Confidence & Being Myself
Among the Coats
The song had a gap before the second verse. Four beats of piano: one, two, three, four. Then everybody came in together on “and the morning.” From the middle row, the other voices covered up the piano. Suri watched Ms. Vance for the entry, and came in on beat three. She’d done it last week too.
Ms. Vance lifted her hand. The piano stopped. The whole choir stopped. “Suri,” she said, “you’re coming in a beat early. Listen for the piano, not for me.” Her voice was calm. And she was right.
There were twenty-two people in the choir, and most of them turned around to see who Suri was. Heads do that when someone says a name. Marnie, right next to her, kept facing forward. Somehow, that felt even worse.
Suri went out. Not dramatically. She didn’t run. She didn’t say anything. She stepped backward out of the row, walked to the double doors at a perfectly normal speed, and pushed them open. Her face stayed perfectly still.
The coat room was the nearest place with nobody in it. Suri sat down on the bench under the coat hooks. The coats hung down around her on both sides, like a curtain. It was warmer in there than in the music room. It smelled like wet wool.
Through the wall, she heard the piano play the four beats again. One, two, three, four. Then twenty-one people came in on “and the morning.” All together. Exactly on beat four.
It was warm under the coats, and nobody had come to find her yet. About twenty minutes of practice left. Through the wall, the piano was coming around to the four beats again.
What does Suri do?
Every choice costs something. Let’s see what.
Stay in the coat room until practice is over
Suri stayed. Through the wall she heard the song go around four more times, and get better, and then stop being about the four beats at all, and start being about the ending. It was warm under the coats, and after a while the wet-wool smell was almost nice.
At the very end, somebody came in for their coat. “Oh! Hi,” they said, a bit surprised, unhooked their coat from the hook right above Suri’s head, and went out again. That was it. That was the whole thing.
She never had to walk back into the music room with everybody there. At the end of the day she slipped her coat off its hook and went out with the others, and the walk home was totally ordinary. Nobody asked her anything, and she didn’t mind that one bit.
Next Thursday, Suri stood outside the music room doors for a long moment, her hand flat on the cold metal bar. Then she went in. When the piano got to the gap, she came in on beat three. Again. But she stayed in her place next to Marnie, and the next time the gap came around, she counted it under her breath, all the way: one, two, three, four.
Go back in now, in the middle of the song
Suri pushed the doors and walked back in, right in the middle of the singing. Creeeak went the doors, right on the quiet part. Six or seven people looked. Ms. Vance didn’t stop the piano. She didn’t look at her.
Four steps from the doors to her place in the row. Suri took all four while everybody sang. Without turning her head, Marnie shuffled sideways to make the gap bigger. And then Suri was back in the row, and the four-step walk was over.
About ninety seconds later, the piano reached the four beats again. One, two, three, and Suri came in. Early. In front of the same twenty-two people. Marnie didn’t turn her head. She just kept singing, a bit louder, right beside her.
But Suri was in the room for the rest of practice. She sang the ending. She hummed the tune with everybody, mouths shut, mmm. And on the last two tries, she came in on beat four.
Go back and ask to stand next to the piano
Suri waited by the doors until the song stopped. Then she said it to Ms. Vance, in front of everybody, because there was nowhere else to say it. “Can I stand by the piano? I lose the beat when everyone sings over it.”
“Okay,” said Ms. Vance, and pointed at the piano. That was all. The piano started up again while Suri was still walking over.
Right next to the piano, the four beats were loud and clear. One. Two. Three. Four. Suri heard every single one. She came in on beat four the first time, and every time after that.
Standing by the piano meant standing at the front, sideways, where the whole choir could see her face for the rest of practice. Back in the middle row, next to Marnie, there was a gap, exactly Suri-sized. Marnie didn’t shuffle into it. She left it there, as if she were keeping it.