Wrote on: October 9th, 2008
I expected my piano practice to presume just like every other day.
I am eleven years old at the time, and my piano teacher has just been fired from her previous job since it was no longer as popular around the town as it had once been. Because of that, my piano teacher, Ms. Garris, has now moved her job and her principal investment to her house, where there for the remaining time of my Piano “hobby” I will remember.
To be honest, I have always felt that taking piano lessons is dull and surely uninteresting, especially since I have taken piano for seven years. I find myself remembering that I haven’t complained to my parents much about why I am being forced, every Saturday evening, to go to piano practice and learn the beautiful ways of how to stretch my fingers and hit the right notes with this finger and not that at the right moment to perfectly imitate the way the actual song plays.
The reason for putting up with the tedious deed first started out as just a little girl of seven years old just listening to what her parents had instructed her to do in hopes that the musical lessons will somehow help me in my future. As I came every Saturday to that little, cramped, complex music store, before Ms. Garris had moved her job to her small cozy house, we would more and more often do less practicing, and a little more chatting, the faster she and I grew a friendly relationship.
Now Ms. Garris was a truly kind and smart woman and very talented at playing the piano. She loved to talk and share her thoughts about what problems you have been having and give some advice, or numerous things that have been happening to her, specifically about her children. Ms. Garris was not the healthiest woman though. She was extremely passionate and knowledgeable in her Christianity religion, and would hold her piano recitals at her Baptist church every Christmas.
When she had moved her job to her house, we began to slack off more increasingly and trailing our thoughts out in exchanging words to one another. We had been frequently, one way or another, talking about Christianity the most.
Ms. Garris is responsible for having an impact on my life positively, and in a way negatively, that has changed my life.
I have never in my life, have been to church more than four times at least, and knew slightly about God, and even less about Jesus, other than he was an important idol for Christians. That does not mean I am not Christian to this day.
When she had talked about God and Jesus I would be attentive and would draw my attention to her like a mosquito sniffing out for blood. Since I had not even a grasp of information about God, learning so much about important life lessons and principles the Bible had provided out because of God and his son Jesus was most intriguing, but that wasn’t the only thing she would tell me.
Ms. Garris would tell me frightening stories of how demons would grab hold of people’s lives and even kill people. She would tell me of how she preached and prayed a powerful evil demon out of her own child.
The Bible and the demonic stories changed my way of thinking, and made me transform into a much better person towards others out of fear, and respect for God.
I began acting out of character at school and at home. At night, I would stay up severely late pass twelve shivering and wondering when the demons would come to drag me to hell.
My father had enough of my bitterly quiet nature and nocturnal habits of sleep. My mother had told my father that one evening, after hearing another one of Ms. Garris’ hellish tale during my “piano practice”, I walked to the car from her pebbled driveway in shock and as soon as my mom had began driving the vehicle to home I had cried and began muttering for God’s forgiveness on my unclean soul.
Hearing of this tale had angered my father so much, that he had called Ms. Garris right after that appointment. I still remember the words clearly.
“Hello?” Ms. Garris said.
“Ms. Garris,” my father’s bold tone stated. “I would like for you to know that Miranda Smith will no longer be doing any more piano lessons from you.”
“Why is that?” she questioned.
“My daughter has no more interest in playing the piano,” he said curtly. The anger in his tone could not be heard, but the look in his eyes said other wise.
I went through a three year depression, an extremely dark hole in my pre-teen life, and that has given me to this day quiet a fear called Stigiophobia.
I do not blame nor hate Ms. Garris at all for the affects she had on me, rather I accept all of the memories, even the scary ones.
I am thankful for the things she had told me, because that has changed me as a more concerning, and most understanding person, and has given me a better conscience. That experience has certainly opened my eyes from an illusion to a larger world and made the best out of me be seen.
Every night since I have met Ms. Garris, I always pray to God and Jesus, and that has made me happier.
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