Playing Second Fiddle: A Story
Pressing her nose against the cold, hard glass, the little girl's eyes were fixated on the gleaming sheen. Its seductive arch and intricate carvings enarmoured her. She counted the shillings in her pocket. They weren't enough to get by, much less pay for the bowed instrument.
For the days that followed, she would stop by at the shop and sneak a peek at what her heart desired. The sight of it never failed to stir a lilt in her heart. Each time, she was careful not to give herself away lest the owner removed the object from her line of vision.
Months went by and she got herself a harmonica, a cheap instrument within her league. She loved the harmonica but it could not replicate the yearning for the violin. The shillings in her pocket jingled. There were more of them now, but their worth was still a far cry from the figure on the price tag. The owner of the shop remained unaware of her looming presence. With the harmoica in her pocket, she continued to stare at the transverse curves from afar. She did not dare to dream of drawing the hair of the bow for it was something beyond her grasp. It was an object of awe and wonder. And so, she remained contented with the harmonica while stealing glances at the fingerboard.
A year had passed. Then, another went by. Soon, ten years had passed. By this time, the little girl was a child no more. She was now a lady. The shillings in her pocket had been long forgotten. The harmoica, however, remained in her possession. The stack of dollar notes she held in her hand finally matched the cost of what she had craved for many years.
With heightened anticipation, she approached the store. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a girl running her fingers up the bridge of the violin. The girl picked it up and executed a resounding pizzicato with the finger of her left hand. Satisfied, she picked up the bow and played a lovely tune. Soon, this girl handed a wad of notes to the visibly-pleased owner.
The little girl in the lady simmered silently but was resigned to her fate. After all, the girl possessed a natural flair for the violin while the lady had only her humble harmonica for her musical inclinations. The girl loved the violin as much as she did, for she was often seen practising incessantly on it. The lady comforted herself. At least, the stringed instrument was treasured by another.
To her surprise, she caught sight of the violin in the shop on a random morning. The girl had sold it back to the owner. Wasting no time, the lady marched into the store. Unfortunately, the owner was unwilling to put the instrument up for sale. He wanted the potential buyer to develop a passion for it, and not make a whimsical purchase. A deal was struck. The lady would come by the store and learn the required techniques. However, the previous owner had also struck the same deal with the shopkeeper. The deal was not meant exclusively for the lady.
After months of honing her passion, the strings resonated beautifully in the lady's hands. Through its interludes, the violin spoke to her soul. It was her musical paramour and she loved it more than she ever had. All this while, she had not forgotten about the harmonica. It remained in her pocket loyally for it was the original musical instrument she had. The girl, on the other hand, persisted in her daily trip to the store and continued to dabble on the nodes. The girl loved the violin too despite having to return it to the owner.
After a year, the lady grew weary. She was able to play the violin by now but it seemed to sound better in the girl's hands. Everyone had told the lady that the violin had come to reciprocate her love by churning out perfect tunes. She looked at her hands. Were they as good as the girl's? Why was the girl able to produce chirpy tunes on the violin while the lady struggled to play occasionally? The lady loved the violin but had a fleeting thought. She felt that if it sounded better in the girl's hands, then perhaps, she ought to let the girl have the violin. After all, the lady could still turn to her trusty harmonica. She shook her head vehemently as soon as she thought that aloud to herself.
She had waited a decade to get what her heart desired. It had been a long and arduous task in getting a chance to draw the bow across its strings. She was adamant, even indignant despite the fact that she was already skilled in the harmonica. Although she had made mistakes along the way, she was still able to play lovely tunes on it.
If the violin were able to make its own choice, would it settle on the girl or the lady? Would the violin appreciate the efforts undertaken by the lady to master it or would it prefer its previous owner? It was a silly thought and the lady chided herself. How could the violin speak? It was a silent piece of wood with strings.
And so, the lady remained contented at playing second fiddle for the violin was unable to speak.
For the days that followed, she would stop by at the shop and sneak a peek at what her heart desired. The sight of it never failed to stir a lilt in her heart. Each time, she was careful not to give herself away lest the owner removed the object from her line of vision.
Months went by and she got herself a harmonica, a cheap instrument within her league. She loved the harmonica but it could not replicate the yearning for the violin. The shillings in her pocket jingled. There were more of them now, but their worth was still a far cry from the figure on the price tag. The owner of the shop remained unaware of her looming presence. With the harmoica in her pocket, she continued to stare at the transverse curves from afar. She did not dare to dream of drawing the hair of the bow for it was something beyond her grasp. It was an object of awe and wonder. And so, she remained contented with the harmonica while stealing glances at the fingerboard.
A year had passed. Then, another went by. Soon, ten years had passed. By this time, the little girl was a child no more. She was now a lady. The shillings in her pocket had been long forgotten. The harmoica, however, remained in her possession. The stack of dollar notes she held in her hand finally matched the cost of what she had craved for many years.
With heightened anticipation, she approached the store. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a girl running her fingers up the bridge of the violin. The girl picked it up and executed a resounding pizzicato with the finger of her left hand. Satisfied, she picked up the bow and played a lovely tune. Soon, this girl handed a wad of notes to the visibly-pleased owner.
The little girl in the lady simmered silently but was resigned to her fate. After all, the girl possessed a natural flair for the violin while the lady had only her humble harmonica for her musical inclinations. The girl loved the violin as much as she did, for she was often seen practising incessantly on it. The lady comforted herself. At least, the stringed instrument was treasured by another.
To her surprise, she caught sight of the violin in the shop on a random morning. The girl had sold it back to the owner. Wasting no time, the lady marched into the store. Unfortunately, the owner was unwilling to put the instrument up for sale. He wanted the potential buyer to develop a passion for it, and not make a whimsical purchase. A deal was struck. The lady would come by the store and learn the required techniques. However, the previous owner had also struck the same deal with the shopkeeper. The deal was not meant exclusively for the lady.
After months of honing her passion, the strings resonated beautifully in the lady's hands. Through its interludes, the violin spoke to her soul. It was her musical paramour and she loved it more than she ever had. All this while, she had not forgotten about the harmonica. It remained in her pocket loyally for it was the original musical instrument she had. The girl, on the other hand, persisted in her daily trip to the store and continued to dabble on the nodes. The girl loved the violin too despite having to return it to the owner.
After a year, the lady grew weary. She was able to play the violin by now but it seemed to sound better in the girl's hands. Everyone had told the lady that the violin had come to reciprocate her love by churning out perfect tunes. She looked at her hands. Were they as good as the girl's? Why was the girl able to produce chirpy tunes on the violin while the lady struggled to play occasionally? The lady loved the violin but had a fleeting thought. She felt that if it sounded better in the girl's hands, then perhaps, she ought to let the girl have the violin. After all, the lady could still turn to her trusty harmonica. She shook her head vehemently as soon as she thought that aloud to herself.
She had waited a decade to get what her heart desired. It had been a long and arduous task in getting a chance to draw the bow across its strings. She was adamant, even indignant despite the fact that she was already skilled in the harmonica. Although she had made mistakes along the way, she was still able to play lovely tunes on it.
If the violin were able to make its own choice, would it settle on the girl or the lady? Would the violin appreciate the efforts undertaken by the lady to master it or would it prefer its previous owner? It was a silly thought and the lady chided herself. How could the violin speak? It was a silent piece of wood with strings.
And so, the lady remained contented at playing second fiddle for the violin was unable to speak.
posted by whimsical_fantasies at 4:59 PM
3 Comments:
If there darn violin don't speak, it be dumb. Dumb things ain't music-makers. Pleases no soul, they don't. Us be better off smoochin' the 'armonica.
If the violin doesn't speak, then it's probably a stubborn, horrible, piggish thing! The harmonica is so much more loyal. You can make bea-u-tee-full music with it. Kiss it more!
The girl seemed to like the violin at first. But as time goes by, it seems to be a way of life to yearn and to want the violin, which remains out of reach. She seems to like this feeling of wanting. Maybe what is unreachable is always the best, the forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest!
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