one scoop of cheesecake
Title: The Violin Lesson
Author: angst_flangst
Story: The Gorgon
Flavors: Cheesecake #24: On a bright cloud of music, shall we fly?
Word Count: 524
Summary: It all started with the violin lesson.
Notes: To check out my other works, click on the tag of my name (angst_flangst). Thanks, and enjoy. :) By the by, do you think that girls' boarding schools in 1860's England would teach the violin? I can't find anything on Google.
"You could go a bit faster, you know."
The girl's eyes flicked to me as she continued her deliberate pace. "I could indeed," she said, "but I choose not to. I believe music should be played slowly, so that everyone can savor it."
I raised my eyebrows. "And if the piece is meant to be energetic, what do you do?"
"I play it at the slowest quick pace I can."
I had no answer to this, and so I said, "What is your name again?"
"Clara," she said. "Clara Downer."
"Well, Clara Downer, do you always say such odd things?"
She thought for a moment. then responded, "It isn't odd, it's simply how I speak and think."
I fell silent. Her soft slowness blended wonderfully with the frantic paces of the other girls. She was like the eye of a storm, that small piece of calmness amid chaos. I listened to her, letting the notes sink into me, pretending to play as Miss Morris, the instructor, swept up and down the aisles.
"I do believe I agree with you, Clara Downer," I said after our lesson.
"What do you agree with?" she asked. "I say several agreeable things everyday, I simply can't keep them straight."
I laughed. She was quite witty, this one. "I'm beginning to like you, Clara Downer."
"And I you, um..."
"Eliza--Betsy. Betsy Kemp."
"Yes, I quite like you, Eliza Betsy Betsy Kemp."
***
"I will now hand it over to Miss Elizabeth Kemp, Clara's greatest friend." Mr. Downer, Clara's eldest brother, stepped off of the podium and gestured towards me. Shakily, I stepped onto the podium, shuffled my notes, and cleared my throat. I gazed out at the crowd, at the small orchestra, at the coffin lain before me. For a moment, I couldn't speak. My throat felt tight. But I thought of her, and how wonderful she had been, and I knew I had to honor my dearest friend.
"Clara Downer taught me many things over the course of our friendship. Some of them philosophical, others purely for academic reasons. One of the best things she taught me was back four years ago, on the day of our first meeting during our violin lesson. She told me that music should be played slow and soft, so that every part of it could be savored. I soon learned that was how she was in everything, from schoolwork to her relationships. She often reminded me that life was too precious to mess up. And..." I swallowed hard. "She did not mess up with me. She was like a sister to me." Tears sprang to my eyes. "I hope that she is looking down on me now, for she certainly made it to heaven, and she's smiling because she knows her life was the best it could have been. Because she--" My voice cracked. A soft sob escaped my lips. I stared at the ground, unable to go on.
A hand fell on my shoulder. It was Mr. Downer. Tear streaks crisscrossed down his cheeks. "Thank you, Elizabeth," he murmured.
"Thank you, Eliza Betsy Betsy Kemp," she called down from heaven. "Thank you."
Author: angst_flangst
Story: The Gorgon
Flavors: Cheesecake #24: On a bright cloud of music, shall we fly?
Word Count: 524
Summary: It all started with the violin lesson.
Notes: To check out my other works, click on the tag of my name (angst_flangst). Thanks, and enjoy. :) By the by, do you think that girls' boarding schools in 1860's England would teach the violin? I can't find anything on Google.
"You could go a bit faster, you know."
The girl's eyes flicked to me as she continued her deliberate pace. "I could indeed," she said, "but I choose not to. I believe music should be played slowly, so that everyone can savor it."
I raised my eyebrows. "And if the piece is meant to be energetic, what do you do?"
"I play it at the slowest quick pace I can."
I had no answer to this, and so I said, "What is your name again?"
"Clara," she said. "Clara Downer."
"Well, Clara Downer, do you always say such odd things?"
She thought for a moment. then responded, "It isn't odd, it's simply how I speak and think."
I fell silent. Her soft slowness blended wonderfully with the frantic paces of the other girls. She was like the eye of a storm, that small piece of calmness amid chaos. I listened to her, letting the notes sink into me, pretending to play as Miss Morris, the instructor, swept up and down the aisles.
"I do believe I agree with you, Clara Downer," I said after our lesson.
"What do you agree with?" she asked. "I say several agreeable things everyday, I simply can't keep them straight."
I laughed. She was quite witty, this one. "I'm beginning to like you, Clara Downer."
"And I you, um..."
"Eliza--Betsy. Betsy Kemp."
"Yes, I quite like you, Eliza Betsy Betsy Kemp."
***
"I will now hand it over to Miss Elizabeth Kemp, Clara's greatest friend." Mr. Downer, Clara's eldest brother, stepped off of the podium and gestured towards me. Shakily, I stepped onto the podium, shuffled my notes, and cleared my throat. I gazed out at the crowd, at the small orchestra, at the coffin lain before me. For a moment, I couldn't speak. My throat felt tight. But I thought of her, and how wonderful she had been, and I knew I had to honor my dearest friend.
"Clara Downer taught me many things over the course of our friendship. Some of them philosophical, others purely for academic reasons. One of the best things she taught me was back four years ago, on the day of our first meeting during our violin lesson. She told me that music should be played slow and soft, so that every part of it could be savored. I soon learned that was how she was in everything, from schoolwork to her relationships. She often reminded me that life was too precious to mess up. And..." I swallowed hard. "She did not mess up with me. She was like a sister to me." Tears sprang to my eyes. "I hope that she is looking down on me now, for she certainly made it to heaven, and she's smiling because she knows her life was the best it could have been. Because she--" My voice cracked. A soft sob escaped my lips. I stared at the ground, unable to go on.
A hand fell on my shoulder. It was Mr. Downer. Tear streaks crisscrossed down his cheeks. "Thank you, Elizabeth," he murmured.
"Thank you, Eliza Betsy Betsy Kemp," she called down from heaven. "Thank you."