Her hands were clammy, her knees were shaking, and it felt like it was ten degrees hotter than it already was.

It’s crazy, isn’t it? How life can change in an instant?
How we don’t believe it can until it actually does?
Mercy took a deep breath as she opened the door.
A rush of cold air hit her. It was a sudden change from the blazing heat that had just been engulfing her outside, and it felt to her like she had just entered another world.
Which, in a way, she had.
Backstage, there weren’t many lights, but she knew that the few brightest ones were out there, shining down on that one spot...the one spot she would be on.
The other auditioners saw her and started whispering. They all had on expensive clothes...Louis Vuitton this and Dolce and Gabbana that. They were all with their professional trainers their parents had paid top dollar for.
And then there was she.
“Number 18!” The boy who had been eyeing her the most picked up his violin case and walked out, head held high and shoulders back.
She could feel her heart start to pound and her pulse start to race.
She was next.
The man the boy had been standing next to had a stern look on his face as he yelled, “You better remember what we talked about!” She thought of Dorothy and how she wouldn't be yelling at her, but encouraging her. She couldn't believe she'd begun as nothing more than her elderly neighbor. She was not only the one who taught her everything she knew, but she was the one who introduced Mercy to violin.
Mercy remembered how nervous she was first entering her house. She didn't know anything about yard work, but she'd promised to help Dorothy with it...she needed the extra money. She always needed extra money.
Mercy couldn’t forget how understanding Dorothy was after messing up her nice trees the way that she had. Dorothy had taken her inside and asked her why she’d agreed to help with yardwork. She’d listened to Mercy cry as she talked about her parents’ divorce and the money troubles her uninterested dad was facing because of it. She’d talked to Mercy about her own past, and how playing her music helped her deal with it.
And she’d taken out her old violin and started to play.
Mercy could feel her eyes widening. She was astonished at how incredible it sounded, how beautiful and in control Dorothy looked with every movement.
"What piece was that?"
"Ernst's Variations on The Last Rose of Summer."
The piece even had a beautiful name.
"That was...amazing."
She could still see the smile Dorothy gave her as she looked in her eyes and offered to teach her how to play.
And in doing so offered to become her best (and, really only) friend, too.
Mercy looked up at the ceiling as she thought of those events from her childhood. Was there was a heaven, somewhere up there? She wondered. And if there was, would Dorothy be looking down and watching after her as she walked on to that stage and put her heart and soul into something as much as Dorothy had?
“Number 19!”
It took Mercy a while to fully comprehend that this was actually it, it was actually her turn. Well, more than a while. By the time she’d gotten up there, they had been in the middle of calling her number again.
There were three of them, all formally dressed, all giving her a look that told her she hadn’t exactly made a good first impression.
She only recognized one of them. Scott Shire, the man on the left. Mercy had stumbled across an article on him. She read he was a conductor in the Philharmonic, and it emphasized how he had started off from such poor beginnings...beginnings like Mercy’s.     
“Name.” Scott stated, firmly and loudly.
“M-Mercy Thatcher.” She stammered, struggling to unlock her violin case with her shaky hands.
"Name of the piece."
"Oh," she shyly murmured. She could feel her cheeks flushing red. "Ernst's Variations on The Last Rose of Summer."
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss. Thatcher.”
She took a deep breath as she took out the instrument and placed the end under her chin.
They waited...and waited...and waited…
And then Scott Shire repeated, “Whenever you’re ready, Miss. Thatcher.”
Whenever she was ready...then why did she feel so rushed?
She looked up at the lights and realized she was right: they were the brightest ones. She looked to the left off-stage and could almost feel Dorothy standing there, telling her it was all going to be okay and to go for it, like she’d always told her, over and over.
And she began to play.
After the first few notes, she forgot there were even judges there.
This was her sanctuary. She felt so safe in the music yet so free in it, and was soon lost in the familiar piece that always seemed new again each time she played it. With each move, Mercy became even more adrift in her passion and just...played.
And she didn’t stop until Scott Shire spoke up once again. “Thank you, Miss. Thatcher.”
She was a deer in headlights for a brief moment; she was so suddenly taken out of her daze.
When she realized where she was, she nervously bowed and hurried off the stage.
***
They hadn't announced the winners for another few days. But when they did and Mercy saw she got a little golden envelope, she didn't open it right away. This was all she'd been waiting for, but now that it was here, she was scared to death.
Somehow, though, after a few more deep breaths and a couple more minutes of staring at the shiny gold, she found the strength to tear the letter out and read it.
"Mercy Thatcher,
Congratulations! We are thrilled to inform you-"
She didn't read anything else. She didn't need to.
Her heart had stopped.
Her new beginning was about to...well, begin. And she couldn't have been more thrilled.