In dress-up clothes I sit up front next to pretty Allison Hunt. We children are in the folding chairs with our songs of fireflies and clowns all memorized; knowing how to do the introduction and the bow. I play fifth, and I wait so long my hands are cold. My petticoats are outgrown. And when the girl ahead of me is done it is a woman that returns. It is an auditorium and a darkened crowd: "My name is Nancy and I will play for you Over Hills from Volume Two." The mothers all know the piece. They fill in the missing notes and straighten out the beat. It is so hard for a daughter to say anything. I put my hands back in my lap. I want another chance; but the parents have be gun to clap.