[`·.] What Happened to the music? [.·´]

I was laying in bed just a few minutes ago, and realized that sleep would not come.  And as I sat there thoughts started to race through my mind and for a moment, they paused over a reflector of my younger self.  I remembered, without doubt, what it was like to be me for a while.  That younger bit of myself that I had so desperately snuffed out of living, and to my surprise it wasn’t terrible.

The memory, although foggy I can easily recall by the mushy emotions I get when I think about it, it was my siblings and I, Rosie, Erick and myself, all sitting at my dads old place.  It was late afternoon, but still slightly light out and we were alone, sitting bored in his house with the strict rule of “Don’t touch a thing.”  They, My father and his Ogre wife, had left somewhere and taken Kas with them (That’s one of my younger sisters, their first).  We weren’t to touch any of her toys, or mess with anything, there was no cable, and the computer was off limits as well, and if I was to play music, it was to be played softly, as if we could bother one of the neighbors that lived a mile away. 

On this particularly boring day we were gathered in the heated house, the AC unit was to stay off as well, my Sister gathered her wits about her and took one of the toys that we were not allowed to play with.  Trying to cheer up our anything but fun weekend she started examining this pink Barbie knitting kit item, and in a matter of minutes she had figured out what to do with it and how.  In Admiration I looked upon her happily!  My older sister had broken a rule, AND found out how to use this strange contraction without a care! 

As it turned out, the machine made sock like knits, only a mechanical circular loom, nothing really special but as children we found it to be exhilarating.  After a few round son it we had all three created some hideous dark pink and baby pink tubes that closed to form a kind of pencil case, and for years that’s what they would become.  But for them to become this, we hid them.  Afraid that the Ogre would find out we had taken the toy and made these pencil socks, as we later came to call them.  Snuck under our underwear and clothes she never did find them, and when we were finally released to go back home we relished in our new found pencil holders.

That year had been a rough one on our family.  Mom had been having issues at work, the bills were piling up and we hardly had money to pay for food.  In devastation I remember this.  The way she struggled and how even as she tried to hide it from us, we knew something was wrong.  Instead of a heating system during the winter, we all slept together under all of our clothes and every blanket in the house, bundled up as tightly as she could get us.  We had no school supplies or proper winter clothes but she did what she could, and I am grateful for that.

I was so young then, that I hardly thought of what sacrifices were made to keep us afloat.

Thought these hardships I found my love of art, music and crafting.  In my innocence I drew, constantly creating fictional worlds where Sketchbook after sketchbook were filled with my art bits and even though no one cared for them and I was not once complemented I loved.  My heart was happy while I drew, and when I painted a new rainbow of colors were presented to me and like an artist I felt Beautiful. 

But there was the music. OH did I love the music.  I wrote and composed and danced to the sound of the Scales I played and the chords I plucked!  I didn’t do it with the thought that someday I could get something out of it, God knows I didn’t! I did it for the beauty in it! The Inspiration The Escape and the wonderful worlds and emotions that over took me while I diverted my tortured and tattered mind.  It was my beautiful escape. 

But as I aged, these memories, things that only now are resurfacing, disappeared.  Art was no longer an outing, it was a waste of paper to my mother, my painting a waste of money, and my music… Oh My poor music… a quick buck to made off of.  I lost it all.  My instruments taken from me, told they would never get me anywhere.  Ripped from my grasped and told to grow up… to join the harsh reality.

And these memories, these great vivid and colorful memories, I was to forget.  To discard along with all the torments of my childhood. 

But today, they returned.  Not the sadness but the Happiness.  The greatness and joy of being creative and inspirational.  How I wish to be there again, to feel the thrill of creating! To feel the paint crust my fingers, the charcoal on my fingertips, the wind in my lungs and the thread on my fingers!

The Happiness found a home in my heart, and as I sit here, 5 in the morning, smiling as I recall these masterpieces of mine, the world I created and how beautiful they were I am over whelmed.  And I wish to return.  Its been years since I’ve lifted a brush, a pencil, a marker, for the sake of Art.  My guitar has gathered layers and layers of dust in the closet, my Clarinet, my precious and most beloved clarinet lost in the hands of another. 

I wish to read.  To Truly read! Volumes of knowledge at my fingertips, and no one to stop me! If anything Sam encourages me more!  I can expand myself without fear, I can see my self returning and I am filled with happiness all over again! 

Perhaps this is what I needed.  To find my Music again, to find the colors and the rainbow pathway that’s been laid before me now, and all I have to do is walk across it, with daisies in my hair. 

~Anti~

The Kirby Dance:

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