By: Audrey Hoey-Kummerow and Madison Seelye
“Oh, you’re that piano prodigy’s sister, right?” I heard those words at least once a day. I used to hate hearing those words.
When we were kids my identical twin sister, Emily, and I were inseparable. Until she became gifted.
It was a beautiful summer day when Emily decided that she wanted to start learning piano. She ran it by me first like always, and I told her, “Sure, why not?” She smiled and went to tell Mom. Mom thought it was a great idea because we both knew she wanted a kid that was talented.
The next week she started lessons with a world-renowned pianist, and in just a month she had already started performing at statewide competitions. At this point I was thinking, “I can do that!” So I started lessons with the same piano teacher.
On the day of my first piano lesson I waited patiently outside of her room. “Hi,” I said as I walked into the small, cozy room.
“Hi! You're Emily’s sister, right?”
“Mmm hmm,” I said quietly, attempting to look her in the eyes.
“Well then I’m sure you’ll get a hang of piano right away. Let’s see what you can do.” With my hands shaking the entire time, I proceeded to play her Mary had a Little Lamb. She looked unimpressed, but still had a smile on her face.
After a month of practice I was just starting to get a hang of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Emily pretended to be impressed, but I could tell she wasn’t.
Emily’s next national competition was two weeks later and she practiced nonstop. Of course this meant that I had no time to hang out with her anymore. The rare times I did see her we didn’t talk. Instead we just awkwardly looked each other in the eye.
As we walked into the auditorium for the competition we were stopped by a man who asked us whether Emily was competing or not. She said yes, and the man gave us all lanyards and a pair of sunglasses for Emily. “Why do I need these?” Emily asked. The man told her that one of the lights had broken and they had replaced it with the only one they had left, which was extremely bright. That scared Mom so much that she almost pulled Emily out of the competition, but Emily insisted that she should compete.
After long, boring classical songs it was finally Emily’s turn. She walked on to the stage smiling and waving, but I could tell she was nervous. Her piece was as beautiful as always, but during the final glissando she whipped her head around and her glasses toppled down onto the ground. The crowd gasped and Emily screamed and fell to the floor. A team of doctors ran onto the stage with a stretcher and mom was pushing through the crowd screaming. I don’t remember much of what happened next because I was so terrified.
The next thing I knew, Emily was in the hospital with bandages over her eyes and Mom was sitting next to her, holding her hand and saying, “Everything is going to be alright,” over and over again. The doctor came in and told us that she would only be able to see again if we paid for a surgery that cost $15,000. Unfortunately we would never be able to pay for the surgery. Emily began to cry. I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. However at the same time, I was kind of glad that she had to relearn piano.
Over the next few weeks things were really a struggle and it made me realize how much Emily worked at piano and how much she deserved her title as “Youngest Pianist to Compete at a National Level.” Personally I think that they should come up with a better name.
The day after my realization, I decided to do something big. I started doing piano lessons every day of the week and competing at statewide competitions. After most people in our town knew who I was, I started playing for money at restaurants and coffee shops that would let me. Each day I raised about $40, not even close to what I needed, but I kept going and every week I rasied more and more money.
It took me about nine months to raise $15,000, but I made it! For Emily’s fourteenth birthday I surprised her with the money to pay for her surgery! Seeing her reaction was the happiest I have ever felt. She kept jumping up and down even though she couldn’t see.
On the day of her surgery she was really nervous, but I reassured her that everything would be alright. When she came out of the operating room she had a smile on her face, but I didn’t get to talk to her until the doctors let me. I later learned that she was laughing uncontrollably because of her anesthesia.
A week later it was time to take off her bandages. I led her into the small doctor’s office. After a while of unwrapping she finally saw the world once again. Her reaction was strange because I wasn’t sure whether she was crying out of happiness or pain, but then she started screaming and laughing with joy. She started touching and examining my face. Then I showed her a mirror and she screamed, “I look the same as you!” We both started laughing so hard that the nurse asked Mom if we were mentally stable.
Ever since then I have learned that sometimes it’s better to do something nice to someone else than to be selfish.
