Elizabeth Eulberg - Prom and Prejudice

"Try it again, but slower," Mrs. Gardiner said to me after I botched a complicated run for the third time.

I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. I lightly ran my fingers over the keys, trying to get my brain and fingers to work together to go through the most difficult sequence in Rhapsody. I slowed the pace and was able to hit every note.

"Perfect. Now faster."

I went up to tempo and my fingers ran into each other. A horrible sound erupted from the piano.

"Sorry, I've been practicing, really. I'll work on it over break."

Mrs. Gardiner smiled at me. "I know you will. But I have another assignment for you over the break."

I held in a groan. Rhapsody was challenging enough.

Mrs. Gardiner went over to her desk and pulled out an envelope. "You know Claudia Reynolds?"

"Of course!"

Claudia Reynolds was my idol. Any time I got stuck on a piece, I'd find footage of her playing it to try to figure it out. The emotion she put into her music was without equal, and her phrasing was always perfect.

"Well, this is for you." She handed me an envelope, and inside were two tickets to see Claudia Reynolds that weekend at Carnegie Hall.

I was stunned. "I can't ..."

Mrs. Gardiner waved my protest away. "Nonsense. It's my pleasure. You deserve it."

I thanked her profusely and immediately called my mother to tell her our plans for Saturday afternoon. Having that to look forward to made the remainder of the week, including the rest of my exams, bearable.

I could hardly wait to get back home. Every time I returned to the city Jane offered me a ride with her and Lydia. But, as always, I declined and took the ninety-minute train ride from town to Grand Central Station. No other Longbourn or Pemberley student would be caught dead on mass transit, so I knew I would be alone. I needed the solitude before going home, a chance to detox myself from all the negativity and pressure of campus. It was as if I dropped off my emotional baggage at each station stop along the way.

By the time the train arrived in Manhattan and I saw my parents and a couple friends waiting for me at the kiosk in the middle of the station, I was the old Lizzie. The happy, warm Lizzie of yesteryear. They embraced me and instantly I knew that despite the remaining commute back to Hoboken, I was already home.

BEING HOME, SLEEPING IN MY OWN BED, HANGING OUT with my old friends, gave me the centering I needed after the past few confusing weeks.

Even though I'd spoken on the phone with my parents every weekend, they acted as if they knew nothing of the past two and a half months. Over Saturday morning breakfast, they grilled me about classes, friends (they were under the impression that I had more than just two friends, and I didn't want to correct, or worry, them), the recital, and even the dreaded P-word.

"Isn't prom a big deal at Longbourn?" Mom asked. "I remember it from that brochure we had."

I shrugged. "Not really." I envisioned the majority of my classmates experiencing an unexpected shiver down their spine at my blatant lie.

"Do you want to look at dresses while we are in the city today?"

"No, that's okay."

Mom came over and hugged me. "I'm so glad you're home. I don't like you being so far away. This house is entirely too quiet without you and although I know how hard you're working, I plan on you playing that piano while you are here. I just had it tuned!"

Our piano was from my father's childhood, complete with ivory keys. It had family history, but it wasn't the greatest-sounding instrument. After playing the gorgeous grand pianos at school, it was always a shock to my system to play the upright. But it was what I grew up on, and I loved it regardless. It had character, and I had learned many times this past year that money does not buy character.

In the early afternoon, Mom and I headed into the city for the concert. I had butterflies in my stomach. I always walked by Carnegie Hall when I was in the city. That was the dream -- to play there. In the meantime, I would settle for this. Not only did I get to go to Carnegie Hall, but I was going to see one of my favorite pianists. I was still touched by Mrs. Gardiner's kindness -- this was her way of suggesting that my own break wasn't that far away. Which made going to Longbourn seem strangely worth it.

My pulse began to quicken as we approached the building. As we entered the main hall, my breath was nearly knocked out of me. The chairs on the stage were dwarfed by the high ceiling and ornate columns on the sides. I turned around and saw the balcony seating, which seemed to reach the sky. I looked up and could practically feel the glow from the oval set of lights that illuminated the hall.

An usher escorted us to our seats, which were in the fourth row on the aisle. I could see the keyboard on the grand piano that was commanding center stage.

"My goodness, Lizzie," Mom remarked. "You must be the perfect student in order to get such royal treatment."

I smiled. I was happy I could do this for my mom. She was the reason that I had first gotten into music. She loved it, but couldn't play. She tried but didn't seem to have the capacity for it. And since, at least according to her, I began banging on the piano when I was old enough to walk to the upright, she enrolled me in lessons by the time I was four.

When I'd run out of teachers in the Hoboken area who could challenge me, she'd started taking me into the city. She'd spent so much money on my lessons, I didn't want to disappoint her.

Music was our thing. We'd listen to albums together, I'd put on concerts just for her. And now I was able to take my mother to Carnegie Hall.

"Someday, Elizabeth, someday," she said to me as she squeezed my hands.

The lights went down and the orchestra members took their places, followed by the conductor. The spotlight lit up and Claudia Reynolds, beautiful in a black floor-length strapless dress, her hair up in a twist, approached the piano to an ovation from both the orchestra and the audience.

She graciously bowed before sitting down at the piano.

The orchestra started playing Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 24, K.491. The strings came in, followed by the wind instruments. As the music began to take over the space, I leaned forward in my seat, anticipating Reynolds's first notes at the piano. The piano melody, at first so simple, was beautiful. I could see Reynolds's eyes closed, her body swaying back and forth, her embrace of the music.

I closed my eyes and let the music take over. I felt moisture in my eyes from being overwhelmed by the setting, the music, the performer.

It was flawless. It was, in fact, so flawless that it didn't call attention to its own flawlessness. It was perfect.

The next piece was Chopin's Piano Concerto no. 2. Again, she took the entire audience of almost three thousand people on an emotional journey. I found, not surprisingly, that I had a smile on my face the entire time. Carnegie Hall was my equivalent of a candy store and I was on a sugar high.

After Chopin, there was an intermission. I was in awe of the entire performance. But when I looked and saw what was next, Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto no. 3, I was stunned. That was one of the most challenging piano solos and very different in tone from the previous two pieces.

We returned to our seats after the intermission and I was alarmed when I saw an usher waiting for us. "Miss Bennet?" he said as my mother and I approached our seats.

"Yes?" I had a feeling this was too good to be true. That my fairy tale of an afternoon was coming to an end and that we would be marked as frauds. You could take the girl out of Longbourn, but apparently not the sense of uncertainty.

"This note is for you." He handed me an envelope with my name scrawled on it. I opened it and found a letter inside that was on heavy, expensive, cream stock. I gasped when I saw CLAUDIA REYNOLDS engraved on the top with her address.