This was what we’ve been working for. All those long after school practices would pay off here. I sat, anxious, with 93 other concert band students. Looking around, I could see the multitude of uniform M&M ties on top of white collared shirts, neatly tucked into black pants. A smile hit my face as I realized my place in this group. We were all the same- no one was more important than any other- and I felt like I truly belonged.
Today didn’t feel like our other concerts. Instead of performing at the Pearl City Cultural Center, Moanalua’s Music Department chose the Neil Blaisedell Concert Hall. This is where the best perform: traveling broadway shows, Honolulu Symphony, and the Hawaii Opera Theater. Sitting on the stage was literally the best seat in the house, we were the staring talent, and we had earned it.
At about 5:00, the curtains rose. Slowly and steadily the red barrier between the audience and us disappeared. There, sat over 2,000 people, eager to listen. We began with a light march, “El Capitan.” Soon after, our band rolled into the Scottish sounds of “Green Hills Fantasy.” We ended our performance with the sentimental selections from “Mancini Spectacular.” Just as we rehearsed, the elements of music were performed exactly.
It felt great that we did our best that night, and I talked to my friends on the way out of backstage. Instead of sitting in the audience to watch my friends in orchestra and other band classes, as I had planned, I saw my family waiting for me right outside the back door. There was a brief congratulations on my performance, but it some how didn’t seem...right. I really wanted to see my friends play, as some had come to see my band; Mom said no. I didn’t understand why, but it seemed as if they were all in a hurry to get somewhere.
The sky grew darker, changing into night as we drove on. A right, a left, then another left, which turned out along side a park. This route seemed too familiar to me. Another right turn. We arrived at the newly constructed “old-people” home in Millilani. Getting out of the car and getting on the elevator to the 2nd floor was a blur. Time just seemed to stop. My body kept moving briskly forward, yet my brain couldn’t comprehend the situation. My aunty quietly greeted us outside the door, gave my mom a quick nod, then a hug.
We rushed in to the dimly lit room. He was there- not fiddling with his hearing aid, not worrying about gout, not having a hard time breathing. In fact, he wasn’t breathing at all. He was just still. My Kung Kung, my grandpa, was gone.
Refusing to believe any of it, I sank into the chair. It seemed like he was just sleeping. I should, though, have known, by the way the man, standing on the far end of the room, I had never seen before was holding a Bible. I should have known by the way my aunty greeted us outside the care home with teary, red eyes. I should have known when my Mom started rushing me out of the concert hall.
As I numbly sat there, someone explained what had happened to me. Kung Kung was having a hard time breathing this morning, in his ailing conditions. He passed peacefully in his sleep, just about two hours before. Two hours...I looked at the clock. Two hours ago was 5:00. Two hours ago I had just started to play in the concert. Kung Kung had been there, even though it wasn’t in human presence. He heard me play, and this time, it wasn’t through his hearing aid, but by his own ears. I had felt something during the concert, but at the time I only thought it were the nerves of playing in front of a bigger audience.
I even though I was sad, I wasn’t afraid. Kung Kung was one of the key people that helped me to grow as a person, especially throughout my intermediate school years. This was my chance to let go of him, yet still hold fast to the many memories we shared.
