The Sound of Philly
Page 1
The Sound of Philly
Brandon M. Bird
Copyright Brandon M. Bird
Copyright 2013 Brandon M. Bird
The Sound of Philly
“Life without music, is like life with no soul. Gray, boring and hard like a rock.” Philly stated to her friend, Rebecca. “How can anyone live without music? Music is an energy all in itself, and fills the atmosphere with life. Music is just as important as air or water or nutrients.”
“I guess” Rebecca replied. “I just never really got into music. It is alright, I just have other things to do I guess.” She paused, seeing Philly stare at her. “I'm sorry, I just don't understand what you see and feel with music.”
Philly released her stare, and sighed, looking down a little. “No, it's alright. You don't have to apologize. I'm just being weird is all.”
“Alright. Well, I better get to class.” Rebecca spoke up, not wanting silence at this. Just then, the school bell rang to indicate ten minutes until class. “See you around, Philly.”
“See you.” Philly responded, looking a bit disappointed. She picked up her things from the cafeteria table, situated them to carry easily, and began to walk towards her class. Thoughts of how no one seemed to understand how she saw music, no one seemed to truly understand her. She felt alone again, sadness filling her. Thoughts of her long lost friend's violin playing. The soothing music he had played for her. She remembered the last song he played, before he died in a car accident. It was a joyous melody, soothing, bringing hope, and joy. She remembered how she danced around the room, like she was living in the music that was a world surrounding her of imagination, filled with life, and color and absolute wonder.
She gave a sigh of sadness as she remembered when she heard the news he had died. Her world sunk. She couldn't believe it at first. Even when she saw his body at the viewing, she still couldn't let herself believe it happened. She couldn't believe her friend Andrew had died.
After the funeral, when she had been back at home, she couldn't help but imagine him knocking on the door at any minute, coming in with his violin to play her a song, a happy song, to celebrate that he had some how survived. But no knock came. Week after week, she waited in her room, hoping he would come, like he did most days, but he never showed up. After a few months, she accepted he was gone. But would never forget him.
She found herself hating music for a long time. Almost two years before she began to allow the music back into her life. When she did let it come back, it was scary at first, strange. She hadn't let herself listen to anything for so long, and what she felt when she heard the music and the songs, made her feel pain, pain in remembering her friend, but also peace, in hearing others who understood aspects of her life. Even if they were few, and spread out, and most only seemed to understand a portion of her life, it was something that still gave her a little peace, a little comfort in knowing someone understood some of how she felt.
After a great many months, she began to get a hold of everything she could. Everything, that is, except for violin pieces. She couldn't bear to be reminded of his music. She had accepted the others, but the violin, that was sacred, that was to be untouched. And even though his death happened four years ago, when she was nine, she still couldn't bring herself to listen to a violin, fearing she would just break apart into a million quarter notes and half notes that would string themselves thin along the staff. She could almost hear what her life would sound like if she broke this moment.
“Don't!” Philly said out loud to herself at these thoughts. She was telling herself to stop thinking about the past, the hurt. She couldn't bear it. She felt her heart ache like being in a room filled with a dozen trombones playing at once, matching the frequency of her heart, causing it to ache in pain. She put her hand over her heart, as if to hold it, when suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, she startled a bit as she looked up.
“Are you alright, Philomena?” It was the music teacher, Mr. Caldwell. She froze, hoping he didn't hear her speak aloud to herself.
“Uh, y-y-yeah. I-I'm fine, why?” She asked hesitantly, afraid of what he might say.
“Well, I just noticed you seem a bit down, and...” The three minute school bell rang, interrupting him.
“I-I'm sorry, I need to get to class.” Philly said. Mr. Caldwell lifted his hand from her shoulder.
“Alright. See you in fourth period, Philomena.” Philly gave a sigh of relief after she had traversed enough distance from him. She held her books to her chest to try to settle her heart down from the shock, terror, fear, and pain that now resonated within it. She couldn't stand someone finding out about how she felt. How could anyone know her pain? How could anyone ever understand? No one understood her love of music, or what she sees and feels when she listens to it. How could she expect someone to understand the pain of losing someone so close like she did too? She felt like the only note on an entire sheet of music.
'Why do I have to be alone?' Her thoughts as she opened the door to her classroom. And like every morning, she went to sit down in her history class seat. As she sat, she tuned out the noisy classmates who were sitting on desks, throwing things around at each other, and laughing and talking while waiting for the class to start. She was in her own little world, silence filled her mind as she placed her books and book bag on her desk in front of her.
Something different happened this day, though. As she sat, and situated her belongings to her regular comfortable arrangement, she came out of her world, to listen to the sounds of the other students. To her surprise, she jerked her head to the right. But she did not show how startled she was at this movement, instead, she tuned into the students. She watched them as they laughed amongst themselves, as they threw things at each other for fun. 'Why don't they seem to be alone? Why do they all have a friend to talk to and laugh with? A friend who can understand them in full. Why can't I have that?' She watched as more students piled in the classroom in the last minute before class started. Some of them tossed their stuff onto their desks and then quickly joined in a conversation with others, while some didn't even put their stuff down before getting involved with a play fight. She did notice there were a few students that seemed to be like her though. They sat down quietly and organized their books and things neatly. They waited silently for the bell to ring, some of them even seemed to observe the other students like she was doing. 'Why have I not seen this before? Have I never looked?'
The class bell rang, and the teacher walked in the door. The students quickly took their seats and organized their belongings and sat straight up, as if they were paying full attention. Out of habit, Philly did the same, but as she noticed her attention divert from the students to the teacher, she forced herself to look back to the students again, to get one last glimpse of the rest of the kids she could see, to try to read their faces. As she tried to read them, she saw notes of music in their faces. Like their faces were speaking music to her. She could almost feel what they might sound like, when her teacher, Mrs. Delainey, spoke to the class to tell them to open their books to page two-hundred and twelve.
Philly opened her book to the proper page, and saw that the topic for today was the Civil War. At first, she glanced at her classmates, trying to hear their music in her mind, as she could see them, to see what she could understand about their life by the sound of their faces to her. But this stopped when she heard how those in the civil war had to kill people they knew sometimes. This struck her, and grabbed her full attention. She couldn't imagine being in a war, that would cause people to separate, and kill those they knew, family and friends, acquaintances, or even strangers, but the most hitting part, was how sometimes, family members would be on different sides, and fought against one another.
At this thought, s
he began to hear music, sad music. Her world turned to black, and then slowly filled with yellows and browns. Dull colors began to shape up. She could see a field, and two sides of people readying for battle. The faded colors danced around as the music played in her mind, playing the song that she felt for such onslaught that would come.
As the battle was about to begin, the music intensified. Drum beats began to beat faster. Trumpets held longer notes. The anticipation of the battle was immense, and Philly could feel her heart beating to the drums.
As the armies began to battle, Philly began to spot individuals. As she saw each individual, each one had their own music to be added into the background of the music of the scene. Like their music, though not as loud as the scene's music, not as quick, still was