Turandot Piano

Turandot — Piano

I am six or nine or eight and I’m in my mom’s room in my grandparents’.

My mom is playing the piano and it’s loud. She’s singing over the piano to add the volume, and I’m watching the metronome tick/tock and the inverted pendulum looks like it’s waving at me.

My mom loved singing and this was her aspiration and it was a big one: an incredibly loud and difficult song.

I’d only seen my mom sing in public once as a chorus singer at church. That was fun but the rest of the ceremony was too boring. She tried again with Sunday school, but that was exactly like the other thing and I didn’t get to hear her sing. So, I hope we both agreed that I should watch Thundarr the Barbarian, which was dear to me, instead and she would just go without me.

So, I’m listening to the song but only understanding the feelings as the words are unknown.

Mom sounds angrier and angrier as she’s singing this tune. This isn’t the first time or the last time, just one of the many times all jumbled together.

The music seems louder and angrier. We are climbing a hill and I’m steeling myself for a moment I know is coming. I can sense my mom steeling herself as well. A big moment and the metronome is counting down from ten. I’m not sure if the walls or windows can steel themselves but I think they should.

5 (and five is right out), 4, tick/tock, 3, tick/tock, 2, 1: My mom is pissed and screaming. I don’t think she turns inside out, but this may be max loud. Like can anything be louder I think.

My grandmother, I guess, is still surprised? “GINGER! For Pete’s (who is Pete?) sake.” My mother doesn’t care about Pete and keeps going but the rest is much softer.