Heart and Soul

The old upright piano sprang to life and began producing music as Kristy played. She was the best of our group. As the other girls waited for their turn to play we were all aware that the imminent arrival of the choir director would end to the weekly piano recital we enjoyed while we waited for choir practice to begin. Every girl wanted her turn at the keyboard - every girl except me. I sat quietly in the corner as the minutes slowly passed, hoping to melt into the walls and not be seen. Tina sat down on the piano bench beside Kristy and squealed excitedly, "duet!" Kristy began the rhythm at the bottom of the keyboard while Tina played the melody on the higher treble keys. They were sophisticated fifth graders and I was certain they would play at Carnegie Hall one day - or so my third grade imagination told me. Then that familiar feeling of dread began to take over. My stomach tensed, my breathing slowed, and I willed myself to become invisible. And I waited . . .

"Shannon, would you like to play?" Then, the inevitable chorus of giggles. "She doesn't know how," Tina announced with a toss of her long blond hair. Tina had the haughty expression and cynicism of someone at least three times her age - no young, innocent, full of wonder child - Tina was an old soul with a :Miss Thing" attitude. It particularly irritated me that she had the pedigree and the goods to back it up. She would never experience an awkward adolescent stage - she transcended that - at least from my eight-year old child's perspective. I would be much older before two pieces of information would throw my memories of Tina into sharp relief - the knowledge that if I compare my insides to someone else's outsides I'll always suffer in the comparison and the concept of hubris. But back when I was just an eight-year-old girl, she was truly insufferable with her perfect clothes, perfect house, and perfect life. In fact everything about her life was perfect except for her little brother and even that was perfect in a way because you weren't supposed to like your little brother and he was the perfect little pest. I simply loathed her and she had absolutely no use for me except as a target at which to aim her venomous rebukes.

I desperately wanted to join the girls and play a part of the duet. Everyone knew how to play it, except me. I could actually play the piano by ear and had been since I picked apart something my mother had played on the piano when I was quite small. Mother thought I had a good ear for music and she would know. Her musical talents began in choir and moved to band culminating in a stint as drum major for the marching band (she had great legs - I got my dad's legs), with piano and later pipe organ added to her repertoire. But for all of my potential, with my musically blessed genes, I didn't know one complete song, let alone the immensely popular duet that was so popular at the time, Heart and Soul. You know the one - Tom Hanks and Robert Loggia played it as they hopped on the big keyboard in the movie Big?

Mercifully, our choir director appeared and my frustration, embarrassment, and anger evaporated as I lost myself in song. As choir practice ended and we all filed out of the church, Tina the Torturer appeared to my left and in a sing song voice chirped, "Shannon's got on yellow shorts. Shannon's a chicken. Shannon's wearing yellow." It sounds ridiculous to my adult ears, but to my 8 year old self, those were fighting words. I became one with all the suppressed frustration and anger of months of listening to her and not being able to respond (might reflect badly on my father who was rector of the church) and had a moment of complete freedom in which I shoved "Miss Thing" to the ground. I took her out! It wasn't really a fight so much as a minor skirmish, but she cried as she hit the ground and I had a moment of profound victorious joy, followed by an unimaginable let down. Mother had told me that living well was the best revenge. I was now experiencing the converse of that particular truth: revenge was not living well.

I quickly sought the safety of the rectory just across the street where my mom smiled at me as I walked inside. She was having one of those psychic mom moments that I get to have with my own daughter now where she knew something had happened. And I was just dying to tell her of my long overdue victory over the horrible Tina who had been the bane of my existence, the thorn in my side, the pain in my ass (except at that age I didn't know that expression yet).

Mom smiled that smile. You know - THAT smile - the calm, serene, "mom has all of the wisdom in the universe" smile. She didn't talk about the fight. She didn't scold me. She asked how the pre-practice piano playing was. After much inner turmoil, I slid out of my outer tough chick persona and admitted that I desperately wished I knew how to play that duet. Then a miracle happened.

Mother knew that very duet and would be glad to teach it to me. That was like her. She'd known the song all along, known what I wanted, but believed firmly in giving people (she was that rare parent who understands that a child is also a person) the dignity of space to follow their own path. She patiently waited until I asked for help. She wasn't the type to push. I asked if she was going to teach me the top part or the bottom part. Then she smiled a smile that I hadn't seen before, but would later come to recognize as her "conspiratorial" smile. "Both," she replied.

The old upright piano sprang to life and began producing music as Kristy played. She was the best of our group. I sat quietly in the corner as the minutes slowly went passed. Tina sat down on the piano bench beside Kristy and squealed excitedly, "duet!" I was still convinced piano fame and fortune were in their future. I waited for the inevitable.

"Shannon, would you like to play?" Then, the familiar chorus of giggles. "She still doesn't know how," Tina announced with a self-satisfied smirk (apparently I had not shoved her hard enough the previous week to remove that irritating feature). I heard my voice say, "Sure, I'd love to play." Eleven pairs of shot my way as all of the sound in the room stopped still. I took my hard earned place on the piano bench. "Well, who is going to play the duet with you?" cried Tina. With that smile of serenity (borrowed from my mother) I simply begin to play . . . both parts of the duet . . . all by myself.

Kawaii studio piano - $15,000

Pair of shorts (not yellow) - $15

Living well - priceless!