"My Last Concert"

Here is the latest of my short-short stories that are composites of real-life events with psychological or practical implications.

In the wings, Sam could hear the orchestra’s tuning-up fading.

"Damn, my hand is shaking more than usual. Bad Parkinson’s Day. Plus, it's my last concert—nervous. Glad I decided on the Grieg, an easy one. But with these hands, nothing's easy.

Sam had been a concert pianist his whole life---starting at 11 when he finished 4th in the Midwest Regional Young Artists Competition—and through 65 concerts, including one with the Kansas City Symphony. “All right, it was just in their summer festival when lots of the A players were on vacation but still. “

The audience applauds and the concertmaster strode out.

“Somehow I wish my ex-wife were here. How could she have dumped me? But still….Do I play it safe? A lot of note mistakes would make them think I stayed on too long, like those star baseball players who'd rather hit .200 than retire. Or do I go for a home run, a shot at the Kansas City Star---‘Roseman finishes with a flourish!’

The conductor gave Sam a forced smile before striding on stage.

“This is it. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Damn, my hands are shaking more.”“It’s too long. I gotta go out there. Stand up straight. Stride, don’t shuffle.”

But Sam could manage little more than to plod onto the stage. He held the piano with one hand as he took a modest head bow. More than that and he could fall.

And he sat at the piano. "I've had this moment so many times...but this is different." Sam used his old trick of adjusting the seat up and then back again, not because it needed adjusting but to buy a little more time to ground himself before the moment of truth.

And he began. And he took every not-crazy risk he could, and most of the time he won. Yes, his boldness caused a few note mistakes but only the mean-spirited or ignorant would denigrate his performance, which was exciting, inspiring at any age but for an 83-year old with advanced Parkinson’s? It gives me the chills just to write about it.

And yes, Sam got big applause, not just the usual obligatory extended applause bestowed as much to protest classical music’s dying popularity as to acknowledge the performer, but fervent applause and then, yes, a standing ovation. Not a charity ovation a heartfelt one. And Sam, who usually was too shy to really look at the applauding audience and so looked down, looked at the smiling, standing audience, really taking it in, really savoring it. Then he sighed and plodded off stage for the last time.

Sam shuffled into his dressing room, closed the door, and dropped into a chair. “I survived. I did okay. I didn't embarrass myself. But .I can’t go to the reception---It's like a retirement party, where everyone tries to make light it being the beginning of the end, my end.

And then, a knock on the door. ‘Daddy?” Hannah opened the door and too effusively gushed, “You were amazing. You were fucking amazing! Come on. They’re all waiting for you.”

Sam knew there was no avoiding it so he sighed and shuffled downstairs. When he arrived, the din of chatter resolved into applause.He thought, “I know I have to say something. I’ll make it short. No one likes long speeches. And nothing ungracious. I should be a good boy.”

And he began: "When we play and no one hears it, the music is incomplete. We performers are complete only thanks to you. I am grateful to you.”

Everyone applauded and, although Sam knew that would have been the right time to end his speechlet, the magnetism of an audience compels the true performer to keep performing. So he added, “Honestly, I can’t stand the thought that this will be the last performance of my life.” And he cried.

Just then, a five-year-old in the audience toddled up to him: “Sir. I think my teacher would let you play in my class."

And Sam Roseman went on to play more concerts than he had in his entire life, in preschools and elementary schools---first just locally, then around the country. He never got paid, indeed had to pay all his travel expenses but didn't begrudge it at all: “My daughter’s okay financially. So I can’t think of a better way to spend my money than teaching young kids to love music and that old people aren't irrelevant."

Marty Nemko is a career and personal coach. You can reach him at [email protected]