Let's Get Personal
Speech No. 2 in the Toastmasters "Storytelling"
Manual
Date presented: 27 May, 1997
The objectives of this speech were:
- To learn the elements of a good story.
- To create and tell an original story based on a
personal experience.
Time 6 to 8 minutes.
Nice to See the Parents Participating
It all started when Ben joined the school band.
"Look what I've got!" He shouted as he burst in after school and blew a
triumphant blast on a shiny trumpet. Our highly-strung cat fell flat on her
face, as her legs suddenly went in all four directions. I would have fallen
on my face too, if I had known then that my precious weekends would now be
devoted to taking him to perform in concerts and fetes.
So that's how I came to be sitting here in a retirement home on a sleepy
Sunday afternoon, listening to the band play. The old lady sitting beside me
doesn't seem to know I'm here. I don't think she even knows that she is
here. Her face is like a closed door, indicating that no one is home.
It's not fair! He should have told me earlier. I wouldn't have come of
course - but he knew that, didn't he? It was mean of him to tell me after we
arrived.
"By the way," he had said, rummaging in his music case, "I told them you
would play a piano duet with me. They like to see the parents
participating."
"You what!!" I stopped suddenly in the doorway, so that a young violinist
had to swerve sharply to avoid a collision. "I couldn't possibly! We haven't
practiced! It's been ages! Anyway……" I clutched desperately at this last
excuse… "I haven't brought any music."
"I have." Ben thrust these tattered pages into my trembling hands
and rushed away to take his place in the band." You'll be alright." He
called over his shoulder. "You used to say you could play it with your eyes
closed."
Some of the old people are tapping their feet to the rhythm of the music.
The man in front of me dozes during each item, only rousing to join the
applause before falling asleep again. The old lady beside me is still gazing
into a place where no one can reach her.
I close my eyes as I hold the yellowing music sheet. It's true. Every note
is still sharply etched in my mind. My fingers involuntarily position
themselves as if already poised over the keys. It might not be so bad.
Anyway, It's too late to back out now - isn't it?
Oh…..I didn't know Mrs. Hathaway was going to play. She's a professional
pianist. Just look at her fingers flying over the keys. How will our simple
little duet sound after this? I wish I had a drink of water.
Andy Johnson's father plays the trumpet very well. It's nice to see the
parents participating. I'll just slip out to the loo before it's our turn.
Here it is. I pull that big door handle toward me. The door yields slightly
but won't open. I pull harder. This is ridiculous! How do they expect frail
old people to open it if I can't……Oh! It suddenly swings open, inwards!
There stands Mrs. Hathaway, looking rather surprised.
"Hello," she says. "Were you pulling from the other side? No wonder I
couldn't get out!"
I could just die of embarrassment!
The old lady is still staring into space as I slip back into my seat. It's
our turn next. I should have sat near the front. I don't know if my legs
will carry me up onto the stage. They've just announced our item and Ben is
making his way from his place in the band. I feel dizzy. I hope I can walk
that far.
Well, here we are seated at the piano. My legs shake so much I can feel my
heels vibrating on the floor. I wipe my perspiring hands on my skirt. I've
sat too far back and the neckline of my dress is pulling tight across my
throat. It's choking me. Should I stand and rearrange it? No. Ben is already
whispering "1..2..3..4.." Here we go!
He was right. My fingers remember the familiar movements. It's not such a
big audience….just the old folk and the school band and their parents…..Mr.
Johnson, who plays the trumpet so well… . Mrs. Hathaway, the brilliant
pianist, who will notice any wrong notes….Oops! That was one. Now that's
upset the fingering sequence. I must pay closer attention to the music.
If only I could find my place on the page! All the notes have run together.
My head swims dizzily. Wouldn't it be dreadful if I fainted in the middle of
a performance! I can't see a thing. Everything is totally black. I never
realised before that the term "blind panic" means precisely what it says!
Ben is playing his part perfectly. I have to keep going…can't let him down.
Oh, no. He's played the chord leading on to the repeat. I was hoping to
finish there. I'll never, never, never perform in public again. Just let me
get to the end of this piece before I die.
I feel so queer, I'm sure I won't have the strength to walk back to my seat.
When we finish, I'll just get down on my hands and knees and crawl around
behind the piano and lie there until the concert is over. No one will
notice. Just a few more bars…….
There that's the last chord. I did it! I finished with both hands on the
right notes!
We rise and bow and the audience claps politely. Walking back to my seat in
a daze, I pass Mrs. Hathaway. She pats my arm and murmurs, "So nice to see
the parents participating."
The old lady turns and looks at me eagerly. She has come back from her
secret place. Her face is alive, glowing.
"I know that duet," she tells me as the concert ends. "I used to play it
with my husband, when we were courting. We were playing it the day he asked
me to marry him."
"Come along ,dear." A nurse takes the old lady by the arm. "It's time for
your tea."
She turns to me and whispers, "However did you get Mrs. Woods to talk to
you? She hasn't spoken to anyone for months. Will you play for us again at
our next concert?"
Could I really go through that again?
I look at the old lady, her face eager, alive and I smile.
"Maybe."
This one was easy to present as I relived an actual real life
experience. (The old lady was imaginary, but the rest is true.) They all
enjoyed it.
MAMALADE
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