Recital

By Krystyna Fedosejevs

“Don’t drag those lower notes,” the teacher said. “Let your music lift.”

My mood was far from lifting. I entered the auditorium, glanced at the chattering audience. Heart racing. Body trembling.

He said he’d be here. Didn’t see him. Probably took to the bottle—again.

Fellow high school students sitting with me glowed in confidence. Our teacher, all smiles.

My turn. Last look around before I tiptoed onto the stage. Perhaps he was there, perhaps not.

It didn’t matter now. I knew my song and I was going to show everyone who came to hear me—regardless where my dad was.