Victoria Martin


Message from Writer

Everyone has a story to tell


September 11, 2019


I lose myself in a memory, in a painful reminder about who I was. Who I wanted to be and how insane it is to think I have come this far from there.
I'm sitting on splinters of wood paneled flooring and pins and needles. My grade nine body trembles earthquakes inside me  and my palms become so clammy I keep them on my kilt to try to absorb the sweat. My crisp new vocal folder is my only protection against the rest of the choir around me. In calls of confusion crossing in a cacophony with those of beckoning I stumble into my group and we begin. What is you name,grade and favorite flavor of ice cream. I struggle to compute theses questions into answers, my newly sleep deprived and coffee strained body is shot and the dream if existence without sleep and 5:00 am commutes finally is getting to my head. Somehow an answer slips out, and as it is acceptable we  move forward in the activity to play pulse with my palms sticking to floor as I try to focus on the game. A game of human knot is played and in exasperation we pretend to win, synchronizing our bellows of triumph to us all letting our hands go. This is the first rehearsal, where is the flood of sheet music, the calls on for solos, being asked to sight read our new pieces? All of my fear starts to absolve itself as we get sectioned of in front of the piano. All one hundred and twenty of us find our places as soprano,alto,tenor and bass.  An eerie oo swells over the crowd and we settle to hear which piece to pull out. 
" Ave Maria,Franz Biebl" our conductors voice requests.
The seniors stand up chuckling to each other and I worry that something is up, but as told I pull out my music thanking my music teacher for having gone over the piece in class.  I wait for our count in and the nearly non-existent upper men choir sings in a beautiful reverberating sound that reaches up and over choir filling me up with sound. I lose myself in listening to the choir around me and try to follow my part but I am too in awe of the sound and feeling around and in me. I never knew I could be apart of something so beautiful, I hear my voice among the hundred and hear it intertwine around and soar above the other voice parts. I feel something I only now realize as a type of reverence, and a realization to keep this with me throughout the following years of my time at school. This was the reason I came here. To create music, not notes. 
I recall this event with melancholy on my mind. So many times have I forsaken myself into thinking that it would be worth it to give this up. Then I remember this moment and the people,and family I have found here and I hear this Ave and I know I have found my home.
Franz Biebl-Ave Maria


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  • WitchyKitty

    Hey! This is super good!!! Thanks for commenting on my contest, you've earned your metaphorical gold star. Just don't let yourself get behind in class, you're such a great writer that I would hate for that to happen to you! Keep writing, and have an awesome day!

    almost 2 years ago
  • MarSan

    The imagery that this creates and the overall feeling of the piece is simply lovely, and spills with hope. I love how you introduced Ave Maria into the story, and match the feeling and style of the piece to that of your writing. Good luck!

    almost 2 years ago