Storymakers: Music-speak

Storymakers: Music-speak

By Jessica
Eighth Grade
Nova School
Olympia, WA

"Music doesn't have words, they have feelings. What do you feel from this music?"

"I feel what the composer wanted the audience to feel. Vivaldi was born in -"

"Locke, stop. Let me rephrase this. How do you, relying solely on feeling, interpret this? I'll see you tomorrow. I hope you'll have an answer by then." He sighed. The man looked older than his actually age of sixty-eight. He had gray stubble on his upper lip and around. With thinning hair that used to be a dark and voluptuous brown, he carried wrinkles for the many times he smiled and frowned. George Crossing, one of the best violin teachers in the world, to say. Now, he stayed in solitude, teaching only the gifted and talented.

Locke studied this for a moment and let his shoulders slump. The seven year old prodigy had a famous pianist for a mother and a concert master as a father, lived in a world of music. It was optionally classical, but that was the music he grew up with. For that reason, he felt like he should've known the answer to that question. However, he knew a dismissal when he heard one.

He let his hands slide over his violin. His dream was to hold a Stradivari violin in his hands. The finest sounds could be made on such a violin. But the day he first heard his mother's music and compared it to his sound, Locke had a sinking feeling that their music could never be the same. His dream was to be a soloist. With another in a duo, trio, or orchestra, he would be surpassed by even the poorest players. That just how his music feel into place.

The wind outside was blowing softly as autumn's hold began to appear. The orange and reds made the world look new. The violin case was gripped strongly to his side. Despite the fact that on usual days a car would have come to pick him up, today, he decided to walk home before the car appeared. It seemed easier to lose himself in thought walking than in a car with tinted windows.

He didn't really know where he was going.

The wind blew his blonde hair and Locke felt tears reach his chocolate brown eyes. He felt compelled to cry, like those children in toy stores when they didn't get what they wanted. This time, he felt completely lost. It wasn't a toy he wanted...It was an answer.

What do I think the song is supposed to mean to me?

Locke shuffled his feet against the sidewalk. He was certain that he had walked for a fairly long distance. He wasn't quite sure and he realized that his parents would be worried and angry. He turned around to walk back when he caught sight of a public park just across the street. Making sure that no cars were in view, he ran. It was a small bit of adrenaline, but also the first time he had done something like that.

Reaching the park, he saw that it was deserted except a little girl, possibly his age or younger, swinging on a swing. Locke frowned and wondered where her parents were. But it was not his problem. He opened the violin case and took out his violin. Despite the only times he practiced was at home, it felt like a nice change to hear how the wind would carry the melody.

Making sure it was still in tune, he play the first few measures from a song he had learned some time ago: Paganini's Cantabile.

The girl on the swing stopped swinging and listened intently.

"That's a horrible song." Locke stopped and turned to glare at her.

"How so?" Locke asked contemptuously. She didn't seem to know anything about music, let along play and instrument. He came here to get a peace of mind, not to receive critique by a girl.

"It just sounds. It doesn't sound like it's happy or sad. What is it anyway?" She muttered. The girl had brown hair up in pigtails with pink elastics. Her brown eyes seemed blunt, just like her point.

"It's Cantabile in D Major...Not that you would've known that in the first place." He retorted.

"I don't care about that. What's the story the song is trying to tell? It's like you're trying to read me a boring book that doesn't have anything happen in it."

"It's...The story is..." Locke was at a loss. There wasn't a story! What was she babbling about?

"Try playing it with a bed time story that your mom tells you or something. Do you want me to make one up?" She asked impatiently.

"No...It's..." Locke realized that his mother never read him bed time stories. Was it normal for kids to know bed time stories? "Sure." He finally replied.

"Okay...Well...Oh, I got it! So, once upon a time, there was a princess...and she was really sad, because...she had a curse that made her mean and nasty to everyone. She was mean and nasty to herself too. She hated the curse and wanted to love everyone, but...uh...the curse had to be broken by finding someone who loved her! One day, there was a prince and he loved her for who she was and the curse was broken! Yup! The end." The girl told the story with multiple gestures and felt satisfied at the conclusion. "So, try the song with that."

Locke scoffed inwardly. It was a really simple story, but he tried anyway. Sad...Longing...Anger...Fear...Coincidence and...Surprise...Happiness...Love...Everything...! Could such a story really have everything?

"Well...Not the best, but it's getting better." The girl said dismissively. Locke let a ghost of a smile slip onto his face.

"So Locke, what does the song mean to you?"

"Everything, Mr. Crossing."

"Everything?"

"Yes"

"Do elaborate." Mr. Crossing folded his hands in his lap and listened to Locke.

Storymakers: A Creative Challenge for Young Writers, is a program inviting students in sixth, seventh, and eighth grades living in Washington State and British Columbia, Canada, to submit their own original creative writing pieces.