Short Story
I guess by looking at me you wouldn’t see much there. Just a girl with straight, brown locks to her shoulders. Just a girl who wears jeans and a tee shirt every day. Just a girl who, if you looked closely enough, has such translucent skin that you can see her blue veins playing tag across her face.
I don’t really mind it though, being plain that is. But then sometimes I look so deep into myself I see that I’m not actually that plain. My fingers, for example, can play amazing beats on a set of drums without even thinking about it. Not that I know, of course. People tell me. I have never heard myself play.
It’s easier that way though, not being able to hear. It’s easier to just be told you’re great and never suspect a thing. It’s easier to be ignored than to be in the spotlight. Because all I know is that when I’m hitting those skins, I can feel the animal it once was. I feel its scrambled thoughts course through my body. I think in a way, those dead skins speak more to me than to anyone else.
When I was little I used to be angry at myself. I didn’t know why I was so different and I didn’t like how I had to learn three languages; written English, sign and lip reading, while the other kids only had to struggle with one as a whole. I was always alone because all the other kids didn’t talk to me. They didn’t know how.
But one day our school had an assembly for the younger grades. It was held so a man could teach us how to drum. I never told him, even though he became my teacher for a short while, but I always thought he had the most beautiful face I had ever seen. His skin was like a dark, cocoa leather and his eyes were the most amazing gold colour. I imagined his voice would match his face perfectly.
As he was handing out drums to everyone and got to me a teacher beside me said something about it being useless anyways, I wasn’t quite sure. But he insisted on letting me try. I was so happy he allowed me to be one with the rest of the assembly.
We started out with simple beats, just a few hits on the skin at equal intervals. The children were surprised I could time it as well as them. That was the first time I heard a dear in my head before. Well, I didn’t so much hear it but see it leaping through the forest. Then we progressed onto harder beats. Finally, he took back the drums and said he needed volunteers to help him with the next thing he was going to show us. I was so excited I put my hand up right away, itching in my seat. I only wanted to be up there with those beautiful instruments and nothing more. He saw my eager face and picked me. I walked up to the smallest drum there and stood before it. His eyes showed that he was impressed with my choice.
After the other kids were chosen he started, encouraging us to join in wherever. The other children joined right away. I could see they were beating out terrible, disjointed rhythms that held no feeling. I still waited, though. I could feel the vibrations. Finally I saw the right moment and my hands just wouldn’t stop. They moved about like something was possessing them and I saw a wild chase from the eyes of some sort of animal.
Around that time everyone stopped to stare at me. But my hands would not cease. My body was twisting and jerking around with every smack in a wild way.
Then I finished.
I think they all clapped, but I couldn’t be sure because I fainted.
After I woke up the man with the beautiful face was there. He took my hands in his and said to me. “These are the hands of a true drummer, and one day you will surpass even me. I would like to teach you.”
I was only eight at the time and didn’t really understand what he was saying, but I nodded anyways, anything to be around this man.
He taught me until I was fourteen. Then he left, he said he had taught me all he could and was going to travel to find a new student. I cried when that happened, but I couldn’t say that I didn’t understand.
In the following few years I was in a band and played the drums with sticks. But I did not feel natural and couldn’t stand the jittering crowd that was always so close to the stage. During that period I never once saw from an animal’s point of view. I quit after the band made it big and didn’t play for months; I had sold all of my old drums to buy a drum set.
Soon my parents became worried at my depressed state and restored my former collection to its full magnificence for me. They said they missed seeing me so free.
I’m finishing my first year at college, I’m majoring in music but I doubt I’ll be able to go anywhere with it once I get my degree. It doesn’t matter anyways; everyone says I’ll be able to do whatever I want with my life if I release an album. They think I’ll be rich one day.
I don’t care if that ever happens or not. Because all I’ll ever be is a girl with brown hair. I’ll only ever be that girl with a wardrobe filled with tee shirts and jeans. You’ll only ever see veins chasing each other across my face. And I’ll always be more complicated than anyone cares to understand.
I wrote this because a spurt of inspiration spurred me on! I have only looked it over once and didn't edit anything but spelling mistakes.
---
Liz!
I don’t really mind it though, being plain that is. But then sometimes I look so deep into myself I see that I’m not actually that plain. My fingers, for example, can play amazing beats on a set of drums without even thinking about it. Not that I know, of course. People tell me. I have never heard myself play.
It’s easier that way though, not being able to hear. It’s easier to just be told you’re great and never suspect a thing. It’s easier to be ignored than to be in the spotlight. Because all I know is that when I’m hitting those skins, I can feel the animal it once was. I feel its scrambled thoughts course through my body. I think in a way, those dead skins speak more to me than to anyone else.
When I was little I used to be angry at myself. I didn’t know why I was so different and I didn’t like how I had to learn three languages; written English, sign and lip reading, while the other kids only had to struggle with one as a whole. I was always alone because all the other kids didn’t talk to me. They didn’t know how.
But one day our school had an assembly for the younger grades. It was held so a man could teach us how to drum. I never told him, even though he became my teacher for a short while, but I always thought he had the most beautiful face I had ever seen. His skin was like a dark, cocoa leather and his eyes were the most amazing gold colour. I imagined his voice would match his face perfectly.
As he was handing out drums to everyone and got to me a teacher beside me said something about it being useless anyways, I wasn’t quite sure. But he insisted on letting me try. I was so happy he allowed me to be one with the rest of the assembly.
We started out with simple beats, just a few hits on the skin at equal intervals. The children were surprised I could time it as well as them. That was the first time I heard a dear in my head before. Well, I didn’t so much hear it but see it leaping through the forest. Then we progressed onto harder beats. Finally, he took back the drums and said he needed volunteers to help him with the next thing he was going to show us. I was so excited I put my hand up right away, itching in my seat. I only wanted to be up there with those beautiful instruments and nothing more. He saw my eager face and picked me. I walked up to the smallest drum there and stood before it. His eyes showed that he was impressed with my choice.
After the other kids were chosen he started, encouraging us to join in wherever. The other children joined right away. I could see they were beating out terrible, disjointed rhythms that held no feeling. I still waited, though. I could feel the vibrations. Finally I saw the right moment and my hands just wouldn’t stop. They moved about like something was possessing them and I saw a wild chase from the eyes of some sort of animal.
Around that time everyone stopped to stare at me. But my hands would not cease. My body was twisting and jerking around with every smack in a wild way.
Then I finished.
I think they all clapped, but I couldn’t be sure because I fainted.
After I woke up the man with the beautiful face was there. He took my hands in his and said to me. “These are the hands of a true drummer, and one day you will surpass even me. I would like to teach you.”
I was only eight at the time and didn’t really understand what he was saying, but I nodded anyways, anything to be around this man.
He taught me until I was fourteen. Then he left, he said he had taught me all he could and was going to travel to find a new student. I cried when that happened, but I couldn’t say that I didn’t understand.
In the following few years I was in a band and played the drums with sticks. But I did not feel natural and couldn’t stand the jittering crowd that was always so close to the stage. During that period I never once saw from an animal’s point of view. I quit after the band made it big and didn’t play for months; I had sold all of my old drums to buy a drum set.
Soon my parents became worried at my depressed state and restored my former collection to its full magnificence for me. They said they missed seeing me so free.
I’m finishing my first year at college, I’m majoring in music but I doubt I’ll be able to go anywhere with it once I get my degree. It doesn’t matter anyways; everyone says I’ll be able to do whatever I want with my life if I release an album. They think I’ll be rich one day.
I don’t care if that ever happens or not. Because all I’ll ever be is a girl with brown hair. I’ll only ever be that girl with a wardrobe filled with tee shirts and jeans. You’ll only ever see veins chasing each other across my face. And I’ll always be more complicated than anyone cares to understand.
I wrote this because a spurt of inspiration spurred me on! I have only looked it over once and didn't edit anything but spelling mistakes.
---
Liz!