by Eme Strife
I'm so in my element right now, completely in my zone.
Nothing beats the feeling I get when I sing like this.
Nothing gets me on such a high or gives me such an overwhelming sense of freedom—
Abruptly, I feel myself lurch forward unnaturally and my voice cracks. I feel the warm air forced from my lungs in a strained rush as it escapes my flared nostrils. My chest tightens in response.
Oh, God…
It's happening again.
***
The discomforting sensation I had earlier is back, considerably more painful this time.
It's never even happened twice in the same day before. I'm beginning to think that whatever this is, it’s probably more than just a stress-response.
From the corner of my eye, I see a bunch of girls behind me just standing there and giving me strange looks through the mirror, and I notice Julianne is among them.
She has her arms crossed over her fake chest, eyeing me suspiciously as she gives me a once over, followed by a snarky scoff just before she goes back to talking with her better half.
Or worse half, I guess. I'm not sure.
I can't help but roll my eyes. I can't be bothered by their darting glares and pettiness. However, even though I'm putting on a brave face, I cannot continue to pretend that this stomach-hitching thing-a-ma-jig doesn't bother me, either. I think I need to get this checked out.
I look at my watch again, noticing that my arm is slightly trembling. It's almost seven. More people are streaming in through both front and back doors, scurrying to get settled in before Madame Vito, the head vocal instructor, gets here.
I'm actually surprised she isn't here already. It's not like her to be late.
I take off my earphones with a shaky hand as the music is still playing and head to my usual seat. Just as soon as I do, I notice Trixie waltzing in nonchalantly like she owns the joint, completely unbothered by the prospect of arriving later than Vito unlike everyone else.
I have to smile.
I absolutely love her cavalier, 'I-have-no-fucks-to-give' attitude. I find it extremely refreshing and down-to-earth, especially after being immersed head-first in such a competitive environment like this one.
She grins as she spots me looking her way, offering a cool, enthusiastic wave as she approaches. I can't help but think about how well she'd fit in if she ever moved to New York City, even with her prominent Milwaukee accent.
"Hey, you. Miss me? You look like shit, by the way," she says as she takes her seat next to me. She's always very blunt and honest.
Brutally honest.
And honestly, even after a year of being friends with her, I think I'm still getting used to that aspect of her.
"Gee, thanks," I say with a smile. I know she means no harm, and we tease each other all the time, but I'd be lying if I say looking worn out with bags under my eyes all the time doesn't bother me at all. I change the subject, deterring the conversation away from my not-so-stellar appearance.
"How was your weekend? Did your parents enjoy their getaway?"
She stretches her arms over her head, leaning back in the chair in a carefree motion. "Ugh, it was great for the parentals. Bloody exhausting for me."
I love how she emphasizes the word 'bloody'. She's been using it ever since she met me, and I guess that's not the only word I've rubbed off on her. I sometimes catch her saying 'crisps' instead of 'French fries' and 'trousers' instead of 'pants'. I sometimes slip up and do the same.
"The twins kept bugging me to bake them cookies and apple pie and whole bunch of other shit. I mean, look at me," she gestures to herself in a humorous way with her fingers. "When have I ever attempted to bake anything? Do I look like Mary fucking Poppins to you? I’m Italian and I can barely even boil spaghetti right without nearly burning the whole neighborhood down. I swear, ever since you made those oatmeal cookies for them, they've been going berserk for more. You spoiled them rotten. I totally blame you for this," she laughs.
I giggle along with her, trying to picture a punk-rocker chick like her trading her black leather and multiple piercings for an apron and oven mitts.
Yeah. Not happening.
"Wasn't Drake there to help out with babysitting?" I ask, hoping I don’t sound as eager as I feel saying her brother’s name.
She rolls her whiskey eyes as she runs her hands through her dark, choppy pixie cut.
"Pshhh. He was there, alright. But the only thing the idiot helped out with was leading their cookie-demanding crusade. He even got them Cookie Monster hats to wear!"
I picture Drake rallying the two identical six-year-olds to drive Trixie crazy. I can't stop laughing, and I admire how she talks about her relationship with her brothers. I can only imagine how interesting being the only girl among three boys must be. I'd be lying if I say I'm not a little envious of her in that regard.
I've always wondered what it would be like to have a brother—one who doesn’t despise my very existence, anyway. I think I'd love having one. Or even a sister. Ideally, I’d have both.
I guess I'll never know.
"So," she crosses her feet as she faces me again, "how was your weekend? Much better than mine, I'm sure."
I shrug. "Meh. Pretty standard. Work. Study. Work some more.” I sigh and close my eyes dramatically. “All that work and somehow, I'm still broke."
She laughs and shakes her head. "You and me both,
Roni. You and me, both.”
I laugh, even though I know our situations aren’t even remotely close to being the same. Trixie may not have money to go around splurging on retail therapy, but she certainly isn’t scraping for cash every day, either. I try not to think about my financial situation, and it works…for about seven seconds. Her next question only manages to fuel my worrisome thoughts.
“Oh yeah, how's your Nana? You grandfather's memorial is coming up, isn't it?"
I nod. "Yeah, it's in a few days. She's holding up okay as far as I can tell, but I know thinking about it is affecting her more than she shows. She just won't ever say anything to me because I know she doesn't want me to worry about her."
"Right. As if that's possible," Trixie says.
I shrug. "It's not like I can help it, Trix. She's all by herself over there. She shouldn't even be working at her age but she can't afford not to after everything that's happened."
"Yeah, I know," she nods solemnly. She pauses for a bit, as if she's in deep thought, then asks, "Did you ask Larry for a raise?"
I sigh as I adjust myself in my chair. "No. It's only been a couple of months since he gave me my last one. I'd asked him for an advance last week but he can't give me one right now. I really need the money but I don't want to feel like I'm backing him into a corner, you know. It's too soon to ask again."
She looks at me incredulously, and the warm glow of her eyes settle on mine. Drake has the exact same whiskey-toned eyes, and looking at hers really freaks me out sometimes because it feels like I'm looking into his.
"Oh, please, don't give me that hogwash," she says. "You know you're the reason that grizzly bear has been getting as much business as he has this past year. Most people on campus had never even heard of the Mushroom before you started singing there. And with a name like that, I can't imagine why. I mean, Jesus, was he trying to get his bar to fail? He owes you big time. That's all I'm saying."
I laugh at her nickname for my boss, Larry Fitzgerald. I swear, Trixie has nicknames for everyone. I agree with everything she's saying, including Larry's bizarre choice of a name for his business. I'd suggested something a little less sexually innuendo-ed, like 'Larry's Tavern' or even the 'Drunken Mushroom', but for whatever reason, he's been pretty adamant about sticking to the 'Wooden Mushroom'. Everyone just calls it 'The Mushroom' for short now.
Larry's a really nice guy, and something of a father figure to me, but he is a bit off. I guess everyone is to some extent. Trixie can't seem to cut the guy a break, though. She's insisted I quit and get a better paying job if L
arry can't pay me more, and she doesn't understand my loyalty to him.
I've been working for him for three years now and I know how grateful he is to me, but it's not like I'm his only employee. He's got kids of his own and other obligations and responsibilities outside the bar, too. I can't expect him to bend over backward for me, even if I'm walking the fine line of desperation. It’s not like I’m the first person in the world to ever get caught in a financial rut.
Although I have to admit, some days, it sure does feel like it.
***
Madame Vito finally makes her appearance, and the room quickly goes quiet. She doesn't say a thing, but then again, she doesn't need to.
Her stern presence and the clicking of her signature moccasins are all that's necessary to make all the chatter fade away into dead silence. The room gets so quiet you could probably hear a snowflake land.
Vito's graying locks are pulled back into a tight bun as usual, and she's covered up in a dark cardigan and an equally dark, conservative pencil skirt with leggings underneath like always. Her wardrobe knows no distinction between the seasons. She dresses the same all year round.
I'm not a huge fan of hers, mostly because of her rigidness and cold demeanor, and while I can't imagine living my life by a lot of her rules, I can respect her approach to education—as strict and conservative as it is.
Trixie barely tolerates "the uptight hag", as she calls her, but does her best not to butt heads with any professors, especially not Vito. Trixie may be headstrong and outspoken, but she's not stupid. She wouldn't be careless about getting on this woman's bad side, not when her grades and future as a classical vocalist are at stake.
We don't waste any time in taking our positions, arranging ourselves in semi-circles according to our various segments and vocal groups. Vito faces our entourage, and with her back to the wall of mirrors holds her hand up in a balled fist signaling that we're starting. She does three silent counts with her fingers, motioning for us to begin.
As lead, I start out humming the melody of the song's intro by myself, and go on to sing the first stanza of the first verse as well. Kayla Daniels and Julianne both join me in the second stanza as the two other first-part vocalists. Trixie and the second-parters sing their way in next, and then eventually the bass-vocalists merge with everyone as we all round up the first verse. All our voices fuse together perfectly, and from Vito's acknowledging expression, we're doing a good job. She actually seems impressed.
And, boy, is it hard to impress this woman.
We continue our harmonized a cappella in synchrony and with precision, and I can hear the waves of our enthusiastic voices bouncing off the walls and echoing loudly in the spacious room.
I try to keep focused, even though the thought of my stomach hitching again ails me. The bridge comes up again, and I brace myself for it, instinctively balling my hands into tight fists until I feel my knuckles go sore.
Please don't act up again. Please don't act up again. Please don’t act up again…
I keep repeating the silent prayer, imploring my stomach to behave itself as I hold a high note for several seconds. Before I know it, the bridge is over and the song is soon coming to an end. And there are no signs of a hitch in sight.
Phew.
Thank goodness.
The vocal groups start to exit in the reverse order they came in. The heavy undertones and background rumbles dissipate as the bass vocalists fade out first. The intermediates follow right after, and then Kayla and Julianne's voices softly linger until they eventually disappear, leaving me to finish the last verse and hum the ending melody by myself once again.
Out of the blue, my body jerks almost violently, as if I just had a hippo-sized hiccup.
It's back again.
Fuck.
I place my hand on my chest against the rising pain, even though the action provides no relief to the discomfort. I try to open my mouth to finish the song, but only a hoarse utterance escapes my lips.
Vito gives me a look that I think is a mix of surprise, concern, and annoyance. But mostly annoyance.
"Is there a problem, Miss Gallo?" she asks in her cold, rigid tone.
I hear patronizing giggles coming from the other side of my semi-circle, and they only stop when Vito shoots their owners a glare before she returns to face me.
I clear my throat. "N-no, ma'am."
She holds her gaze on me for a few seconds before returning her attention to everyone else.
"From the top, then,” she says. “Hopefully this time Miss Gallo can pay attention long enough to actually finish the song."
I can just feel the sheer vindication oozing from those around me, as if Vito telling me off just made their whole year. A glance in the mirrors ahead confirms this. The satisfaction is written all over most of their grinning faces. I guess I never really realized just how much of a public enemy I am here.
From the way they're looking at me, you would think I was getting my just desserts for sodomizing all their cats.
Jeez.
We go through six more rounds, and each time, I manage to fuck up at some point. At the end of the seventh round, Vito gives me an unfaltering harsh look, and I can't blame her. The lead vocalist just missed three keynotes.
Again.
Add that to the other mishaps and missing the entire ending the first go around, and you have one seriously pissed Gertrude Vito.
Time continues to go by, and I realize I haven't had a single successful round today, and at the rate things are going, there's no redeeming this practice session for me at this point.
This is a total fail. I can't believe I'm struggling this much.
I'm extremely unfocused, and any shred of confidence that may have been there before has completely left my body. Right now, I have no semblance of confidence whatsoever. I totally sucked ass at the one thing I know I'm good at. I seriously want to hide under a needle.
Vito seems to note my highly unnerved demeanor and ends practice about half an hour earlier than usual. I'm incredibly glad that she does, even though I know she's not doing it because she feels bad for me. She just has a low tolerance for "incompetence", and gets frustrated with errors easily.
She's definitely not the most patient person in the world. Either way, I'm grateful for the decision.
Anything to spare me any more utter humiliation today.
As everyone streams out of the studio, silently mocking and jeering at me, I can't help but feel so alone and isolated—a feeling I've continuously had for practically all of my adult life. I know Trixie will always be a supportive friend, but even she has a ‘Seriously-what-the-fuck-just-happened?’ look plastered all over her face as she glances my way.
I sigh in exhaustion and frustration as I head for the door, feeling defeated and deflated.
"Stick around for a minute, Miss Gallo," Vito calls out to me.
It's not a request. It's one hell of an order if I ever heard one. I wince internally as I can only imagine what's coming next.
The last thing I want to do right now is talk to anyone, let alone her. Trixie gestures toward the door, signaling that she'll be waiting for me outside as I have my after-class 'chat' with Vito. I brace myself as I walk over to meet the older woman.
In five brutal minutes, she tells me off in her uber-strict, condescending tone, asking me if I realize how important this performance is and how close we are to it.
She continues to chastise me without even bothering to hear me out, writing anything I have to say off as either "excuses" or "slacking off because I'm relying solely on my talent".
I feel myself quickly losing patience, and it's taking every bone in my body not to cuss this hag out right here and now.
Listening to her make all these inaccurate and judgmental assessments about me is really pissing me off, but I refrain from saying anything.
I think I have a renewed sense of hatred for this woman, and I can already hear Trixie spewing her I-told-you-Vito's-an-uptight-bitch speec
h.
Vito finally ends her judgmental rant, and at her suggestion— well, more like her demand—I decide to head to the campus clinic for a check-up, just to make sure there aren't any underlying medical issues at hand.
***
The walk over to the clinic takes about fifteen minutes, and it’s mostly comprised of me feeling really cold again and Trixie trying to make me feel better about what had just transpired at rehearsal.
It's much brighter outside now, and the scenery is a stark difference from what it is during the spring and summer months. There are white mounds of piled up snow and barren trees everywhere.