When I was 16, my boyfriend at the time tried to kiss me. We had been dating a few months, and it was time. But right as he leaned in, I started humming. And I didn’t hum a pretty song or anything sweet, but the tune of a pitch pipe set at a low G. With this sound, I opened my car door, got inside and drove away … We broke up. Sorry, Jamie.
That same year, I performed in a talent show, but instead of singing and playing the piano as planned, I forgot my piece while on stage, so I remained silent for two minutes before standing, walking across the whole stage and leaving the auditorium. No worries, though! I came back for the awards ceremony! I lost.
First year at Miami:
I was convinced that these two guys were hitting on me, and I was so nervous about how to talk to them, and I had no idea which one I would go on a date with. When I tried explaining my predicament to them, it became clear that they were gay and interested in each other. They started dating, I stayed single.
At my sister’s bridal shower, sitting next to my mother, I accidentally got drunk on mimosas, because somehow I didn’t think they had alcohol in them (I’m kinda naive). To hide this fact from my mother, my intoxicated brain decided that the smartest thing to do would be to remain stoic and silent throughout the affair, speaking to absolutely no one, no matter how many times they said my name. My mother was concerned for my health and extremely confused, but hey, I think I appeared sober enough.
That same summer, my sister got married, and I was the maid of honor. I brought a guy home for the wedding and to meet my family. He broke up with me between the ceremony and the reception, so I sat alone at the head table, crying. My mother made me dance to “Single Ladies”... alone … literally sobbing ... It was rough. You should see the video. It is hilarious.
Second year at Miami:
I was walking to my oboe lessons in Presser Hall when a 60-year-old man ran over me with his bike. And he didn’t graze me, I mean his bike was totaled by my body. Then he yelled at me for being on the sidewalk. Many people saw, and I heard about a girl “totally wrecked by a bike by S. Patterson Ave” in the following days. It was me. Oh, and I saw him in church that next Sunday.
I fell down one set of stairs outside Benton Hall, and while regaining my balance, I fell down the second set. Go look at the steps. It was bad. Cars slowed, people looked, no one helped. I got up, pretended that nothing happened and went to class, sitting next to a girl who watched my tragic fall. We said nothing about it.