Forgotten Keys

         If only she had remembered her keys.  That thought plagued Peggy as she went about her daily routine. 

         She looked around her bedroom; even through the blur of tears she could see the false hopes and broke dreams represented by medals, ribbons, certificates, and trophies.  If only I’d remembered my keys.

         Peggy’s interest in music had begun early, but growing up in the small farming community of Cadott, Wisconsin hadn’t afforded her many opportunities.  She satisfied her desire for music by listening to records borrowed from the local library.  After hearing the melodies, she reproduced them effortlessly on a neighbor’s piano or the plastic recorder her mother had found at a garage sale, but what she longed for was a violin. 

         Peggy plucked a framed photo from her bureau.  She recalled the day so vividly.  What had started out as a normal first day of school turned into a dream come true, a turning point in her young life.  The new music teacher, Julie Oleson, had been endowed by her college with an outfit of musical instruments that could be loaned out through the school, free of charge, so students could learn to play.

         Peggy progressed rapidly under Miss Oleson’s tutelage and spent hours practicing privately.  She entered school-sponsored competitions and went on to compete at state and national levels, playing in regional, state, and national youth orchestras, and was even sponsored by the University to attend summer music programs.  All of her musical dreams were coming true.

         The trophies and ribbons blurred from sight.  If only I’d remembered my keys, she thought hopelessly, sobbing into her pillow.  Every night she relived the agony in her dreams.  She had been so close.

         Days before high school graduation, she received a letter inviting her to interview at the prestigious Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  If accepted, the Institute would provide a full scholarship with allowance for room and board. 

         Peggy prepared diligently for her interview.  She was to speak with several members of the staff and audition in the Grand Hall.  She practiced her musical repertoire until each selection was pitch-perfect and precisely timed.

         Accompanied by her teacher, now her mentor and friend, Peggy walked through the front doors of the institute, her nervous hand grasping the familiar leather strap of her violin case.  The morning was a flurry of activity as she and other applicants completed paperwork and toured the various facilities.  After a luncheon attended by select upperclassmen, staff, and administrative personnel, the applicants were whisked off to the practice rooms to await their auditions and interviews.

         “Wow,” Peggy exclaimed walking into the practice room.  One entire wall was mirrored; the remaining walls were covered with acoustic foam tiles.  A baby grand piano stood elegantly in the corner alongside a music stand and chair. 

         Peggy placed her violin case on the chair and lovingly unpacked her instrument, remembering the day she first saw it.  While attending one of the summer music programs, she looked through the classified ads and called about a violin offered for sale.  She and a friend walked to the apartment just blocks from the University campus and met the elderly lady who had placed the ad. 

         Peggy immediately fell in love with the instrument.  The red color of the wood was unusual; the tone of the instrument exquisite.  The ebony tailpiece was intricately carved with a floral design that matched the polished tuning pegs and end pin; the kidney-shaped chinrest was a perfect fit.  Her parents had given her $100 to use for incidental expenses and her friend chipped in the additional $25.  Peggy had never been so proud of anything in her life.

         Now, with that precious instrument in her hands, she practiced her selections, each note an expression of her hopes and dreams.  She bowed to the mirror, imagining her distinguished audience, then played each number from the slow and emotional Adagio in G Minor, the music making a natural crescendo in pace and pitch as she worked her way up to the Allegro Brilliante in D Major.

         A knock at the door summoned her to the auditorium.  On stage, she froze, unable to speak or move.  “It’s okay,” a voice said from the dark.  “Just relax and begin.  When you get more comfortable we’ll move on to the selected pieces.”

         Peggy warmed up with scales, breathing deeply to regain her composure.  All of her hopes and dreams rested on this audition.  Finally ready, she signaled her intent and began, allowing her mind to go into auto-pilot.  Her heart knew the music, her fingers knew the way.

         She heard pencils scribbling in the darkness as she continued.  The butterflies in her stomach fought to get free but she continued playing.

         A few questions about composers, her selections, key signatures, tempo notes, and her impressions of the music followed.  A curt “thank you” concluded the audition and she was led back to the practice room.

         ”I couldn’t remember a thing,” she sobbed into Miss Oleson’s shoulder.  “They asked about notes and keys and I couldn’t remember a thing.”

         Now, weeks later, she was still sobbing.  If only I’d remembered my keys.  There had been no word from the Institute and as the summer wore on, Peggy was certain she had missed her only opportunity.

         A knock at the door drew her attention.  “Peggy, dear,” her mother’s voice called sweetly.

         Peggy opened the door, trying to hide her red-rimmed eyes.  "This came for you," her mother said, handed her a thick envelope bearing the insignia of the Curtis Institute.  Biting her lip, Peggy slid her finger under the flap. 

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