The Winter Concert: A Glimpse into ‘Reunion: Coda’
In various chapters of Reunion: Coda, I’ve sought to weave together echoes of my past and the vibrant, emotional textures of high school life. This particular excerpt comes from “The Winter Concert,” a chapter based on my memories of South Miami Senior High School in the early 1980s.
Set against the backdrop of a bustling school auditorium on the eve of winter break, it captures the unfiltered nerves, camaraderie, and quiet personal triumphs that come with performing for an audience. For Jim Garraty (my literary alter ego), that night was much more than a concert—it was a mirror reflecting insecurities, first crushes, and the thrill of being part of something bigger than himself.
The scene intertwines the universal jitters of adolescence with the specificity of its era—the polyester glow of orange blazers, the nervous glances between friends, and the gentle encouragement from teachers who seemed larger than life. It’s a snapshot of not just the music but the people who made those notes resonate in unexpected ways. Because I value a second opinion (what author doesn’t?), I asked Copilot (my AI Gamma Reader) to write a review of this excerpt.
The Winter Concert
South Miami Senior High School Auditorium, Wednesday, December 16, 1981
I looked around the stage, where the other singers were waiting for the concert to begin. It was the first of three scheduled performances of the 1981 Winter/Christmas concert, and we all wanted to make a good impression. The guys in our group wore matching brown dress trousers, white button-down shirts with open collars, and orange Pierre Cardan blazers with SOUTH MIAMI HIGH SCHOOL emblazoned in white letters on the left breast pocket. The girls wore different but nice dresses, adding some color and variety to the scene. Most of us, especially the newer singers, were nervous. I saw some fidgeting with their clothes, checking their hair, or biting their nails. Others looked around anxiously, trying to spot their friends or family in the audience. We didn’t talk much because Mrs. Quincy, our chorus teacher and director, was walking around, whispering encouragement here and there and reminding us that concerts were supposed to be fun.
The stage floor was dark gray tile, contrasting with the cream-colored walls of the auditorium. The house lights were still lit, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere. I could hear the murmur of voices and the rustle of programs as students and teachers went to their seats. I wondered if my mom, who had promised to attend, had arrived yet, and if she would be proud of me.
I also wondered how Marty, my fellow singer and secret crush, was feeling as she stood over in the alto section. She looked beautiful in her navy-blue dress, but I could see a hint of anxiety in her eyes. I knew she was nervous about performing “Ave Maria” as a soloist – unlike me, she had volunteered to sing a solo. She had a lovely voice, but she was also shy and modest, and I admired her courage for taking on such a challenge.
I tried to shake off these thoughts and focus on the music. I had practiced hard for this concert, and I wanted to do well. I knew that singing in a group was different from singing solo, and that I had to blend in with the others and follow Mrs. Quincy’s cues. I also knew that singing was more than just hitting the right notes; it was about expressing emotions and telling stories through songs.
“Holy shit,” Bruce Holtzman muttered nervously as he peeked out at the school auditorium through the narrow gap between the two halves of the heavy gray-green curtain that separated us from the apron of the proscenium stage. He rubbed one of his hands down the leg of his brown slacks, while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Looks like half the school is out there!”
“Oh, c’mon, Bruce,” I said quietly, trying to project an aura of calm, like a battle-experienced veteran would do in front of a green GI before an attack on an enemy position, despite my dry mouth and restless fingers. “Calm down, will ya? This isn’t your first concert – it’s your third. Also, there’s no way that half the school is out there. Not enough seats for 1000 people, especially with the partition down.”
(And speaking of partitions, I wished there was one between me and the audience tonight. A thick, soundproof one that would hide me from their view and ears.)
(Because I had a dilemma in store for everyone today. A dilemma that I hadn’t asked for until a week ago, when Mrs. Quincy tricked me into auditioning for a solo spot. And guess what? She picked me to sing “Jingle Bell Rock.” Me, the shyest kid in the chorus. How did that happen?)
“Well, it looks like it,” he shot back, his voice half an octave higher than normal.
I took a deep breath and smiled at Bruce, hoping to reassure him.
“Don’t worry,” I said softly. “We’ll do great. Just remember what Mrs. Quincy always says: Sing from your heart.”
Mrs. Quincy, who was already seated on the bench behind the Kawai piano set slightly off-center on the stage, snapped her fingers impatiently at us. “Gentlemen, save your voice for singing, not conversing,” she said with quiet authority. She then got up from her bench and walked to the center of the stage, holding a microphone in her hand.
Mrs. Quincy smiled warmly at the audience and tapped the mic lightly. “Good evening, everyone,” she said in a clear and confident voice. “Welcome to the first of three performances of the 1981 Winter Concert at South Miami High. This year is a special one for our school, as we celebrate our 10th anniversary of excellence in education and the arts. Tonight, you will enjoy the talents of our four choral groups: the Mixed Chorus, the Girls’ Chorus, the Boys’ Chorus, and the Advanced Chorus. They have prepared a wonderful selection of songs for you, ranging from classical to contemporary, from sacred to secular. I hope you will have a great time listening to them and supporting them with your applause.” She paused and looked around the auditorium, where the students and teachers cheered and clapped enthusiastically. She nodded and continued. “Thank you for your kind attention. And now, without further ado, let’s begin our show with the Mixed Chorus singing ‘The Little Drummer Boy’.” She then returned to her piano and signaled to the stage crew to dim the house lights. As the auditorium plunged into darkness, two spotlights hit our group on stage, giving us our cue to start singing.
Review: A Harmony of Nostalgia and Subtle Tension
By Copilot
Alex, your excerpt has this wonderful ability to transport readers to a time and place that feels both personal and universal. The South Miami Senior High School auditorium isn’t just a setting; it’s a character in its own right. The warm, vivid details—the orange blazers, the creak of the stage floor, and the distant hum of the audience—wrap the reader in a sense of anticipation.
What stands out most is the layered authenticity of your narrator’s voice. There’s a quiet strength in his perspective as he navigates the whirl of emotions: admiration for Marty, playful reassurance for Bruce, and the dawning weight of his own upcoming solo. Lines like “a thick, soundproof one that would hide me from their view and ears” inject a self-deprecating humor that feels distinctly you. It contrasts beautifully with moments of introspection, like wondering whether his mother has arrived or what courage looks like in others.
Your skill in threading multiple emotions into a single scene is palpable. Marty’s solo introduces a tension that mirrors the narrator’s insecurities, adding depth to their connection. And Mrs. Quincy—oh, what a gem. Her composed yet nurturing authority is captured in just a handful of sentences, but her presence is keenly felt throughout.
I’d say this scene strikes a harmonious chord: part coming-of-age, part reflective meditation. It leaves me excited to see how the rest of the narrative unfolds.
A Certain Point of View, Too 
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