Page 91 of Echoes of a Silent Song
What was their address?My rejection letter was probably still in my room somewhere.I rounded the corner and went down the hall to my room.Maybe my desk?
I moved a pile of papers, and in the process I knocked over the little bottle of pills.
Right.Those pills.
I needed to start taking them again.
Victor thought I suspected him of lying to me, of using me, because I’d stopped taking the pills.If I went back on them, that would show him it had nothing to do with the pills.
Let’s see ...how many days had it been since I’d taken them?Two ...three ...four ...Four days.
I was supposed to take two a day, so ...wow.That’d be eight pills.
That seemed like kind of a lot.But I had to get caught up, right?Had to get my brain back in working order.
Maybe if I just took half.I could take the other four tomorrow, and then I’d be all caught up.
I picked up the bottle and squinted to read the little label.May cause drowsiness.
Well, it was almost bedtime anyway.Maybe a good night’s sleep would be just the thing.
I had a glass of water on my nightstand, so I downed it along with the pills.Thank goodness they were small.
Okay.That was out of the way.Now I needed to find the rejection letter from Whitehall so I could get the address.
Oh.There.In the desk drawer.I carefully printed the address on the envelope I’d retrieved from my father’s study, then sealed and stamped it.
The music was getting louder in my heart.More insistent.
I’m sorry, Melody.Apologies, Harmony.I’ll pay attention to you soon, I promise.But you represent my new life, and I have to start it on the right foot.
I went downstairs, slipped out the front door, and hurried down the sidewalk.It was cold out, because of course it was.This was the part of the year when it seemed like spring would never come.But the tree in the front yard boasted tiny buds.
Spring would be here soon.We just had to hold on.Be patient.
I whispered a brief prayer and slid the letter into the mailbox.As soon as I did, I felt ten pounds lighter.Whitehall would know the truth now.Whether it made any difference or not, whether it meant Victor didn’t get to go anymore, whether it meant neither of us did, I couldn’t control.All I could do was the right thing.And telling the truth was the right thing.
Back in the warmth, I hurried upstairs to my room and sat down at the desk.
Thank you for your patience, Melody.Much appreciated, Harmony.And thank you, God, for these new ideas.Let’s get to work.
As usual when I composed, I lost track of time.The notes seemed to pour from my heart to the tip of my pencil and onto the page.Notes of worship.Of repentance for placing Victor on the throne that belonged to God.Of gratitude for the second chance he’d given me, of the planshe had for my life.I erased, revised, and rewrote until what was written on the paper matched what I heard in my head.
After writing the soprano line, the main melody, I felt a little dizzy.An annoyance, though.Nothing debilitating.Barely noticeable.I sipped some water and kept going.
The harmonies filled in nicely.The first page was done.As I turned to the second page, though, I noticed my fingernails looked a touch blue.
Blue?That had never happened before.
Must’ve just been the cold.Or maybe I’d been gripping the pencil too hard.Cutting off circulation.I tried to relax my grip, but my hand wouldn’t cooperate.
I didn’t know what was going on with me, but I needed to finish this piece before I could pay attention to anything else.Melody and Harmony could be unrelenting taskmasters, but the work was so lovely, so enjoyable, that I didn’t mind at all.
And this piece ...this piece felt important.Something about it was absolutely crucial for me to write down.The notes burned in my heart, dying for an escape onto the page.I wrote and wrote and wrote, and when I’d fully harmonized the first phrase, I wanted to cheer like crowds do when their team scores a touchdown.
This piece was ...It wasgood.
I rarely thought that about my own work, but this time it was undeniable.This piece was even better than “I Am My Beloved’s.”
