 #1 (permalink) Sat Jul 18, 2009 14:30 pm Mr. Turner. |
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Mr.Turner was a great singer. Well, at least all of his friends told him that they thought so. All he knew was that he loved to sing to himself whilst working in his little local garage workshop.
He was a lover of opera, and it was then that his friends all agreed that his voice was so good that he really ought to try and get an audition at the local operatic society.
All Mr. Turner knew was that he loved to sing to himself, and he wished that his friends would just let him alone and stop urging him on to what they all called "better things."
But it was all in vain. They pestered and pestered until finally he gave in and agreed to contact the society regarding an audition.
The operatic society were a pompous group, and they didn't want a guy from a local garage to join their "elite" group, so it was decided by the committee that Mr.Turner, if he really wanted to be an opera singer, would have to do an audition before a group of critics in a large auditorium, which he himself would have to pay the hire costs.
Mr.Turner wasn't rich by any standards, and he was about to cancel the whole idea, when he realised that if he didn't go through with this, then his friends would only resume pestering him once me.
Reluctantly he agreed, and an appointment was made to hold the audition the following week.His friends were all delighted to hear this news, and they all assured him that he would easily convince the critics that he was a force to be reckoned with in the world of opera.
The week dragged slowly by, and he had difficulty in sleeping and eating because of his nervousness regarding the upcoming event. But finally the big day arrived and he found himself backstage in the huge auditorium.
He took a peek through the side curtain and saw that the first two rows were filled with critics from all around the outlying districts.
His nervousness increased even more, and if he had been brave enough he would have ran for his very life out of the rear exit, but too many people were present, and he didn't have the nerve to do so.
Finally he took the stage. The smile on his face was frozen there with fear, and the orchestra slowly started the introduction to his performance. He sang his favourite piece, which was just as well he did, as he just couldn't remember the words that were coming from his mouth. Luckily his mind remembered the words and he got through the piece without faltering. The applause from his friends was deafening, but he noticed only a mild reaction from the assembled stoney-faced critics sitting there in the front two rows.
He continued the programme through until the finale and left the stage dripping in sweat.The committee chairman shook his hand and said he had performed adequately, but that they would reserve their decision until such time as the critics delivered their opinions. He added that Mr.Turner would receive their final decision on the following Monday morning by post.
The weekend passed with a flurry of friends calling into the garage to congratulate him on his performance. He himself could barely recall one single moment of the evening, so great had his nervousness been that night.
On the Monday morning he anxiously awaited the postman's delivery. Finally the postman arrived and handed him a buff envelope which bore the crest of the operatic society.
He retired to the rest room to read it in private. The words within were not very complimentary. The critics had found his performance to be well below the standard expected from a member of the society. They suggested that his voice was not capable of the range and tone expected of anyone who appeared on-stage in any of their presentations.
He quietly pocketed the letter and went about his work, his mind reeling from the caustic opinion of his performance.
His friends began calling on him to ask how his performance had been received by the critics, but he just smiled and said nothing.
He vowed to himself that he would never sing again.
He did break that vow eventually, but only when he sang to himself, late at night in the lonely closed garage.
For music was his life, it was not his livelihood, and it made him feel so happy, and it made him feel so good, and he sang from his heart, and he sang from his soul. He did not care how well he sang, it just made him whole.
Kitos.
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 Kitosdad
I'm a Communicator ;-)
Joined: 04 Mar 2009
Posts: 3937
Location: ESSEN, Germany, (but English.)
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