"My first love was music." she said timidly. The class in front of her sat awaiting, expecting. They didn't really understand why her first love would be something that's not really real.The assignment that she was presenting was for the students to tell each other who (or what) was their first love. She stared back uneasily and moved on. "When you love something, you can see it, hear it, touch it, and sometimes even taste it," A few sniggers were heard from the boys in the back. "Yeah you can!" he stage whispered, insinuatingly. She shook her head and went on shakily. "That's how you know Love is real. Love can affect almost every area of the five senses. Even your sixth sense." The teacher interrupted lightly, "What do you mean 'affect'? How can something inanimate do that to you? Or anyone?" She looked back to her paper and found her last reading spot. "Well, you see, music is kind of like a drug. When you start, either you're hooked on it, or you're not. It makes your heart race or slow, makes you feel things you've never experienced before, and see things in a different light. When you listen to music, you hear it. But you also hear it with the part of you that relates to the song. The part that's hurt because of a bad breakup, is angry at the world, the part that just wants to party, or is happy because you're alive and here. That's the hearing part. Seeing, is what those words do to your mind. When you listen to a song that you relate to, or that you like, you can see things in your minds' eye, and imagine how the events in the lyrics might have played out and maybe even use some of your own experiences." The teacher sat there listening contentedly, still a bit confused, and slightly uninterested. The girl was always quiet, never really volunteered in class, and kept mostly to herself. Her mind somewhere else, distant. What could she possibly know about love? He noted that the student kept reading, slowly at first, then gaining confidence. "When you listen to a song that you love, you can feel and/or touch it. You can print out the music sheets for it, write out the lyrics to it, or even create pictures of or about it. But you can also feel it physically as well." she stopped for a breath and continued on. "Have any of you ever been to a concert?" A large majority of the class raised their hands, including the teacher himself. "Then you all understand the feeling of when you are in your seat, jamming out. The pressure of the people in the mosh pit all around you in the very front, all trying to grab hold of the band members because they have something they want: the music. You hear the music, listen to it's ups and downs in the tempo and rythm. You can feet the beat of the bass pounding on your chest or in your feet. The adrenaline rising in your chest and throat, making you belt out the lyrics. You can all say you've felt it before?" She questioned intensely. The teacher was taken aback by her passion on the topic. He scratched his head in thought as he listened to her read on. "And lastly, your sixth sense. The human mind is a complex labyrinth of knowledge, both good and bad. Music is the sort of key to unlocking, accepting and understanding those walls and dead ends. Music is made by humans who are similar to you, and have felt the same things as you and I, and have lived the same lives as you and I." By this time, she'd picked up her tempo, and was practically having a debate with the class. "They know, and we know, and that's why we love it. That's why we love at all." She slowly lowered her voice to a talking volume, and continued to recite from her paper. "That is why music is my first love; because it knows what I know, and I know what it knows, and that makes us the same. The kind of "the same" that makes us equals. That is why music is my first TRUE love. Thank you." She finished in a low quiet tone. The class stared i shock as she regained her composure and manuevered her way back to her seat. "Thank you for that riveting and inspirational essay. We will continue tomorrow starting with Mr. Shafer. Have a nice weekend everyone!" the teacher said as the bell rang. Students collected their items off their desks and ran out the door to leave, but The Student hung behind. She adressed the teacher. "Sir, please don't fail me? I know the essay was biased, but it's the complete truth, and it meets all the requirements." she stammered quickly. The teacher stopped her. Miss, your paper isn't goin to fail. It isn't even going to pass. It will be passed on to the rest of the school faculty and on to the principle." he stated. She sat dumbfounded. "Wh-why?" He half smiled at her, and said: "Because what you wrote not only fit the requirments, but it fit everyone else too. Students are touched by you, and I think you should let them quote 'hear your music' too. They'd like to get to know you." She nodded her head slowly, then surely excusing herself to leave for home. The teacher opened his top desk drawer and rummaged around a bit, and found a small scrap of paper that he wrote on freshman year of high school, so many years ago. It read: 'Music is love, if one can just have a heart.'
-Amber
