A few days ago, I did my first Houston Children’s Chorus concert. Very scary it was, I found I enjoyed it much.

I arrived there in my new clothes: khaki pants, a special shirt with “HCC” imprinted on it, and my new white tennis shoes. The front lobby was full of people, and it was very full.

A man squeezed past me as I squeezed past him. Inside, the organ was playing. A woman who had a black shirt on looked at me in shock.

“Honey, what are you doing here?”

Naturally, I said, “The concert.”

She looked at me in concern and said, “The concert hasn’t begun, but the rehearsals have. They’ve been going since one!”

Oh, no.

In an email that my father received, they had said that it begun at one in the afternoon. The flyer, however, said the concert begun at 2:30.

It was 2:30 just now, and I realized that the “it” in the email meant the rehearsal. Of course, I realized. They must have had a rehearsal!

The woman spoke to a man who looked very uncomfortable in a tuxedo something that I didn’t hear. Then she pulled me along.

I hoped my mom knew where we were. She lead us out of the building, into another one, down some stairs, and finally rushed into a room that had a sign saying “CHOIR LOUNGE” hammered onto it.

There was a short woman standing there wearing a hat. I didn’t know why, but she looked at me, gave me a water bottle, and then pointed at a chair wordlessly.

The woman told me that I might not be able to perform, as the director was very strict about going to rehearsals.

I sipped my water in silence, not wanting to know what my mom’s expression was when she heard this news. Grim and mad, I thought, thinking anyway.

Suddenly, a huge bustling came from the doorway and ranks of people wearing the same stuff I was stepped in.

The first girl pointed at me, “LUCKY! You didn’t go to the rehearsal!”

“You think I want to skip the concert?” I replied sourly.

As the entire 200 people filed in, the room became small. I tried to talk with a teacher, but she kept on telling me to find my group director.

My group director, however, was nowhere in sight. When she came in, though, everyone stood up and got in a line.

“Partners!” Mrs. C (the group director) kept on saying. I didn’t even know who my partner was, however. I rushed to Mrs. C’s side and told her what happened.

She only said, “Just get in line. I cannot help you now.”

I was going to find another time to talk to her before the concert began, so I just got in line somewhere.

There never was a second chance, however. We walked straight into the now empty lobby. The group director stood there, letting partners go one at a time, slowly.

We walked s-l-o-w-l-y into the room. “A thousand people” kept on bouncing around in my head.

There were tall people, and there were short people. The director was standing at the top, directing the other choir in the chorus. We began to sing.

At the rehearsal a day before the actual thing, the director had said that some would be twelve inches from an audience member. No one had taken him seriously, except for some old timers. It was now painfully obvious that he was right.

To the right of me, a man sat, wearing a blue pin-striped shirt. He had a bad breath, so when we began walking, I just followed along.

We walked slowly to the back, the whole time singing.

In front of me was the organ, and now, come to think of it, I was wondering where it was. The entire thing was inside a huge hole. The left and right sides were lined with buttons.

In front of a stubby man who was playing the organ was five rows of keys, his fingers dancing on them. A tall man stood to the side of him, helping him turn pages.

As the song ended, everyone fell quiet. A woman stood up and held a long flute. Then she began to play.

In addition, the page-flipper climbed out of the hole, banging his knee on the edge (which made a loud noise), and sat on the piano just next to the flute player.

The director began to move his hands.

Finally, we got to “On Eagles Wings” on our concert. We all stood up and slowly walked and walked to the aisles and stopped.

When we finally finished, the applause began.

Clap, clap, clap… The noise filled my ears. Obviously the audience had some expressing to do after being forced not to clap in between songs. It was entirely a minute and a half before it finally stopped as the organist began his long long piece in B flat.

We walked straight out the door. The group director was smiling so hard it stretched from one ear to another. “You did an excellent job,” she kept on saying.

I found my parents after everyone was released from a very long song. They hugged me and congratulated me.

With all the fun I had, it was hard to believe that I had thought it scary the day before.