Hi,
How you doing?
An eight year old girl creates her own special song but then has to perform it for a special audience, for all the wrong reasons.
You can read this story for free below. Inspired by my daughter Tilly who was learning the guitar aged seven and eight.
There are thirteen stories in Us & Them. Listed below.
(Order links after the story).
Stories of Us & Them
One simple song - Dedicated to my daughter Tilly
The price of adventure - Dedicated to Sally Jones and Jenny Corvini
The messiest eater in the world - Inspired by Tilly when she was six
The obligatory obituary (Life after death) - A writing style experiment
Calling time - Dedicated to Michael Sydney Jones
Why did the man with the mullet cross the road? - Based on a true story
The night we should have died - Based on a true story
Formerly known as slut
No egg on his face - Set during World War II
And the wise man said, I can't be bothered
Racing to see the fall of the Berlin Wall - Based on a true story
Revenge is a dish best served warm - Inspired by a reality TV promo
The lost tears of New York - Based on a true story
Download the story as a pdf HERE or read below.
Story trailer HERE
One
simple song
For
my daughter, Tilly
One -
Outside the train station
Clara picked up the
guitar. All of eight years old. She begun strumming. Beauty poured out of her
guitar like a Heavenly light. And yet the small crowd of onlookers could not recognise
the song. Each, in their own thoughts, believed it to be a song they must not
have heard.
Little did they know, that it was
the song’s world premiere. The girl had composed it herself. She began humming.
Her voice merged with the sounds as natural as creek water over rocks. Harmony.
A symphony of one. Her gift to the people. A gift to her dear friend Joshua.
He’s in hospital. He has cancer. He’s only nine. It was both a sad song and a
strangely uplifting one. The people were moved, the girl could tell. One woman
put her hand to her heart, as though to keep it from breaking. The girl knew at
that moment, that she had done well. She had done something good. She had
created a song. Even she, did not know where the tune had come from. She had
been mucking about in her room recently, and the chords seemed to fall together
all by themselves. She knew instantly that she should dedicate it to her
friend, and that she would like to perform it for him. To him. She had grabbed
a pen in haste, as though in danger of forgetting it, and wrote the chords
down. When she was finished, she played it back. It sounded so good, so simple
yet wonderful, that she could not believe that she was its creator. All she
needed was practice, and an audience to test it out on. If others liked it,
then she would perform it to Joshua. He was stuck in the children’s ward where
he had been for weeks now. Felt like forever to her. It must feel very long for
him. Poor boy. Her playmate and best buddy.
At the end of the song, the people outside
the train station clapped. Very loudly. It made her smile. She had played only
once before in public. Her father had stood off to one side to make sure she
was safe. The people had clapped then too, but she got the feeling that they
were clapping for the simple fact that she was a performing child, much like a
performing monkey or dog. She may be young but she wasn’t stupid. She had been
singing cover songs that day. Cyndi Lauper’s, Girls Just Want to Have Fun. The
Beatles, Hey Jude and Katy Perry’s, Roar. She had grown up listening to her
dad’s record and CD collection, so she had a wide knowledge of music from
different decades. She liked some of the older songs best.
A man stepped forward and dropped a
five dollar note into her upturned hat. Wow. She had never received that much
in one hit before. Usually, it was a dollar coin or two at most.
‘Was that your song?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘I thought so. I play guitar too.
The arrangements sounded unusual. I thought it must be an original.’
She smiled.
‘Well done. That’s fantastic.’ He
turned around to the crowd that was beginning to disperse. ‘Original song
folks! She made it up herself! How fantastic!’
She could see the surprise in a few
faces. More people started to come towards her, digging into their wallets and
purses. She looked to her father, who was walking towards her. He had a big
smile on his face. She needn’t have been nervous. Her performance had been a
huge success.
Two -
Inside the hospital
Clara walked in
through the main hospital doors, her father by her side, as he often was but
not always. Her parents had separated when she was five. She spent time with
her mum too but her dad was the musical one in the family. They often played
together.
They walked to the front desk but
had to wait behind two other people. It was very busy. There was a lot of
activity to seize her attention. People were all about, some in a hurry, some
with flowers, clearly visiting, some patients in pyjamas, shuffling along or
being pushed in wheelchairs. When they reached the desk her father said, ‘We
are here to see Joshua …’
She didn’t take much notice of the
instructions. She merely readjusted the strap of her guitar case on her
shoulder. She hoped that he would like her song. She was sure he would. Everyone
else did. It was from her heart. Her soul. Whatever that really meant. It
sounded good. Her father had said how immensely proud of her he was. He was
always saying that. So often in fact, that she had stopped taking much notice.
This time, she believed it.
They made their way along a
corridor until they reached the lifts. They proceeded to the fourth floor and
out into the children’s section. Her breathing was faster. She knew that her
heart must be also beating faster. She was both excited and nervous. She
couldn’t wait to play. And to see the smile on his face. Her old best friend.
She had other best friends but Joshua had been her best friend in Year Two.
They had sat next to each other in class. They played at lunch times. They even
had weekend playdates. He went to her birthday party. She didn’t go to his
because no-one did. It was cancelled. He had become sick. That was the first
time. He did get better. But at the beginning of Year Three, he was sick again.
For a long time, it seemed. Then he came back to school. Even though he was in
a different class, they were still able to hang out together at lunch times.
Play dates didn’t happen anymore as his mum said he was too tired, even though
Joshua said he was fine.
Now it was sickness number three.
He had been stuck in hospital for ages. He must be so bored, as in Year Two,
they were both on the move like chickens with their tail feathers on fire. So,
she had made him this song. Her very first! And what a cracker it was too! Her
dad’s words. A cracker. Ha ha
Her dad reached a doorway. He
looked next to it to check that the room number was correct. He nodded to her
and walked in. She followed. The room was large. It had four beds. A girl was
asleep in one. Opposite, a boy sat in a chair next to his bed, reading a comic.
It wasn't Joshua. A lady, probably his mum, sat on the bed, busy texting. There
was a curtain hiding the next bed. There were a few adults standing about. They
went further into the room. She became aware of the sounds of crying. Her father
slowed. There were people around the final bed. Adults. Teenagers too.
Her father stopped. He put out his
hand to stop her from getting closer. Through a gap of people, she could see
part of the figure in the bed. She leant to the left to get a better view. It
was a boy, with his head to the side. His face was very thin. Very white.
Joshua’s age. Asleep. A wire was attached to his arm. Another to a clip on his
finger. A lady, the one that was crying, quite loudly in fact, slumped down and
covered the boy’s body with her own.
Clara’s father took her arm and
tried to pull her back.
‘Dad, don’t,’ she said.
The nearest people looked around at
them.
Clara thought the boy looked
familiar. ‘Dad?’
He let down and whispered, ‘We
should go. This is not a good time.’
‘But I want to see Joshua,’ she
said, too loudly, as more people looked around at them, including the lady, her
face red and glistening from tears. She frowned. Then reached out to Clara. It
was Joshua’s mum.
It was only then that Clara
realised what was happening. She took a step back. Then another. All of the
people were looking at her now. All except one. The sleeping boy. Who was not
asleep at all.
She turned and ran from the room.
Three
- At the service
Seven days later, she
sat in the church pew, listening to the priest, but not really hearing or
understanding what he was saying. He was talking like it was all normal. Just
another day. Everyone else too. They were all so quiet. Well dressed. Not
smiling. She didn't understand any of it. Was Joshua really dead? Was this all
for him? How could a kid die? He wasn't fat or lazy or anything like that. He
was healthy. He did exercise. Well, usually. Maybe not this year so much. He
was already sick by then. It just didn’t make sense.
She sat like that, her head full of
thoughts, as different people, she assumed from Joshua’s family, came up to the
microphone and spoke. The words sounded like something out of the Bible. She
wondered who they were talking about. Some of it sounded like Joshua but most of
it didn’t. Maybe she was the only one who knew him properly. Nothing had been
better than last year. They’d had so much fun. They were the closest of
friends. Now that it was all over, she wondered if she would ever have anything
like it again.
Her father nudged her. ‘Off you go
sweetie. Just relax. You’ll be fine.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes. Take your time. Remember, it
doesn’t have to be perfect, okay?’
She stood. She began moving out of
the aisle, edging past people’s knees. She was aware of the silence. So many
people. Hundreds. She felt like they were all watching. She kept her eyes to
the floor. She abruptly felt very alone.
She walked to the front and up onto
the platform that was like a stage but wasn't. A chair, her guitar on its stand
and a microphone awaited her. She sat. She picked up her guitar from its stand.
Her breathing was fast. Someone coughed. She placed her fingers on the C chord.
She looked to the people. She saw Joshua’s family in the front row. Some were
looking at her, but not the parents. She was glad for that. She looked to her
dad. His familiar face made her relaxed.
She strummed and the song began.
She looked to the strings, concentrating on the chord changes. Suddenly, the
music took her over. She forgot where she was. All there was, was the song. And
Joshua.
‘Ohh my friend. My best friend.’
The words spilled out.
‘I will miss you to the end.’ She
hadn’t written lyrics.
‘Joshua. I miss you.’ The words
slotted in naturally to the music, like slipping on a t-shirt that fitted
perfectly.
‘We had fun. Ohhhh, so much fun.’
Her eyes were closed.
‘I was number two. You were number
one.’
She strummed and hummed. And when
she reached the end, she played the chorus once more, repeating the words, as
though they had always been there.
After the last strum, as the sound
dissolved into the air, she leant closer to the microphone and whispered, ‘I
love you, Joshua.’
She placed the guitar back into its
stand, stood and walked back down the aisle. Joshua’s parents were looking at
her. Faces full of tears. Most people were looking at her, if not all of them.
As she continued walking, she noticed that many others were crying too. It
seemed that every second person was. When she reached the aisle, the people
stood up to let her in. They hadn't stood to let her out when she first went
up. Some touched her back or her shoulder, as she shuffled past, as though she
was special. It made her feel like she had done something worthwhile. That
Joshua would be happy. He was smiling right now.
She reached her dad. His face was
wet too. She sat and he hugged her. ‘You did really good Clara. I'm so very
proud of you.’
end
Order print copy on Amazon UK
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Order Book signed/inscribed HERE
Makes for a perfect Christmas gift!
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Please help me out with this one. I'm taking a break now. It'll be the last book for sometime. At least 2024.
Have a good week.
Peace
Anthony
