicker. I'd rather be naked in a crowd. The next days were full of stress and denial. I had other things to worry about and I made a point of being too busy to think of facing my fears. But as the deadline got closer I realized I had to get this done. So I started singing. Broadway, pop, classic rock - every song I could think of. I arrived at the notion that the only song I could sing well was an '80s song about teen pregnancy. This wouldn't fly with the group I was in.

So I stressed. I cried. I started to flip through my books, searching for a decent monologue to go with my audition – something I had forgotten was necessary because of all my stress over singing. I was in choir as a child. I've been on stage since I was two months old. And yet I was terrified, because I had hidden my voice away. My fear of rejection had completely crippled one of my greatest joys, for years. I could sing, but only when I was completely alone.

Finally, it was almost time. The night before class, I rehearsed with my sister. I fidgeted with my hands and gave a few false starts. I awkwardly introduced myself and I gave my monologue, talking quickly and gasping for breath when I needed it. Then I sang, baffled at how I sounded. I had thought I was comfortable singing with her and yet here I was, making only the faintest noise, blushing and shaking from my nerves. I cut the last note short and asked what she thought.

"You sound like a fish out of water. You talk like an auctioneer and try to gulp air." "What about the song?" "Laura..." She paused and looked pityingly at me, "I know you're a good singer. I've known you all your life. But I can't hear you! You need to be louder. And chill out! Tomorrow, pretend you're just singing for me."

I went to school the next day and spent all my classes completely on edge. Someone asked how I was doing and I started crying. I texted long-lost friends asking for prayer. And then finally, drama. When the teacher said, "We're going to do auditions for two weeks. There's way too many of you to fit in today!" I was relieved but unsure. I felt totally unprepared, but I didn't want another week of agony. I watched others audition, some beautifully and some timidly, and I started to relax. As class time came to an end, I just wanted to get it over with. Shaking, I raised my hand to volunteer. I wasn't the only one who wanted to go last. The teacher pointed behind me and said, "Your turn, Kelly."

I was relieved, and oddly disappointed. But seeing others try, and witnessing the encouraging reactions they recieved made me consider that maybe this monster in my mind wasn't so bad after all. Over the next week, I started to get more and more excited to audition. I practiced constantly. And the night before class, I changed everything. I changed my monologue to a poem I knew, and I changed my song to an old ballad. I couldn't believe how I felt - honestly excited for something that so scared me. I went to bed with butterflies in my stomach and woke up the next morning confused. Still so excited, but still so terrified. I went through my classes and tried to keep drama at the back of my mind. Finally, the time came.

I watched more people audition and tried to beam them encouragement from my smile. There was a lull in volunteers and, egged on by my friends, I raised my hand. My heart pounded as I walked to the front of the room. I looked around and saw the same encouraging smiles I had been sending to others. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. And then, voice quivering, talking much too quickly, I blurted out the words, "Hi. This might be terrible. But you know what? Life is full of disappointments. You'll live." The class laughed, and I started to relax." So anyway...My name is Laura. I'm five foot nine. I don't care what size of a role I get, and I'm going to be singing "Your Song" by Elton John. So, yeah. Enjoy or whatever." And I started to sing. I tried to remember my old speech tricks- look at your audience, scan the room, and don't you dare fidget- but I couldn't help it. I played with a bracelet charm in my hand as I glanced around the room, before focusing on my teacher and then closing my eyes, only opening them again as I finished my song.

"'How wonderful life is, now you're in the world'- Oh my gosh I'm, like literally shaking. I feel like I'm gonna die."

And as the room realized I was done singing, they erupted into applause. I got compliments for my audition after class, even for months later, and even though I didn't get a singing part in the play, my audition still shines in my memory. It was a terrifying, difficult, and beautiful experience. I can finally sing again, for anyone, and that is worth every hour I spent stressed out and crying.