A Round of Applause

Melody

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Melody was left without a mother. Three weeks where she had not fully slept and ate only for sustenance. More importantly, it had been three weeks where she did not even look at her viola. Melody's mother had enrolled her in music lessons from the moment she could carry a tune. 

Ballard's School of Music, was the name of the shop where she first began. One day she found herself in a room filled  with various instruments and other families, each with a child around her age. After a short introduction, families were free to roam the room, finding the instrument that best suited each. Parents steering their child towards the instrument they themselves preferred. But not Melody's mother, she let her have her own choice. Some were steered towards the melodic sounds of the piano. The black and white keys working hard to call out their tunes. Others were steered towards what Melody could only describe as a roaring dragon. Deep, strong sounds belting from the movement of dragging hair across the strings. She thought it looked interesting, but there were too many children for her liking. 

On and on, loud brassy clangs, rich lilting notes, and pure dulcet melodies filled the room, as the instructor went around demonstrating technique. Each child finding his or her own sound. Melody continued walking through the room, heading towards the back where no one was around. There she found what looked like a violin. Her fingers plucked the lowest string, producing a low thrum. It looked like a violin, but sounded different. The dark wood reminded Melody of her own skin, and the curve at the end looked like the curls of her hair. At that moment, the instructor came by where she stood.

"Ah. The viola. It is just as important as a violin or cello in any piece, but most do not even know it is there. Not as popular as a violin, or strong as a cello. Would you like to play it?"

From there, Melody and her viola were inseparable. Where other parents had to force  their children to practice, Melody delighted in the moments she could produce a clear note. As she grew, her confidence and her ability grew as well. Her mother was at every recital, ever audition, and could normally be found outside her door as she practiced. A plate of fresh fruit in her hands. The day she received a callback from the most prestigious orchestral ensemble, was the day they found out her mother had cancer. As Melody progressed in her career, her mother's sickness progressed as well. She never let Melody stop practicing for her, telling her the soft sounds of her music was what made her feel alive. 

She had been getting better, but sometimes battles cannot be won. As her mother lay in her bed, supported by blankets and pillows, she uttered her last words.

"Play something for me,"

And so Melody played. She played not a piece that she had memorized or a piece she was learning, but something deep within her heart. As her fingers moved through the strings, tears flowed down her cheek. Her arms shook with the sobs she held in. Not daring to open her eyes yet, so she kept on playing. It was a deep sorrow filled song. Notes that weaved their ways into the hearts of everyone listening, prodding and fracturing with every sound. Holding out the last note, she looked to see a restful smile on her mothers face. 

Her mother opened her eyes one last time.

"You were my greatest masterpiece."

Since then it had been three weeks. No notes, nor sound, had come through the cracks in her window. Neighbors who had grown accustomed to the beautiful wails of the viola only had silence. Melody had not had the courage to even touch her viola. Not wanting to relive the last moments with her mother. The viola called out to her still. Numb was her heart, and she knew the second she played she would feel again. All the pain, all the hurt would crawl back to the surface. But still the viola called. 

Finally she could not stand it any longer. She picked up the viola with her left hand and reached for the bow with her right. Her bow hovered over the strings, not daring to close the gap. 

Her bow grazed the first string. Emitting a high buzz. Strangely, her viola seemed in tune, although no one touched it for weeks. She played the first note, slowly and delicately. More pressure was added to the second note, creating a stronger sound. Note after note she played, recounting the memories she had with her mother.

She started at the beginning. The wistful sounds telling how she used to be afraid of her own instrument. Afraid of making the wrong sound, of emitting a screech instead of a hum. It flowed into the steadiness that her mother brought her. Her encouraging words that enabled her to take the next step in her music. It recounted the tales of her school experience, her ups and her downs. The moments her heart broke over a young love, the moments her mother patched them up. It told of her mothers freedom and determination, of her hard work and her unrelenting love. Melody's fingers moved swiftly between the strings, remembering the ways they used to race towards the ice cream truck. Love and dreams intertwined themselves with her song, harmonizing the perfect sound to which best described her mother. And then entered the soft, crestfallen notes. The ones that told of an incoming sickness, unraveling the very sounds that used to guide Melody's life. Deep, low notes filled the empty house. A house that had been silent for far too long. But out of the sadness came the very thing she was named for. A melody, a melody with a new tone. A tone of hope and longing, one that would not break. Her bow climbed the other strings, reaching the one on top. High notes signaled her desires. While her low notes no longer carried around the sadness, replaced with determination. Her fingers throbbed, softer from the weeks of no use. Although she played alone, she thought she could hear an accompanying ensemble, filling in the spaces of her piece. She opened her eyes to see an audience, and her mother in the front row. The music continued to pour out of her, no more tears left to cry. Her notes carried a vibrato, what was once shaky, now a controlled movement. 

As her piece came to an end, the faces in the audience began to fade. Replaced with the things in her living room. Her mothers face seemed to stay a second longer, then too it faded. Even after she finished playing the last note, it echoed in the silence. 

She could hear the applause from the audience, continuing even after the voices faded. In fact, they seemed to continue too long. Perplexed, she reached for the curtains. Looking out, she saw her neighbors, teary-eyed and smiling. 

Each one was giving her a standing ovation.