|“||Do not sing with your mind, sing with your heart. Because only your heart knows the lyrics...||”|
– Madam Joan
I stared at the board, wondering why it wouldn't work. I needed it for my presentation if I was to get higher than a C+ this year in Home Economics. It had worked for everybody else, why not me?! Of course, it was probably the work of Susanna and Julie, my worst enemies. They were sporty girls with top marks in Home Ec. Everyone was jealous of them, and they were jealous of me. Why? I have no freaking idea. They ruin my life, saying no one can be better than them. I tell them I'm not, but they still make my grades go down anyway.
"Violet! Explain why you are not doing your presentation right now!" Mrs Mayes yelled at me, as packed up my books quickly.
"I have a singing lesson, Mrs Mayes. Ummm I'll do it tomorrow!" I yelled back to her, already out the door and running down the corridor.
I sprinted the last few blocks, finally arriving at the music block, out of breath. I breathed in quickl through my nose, and out my mouth. Doing a few more deep breaths, my heart started beating normally again. I walked down to the furthest door, in the whole music block. The music block was grand, with beautiful white tiles, and a giant ceiling. Every music room, and instrument, was clean and top-notch. Everyone but mine...
My music room where I had my lessons was the oldest there, not having been rebuilt once. It was small, only fitting two people, with a small part for the piano. The door handle was rusty and broken, but I didn't mind. The smell of the room was old, musty and unique. Like time had gone by outside of the room, yet the room had stayed the same. I knocked on the door twice and waited.
"Come in Violetta! Le door is open!" Came a clear, beautiful voice from inside and I walked in carefully.
That would be Madam Joan, my singing teacher. She was around thirty years of age, but looked twenty-five or something. She had pale skin, with beautiful, long black hair. She had exotic blue eyes, the color of the sky. She wore dresses normally, and in my opinion, looked like a princess. Today, she was wearing a beautiful blue dress that matched her eyes, going down to her feet. I could see the tip of white slippers, outside of the hem. She had blue earrings on, and a blue diamond necklace. Her hair was tied up, in a beautiful bun, looking oh-so-perfect.
It was no lie that Madam Joan was rich. She had the best clothes, though they were a bit back on the fashion scales. Her gold jewellry was real gold, and she sat with the posture of someone who was taught to sit like that. It was also no lie, that many women were jealous of Madam Joan. Even some teenage girls. Not me, of course.
I wasn't because I knew Madam Joan was sad. She always had a sorrow-filled look in her eyes, and would walk like she had a great burden she was carrying. I never asked though, because I wasn't allowed. All I did was learn the singing programs and sing at the concerts, at this rich, posh school.
"Today Violetta, my beautiful little angel, we will not be singing." She paused and looked at me, smiling gently. "Today, beautiful Violetta, we will be writing."
Madam Joan always had favoured me over her other students, though there was only three of us. I was the oldest, at seventeen, and the one who was always off in fairyland. I wasn't pretty like Debbie Paul, one of her other students or genius-smart, like Robert Stein, her other student. I was plaine jane Violetta De'Pol.
But despite that, Madam Joan made me feel special. Like I was a princess in life, like I was beautiful and smart, like I was the perfect girl. She treated me like a much-loved daughter, and showered me with praise. I blushed under her comments sometimes, but i had slowly gotten used to it. Brushing a piece of red-brown hair out of my eyes, I replied.
"Writing, Madam Joan?" I said, my voice confused.
She chuckled softly and got out a blank piece of paper, and gave me a pencil. She pushes a lock of hair behind my ears and sighed.
"Beautiful Violetta, to sing, you must first have a song. To sing well, it must be your own song. Do not sing with your mind, sing with your heart. Because only your heart knows the lyrics...Write not what sounds the most sensible, but what feels the most right" She then fell silent, and I knew it was my signal to start.
For a while, I did use my mind. I sat there thinking, about rhyming words, about tunes. I thought about chorus' and of cool titles, thinking like clocks ticking away in my mind. After a while though, the thoughts all went away. ANd I wrote, using my heart. The pencil moved across the paper smoothly, writing lyrics from my heart. I knew everything about the song, before it was even finished. When I was finished, I placed down the pencil.
"Sing it for me, beautiful Violetta. Sing me your song.." Madam Joan said, smiling ever so tiny, I could barely even see it.
And so I sang...
"Across the wide waters,
We are apart.
To our sons and our daughters,
We are a piece of messed up art.
To you however and to me,
No one can separate us,
Not even the sea.
So come run with me,
Come love with me,
Have fun with me....."
As I finished the first verse, Madam Joan stood up angrily.
"Le song is not from your heart, Violet!" I flinched, she only called me Violet when I failed her. "Just...Just go, lesson done. Student, dismissed."
I left the room, my shoulders hunched in failure. A clear tear fell down my cheek, and I brushed it away quickly. I realized I still had the paper with my song on it on my hands, my failed song. I scrunched it up quickly, and threw it harshly into the bin, walking faster out of the music block. It was lunch-time, so I headed towards my locker.
My locker was beautiful, well in my opinion it was. It was a metal, like every other locker, but I had painted it white, as you were allowed to decorate your lockers at this school. Over the white paint, was beautiful black music notes,showing the song of "I Believe I Can Fly". Inside, it was the same, except with the music of "My Heart Will Go On". It had taken me months to get it done, when I had came in seventh grade.
I jumped suddenly, as I felt a hand on my shoulder. Then I heard a laugh as I spun around to see Charlotte Grace and Jessica Poole grinning at me. WIP