Chapter 4 - Cruelty at the Recital
I knew they wouldn't take losing control quietly, but I naively believed they would keep their pettiness focused on me. I was wrong.
The following Saturday evening was Emily's end-of-term school violin recital. She had spent six painstaking weeks rehearsing her piece, practicing until her little fingers were sore. When we arrived at the auditorium, her face lit up as she saw me take a seat near the front row.
She took the stage in her dress, holding her tiny violin under her chin. She scanned the crowd, spotted me, and her nervous shoulders visibly relaxed.
Then, her eyes drifted to the middle aisle.
My heart sank. Sitting together near the center were Arthur, Eleanor, and Sarah. They hadn't come to support her; they had come to assert their presence.
As Emily lifted her bow, Arthur leaned over toward Sarah. In the quiet room, right as the auditorium settled into silence, he raised his voice just loud enough to carry across the neighboring seats.
"Hope she doesn't squeak like last time," Arthur said with a cruel, audible chuckle.
Sarah giggled behind her hand.
On stage, Emily froze. I saw her small hands begin to shake violently. She brought the bow down onto the strings, but her trembling ruined her composure. The first note cracked into a harsh screech. The audience gasped softly. Flustered, she tried again, but another note faltered.
By the time she finished her short piece, tears were streaming down her face. She bowed quickly and ran off stage into the backstage curtain.
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As the applause ended, I stood up immediately to go to her. As I passed my family's row, Sarah leaned back and remarked loudly, "Well, I guess she’s not going to Juilliard anytime soon."
Eleanor sat beside her, staring straight ahead, saying absolutely nothing to defend her granddaughter.
