If lightning had shot from the heavens and struck me dead at that moment, I might have welcomed it. And, of course, revealing that she was with me. My mom, on the other hand, gave me a standing ovation, once more drawing all eyes to her. Most of the parents and other students gave a polite, if heartfelt, round of applause. I breathed a sigh of relief when I was done. But I knew I could have done better, put more feeling into it, if I hadn’t been so morbidly aware of my mom’s presence. Morris nodded in approval a couple times when I got the phrasing just the way she wanted it. I hit every note spot on, and didn’t forget any of my lyrics. Traditionally sung by a woman pretending to be a young boy, it was perfect for my clear soprano, with the hint of vibrato that added a human touch to my otherwise Fae voice. Despite my less-than-optimal state of mind, the music took over for a while, and I let the beauty of “Voi Che Sapete,” one of my favorite Mozart arias, wash over me. If I could just get through the song and act normal, no one in the audience had to know that the drunken idiot in the back was related to me.įinally, the intro was over, and it was time for me to start. My heart beat hard against my chest, and my palms sweated as Ms. Truthfully, I didn’t need the voice lessons, but summer vacation was going to start in a few weeks, and I’d wanted an excuse that would get me out of the house now and then but wouldn’t require a huge time commitment. My voice is naturally pretty-a result of my ultra-secret, hush-hush Fae heritage. My face felt hot with embarrassment, and my throat was so tight I worried my voice would crack the moment I opened my mouth. Morris gave me a sympathetic look before she put her hands on the piano. I’d very carefully avoided any contact between my mom and the students of this, my newest school, and the one I hoped I’d graduate from-if we could manage two full years in the same location, just this once. Morris, my voice teacher, was the only one in the room who realized the person causing the disruption was my mother. Standing in the wings, I wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she was late, too, so that when she pushed through the doors and practically fell into a metal folding chair at the back, everyone turned to glare at her for interrupting the performance. I don’t mean tipsy-I mean staggering, slurring, everyone-knows drunk. The absolute last straw was when my mom showed up at my recital drunk.
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