Music of My Soul

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“So…what do you think?”

My velvet gown had never felt heavier than it did in that moment, seeming to fill itself with the pregnant pause in the room. Slightly sinking into the couch, the tiny septuagenarian trembled as she thought, grey ringlets shivering as much as I. 

I had worked so hard for this moment, endless hours of recitals and sore throats and coffee shops and bar gigs and yet I had beaten the odds. Twenty seven years after I’d entered the world, “cries sweet as any song” as my father said, I was preparing to walk the red carpet for the first time. 

After much scrutiny, my grandma lifted herself from the couch and shuffled over to firmly grasp my shaking hands. “I can tell you how I think you look like a princess,” she said, voice methodical and tender as always. “But you must decide that for yourself.” I waited, staring at the girl in the mirror. “Well?”

“I-” Could I own her, the woman in the mirror, all full of a beauty and grace I was positive I didn’t possess? But then, I looked at my struggles and triumphs, my ups and downs, and I set my jaw, locking eyes with the other me, the successful, wonderful, stunning, brilliant me. “Yes,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. “Yes I can.”

"Ask advice of everyone, but act with your own mind."