For all The Cows

Ch. 1

Being wealthy and having every little thing in the world should be a reason to be happy, right? Well, not in my case. I’d lost it all once I made my choice to follow the only thing that made me happy. Music. I’d lost it all because I’d decided to be happy. My family, friends and most importantly, the person I thought I loved.

You know, living in the outskirts ofLondonand being daughter of the wealthiest man in that town was not the best. Yes,Londonis stunning, and money could really buy lots of things, just not the most necessary to a human being.

I had a huge home. My bedroom alone was as big as my friends flat. I got the car I wanted when I turned sixteen. The best clothes and everything a girl could ever want.

Even though the house was huge and it was full of people, mainly staff and on occasions when mum and dad where home, business partners, it always felt empty to me. All me and my brother had was based on materials. My brother Mathew, or Mattie, as we called him, was 7 years older than me, but we always relied on each other.

When I was six years old, I begged my parents to put me through piano lessons because I had seen an ad on the telly that said ‘…music is the gateway to happiness and a great life.’. I was a quick learner, and my parents were pleased that they weren’t wasting money on me, not that it ever bothered them, as long as I seemed happy.

And as I grew up, I realised that the ad had been right. Music was the only thing that seemed right to me in my oh so miserable life.

I could play lots of pieces on the piano, so when ever we had a fancy event, I was the one who played. Everyone cheered me on and asked me to play some more. I always did though, never resisting the opportunity to let my feelings flow out with the melody as my fingers glided effortlessly across the keys, creating the music that was heartfelt.

As I was growing up though, going to a public school was always an issue. Being daughter of the richest family inLondonalways had people giving me weird stares. I was always known as the ‘spoiled brat’ and it always pissed me off. I’d gotten kicked out of three schools because I got into fights with the kids who thought they knew the way I was living.

By the time I was entering year 7, my parents gave up and enrolled me in a private school. I hated it. Well, for the most part I did.

As the years went by and my situation got worse, music became the only thing that kept me sane. I’d gotten good enough at playing that creating melodies on my own came naturally. I was able to play effortlessly and be able to love every second of it.

My piano instructor was an old man, he had been teaching me for eleven years now. I enjoyed every minute I spent with him, he was like a father to me. One time after he’d given up on an argument about the way I was playing a Guissepe Verdi piece incorrectly, I wondered around the room. I walked over to the record player and set the needle down. Now, I loved music but all I listened to where composers and orchestra music. I had a record player of my own and a full shelf of vinyl CD’s. I’d learned to play all of those pieces so I hadn’t bothered to play the records again.

As the scratch of the needle started the music I was sucked into the lyrics and the melody as the guitar, drums and bass created the sweet sound. I closed my eyes as I stood there, sucked into the song.

‘I've just seen a face

I can't forget the time or place

Where we just meet

She's just the girl for me

And I want all the world to see

We've met, mmm-mmm-mmm-m'mmm-mmm