The Music Box: 8-11-05

I remember being proud of this one. It's okay, I suppose. For something 6 years old.

~

I was strolling along the path in the forest behind my house when I saw a stick that was stuck in the ground like a hap-hazard grave. I was just going to pass it, but curiousity got the better of me. I bent down and saw that there was words carved on the stick. They looked old, but I could still read them. "Death of a musician, but if you are willing to carry on what I could not finish, dig here."

Most people wouldn't, but I was feeling adventurous. I had no shovel and I didn't want to lose where the stick was, so I used my hands, feeling the warm earth beneath them as I moved the soil aside. Finally, my hands hit something, I quickly uncovered it and brought it up. I brushed the dirt off of it to find a handsome wooden box with swirls and other such designs carved into it.

Cautiously I opened it and when I did, the most beautiful melody met my ears. It was haunting and sad at the same time. The melody sounded familiar as well, as if I had heard it before. I don't know how long I sat there, letting the beautiful music roll over me, engulf me. All I know is that when I finally snapped out of the trance that the music box had put me in, the sun was about to set.

I closed the music box and stood up, brushing dirt from my pants. I examined the hole to see if anything else was in there, but the hole was empty. I gently pushed the dirt back into it, covering it. I fixed the stick back, as my digging had knocked it over, and made my way home.

Dinner was the same as always and afterwards, I made my way back to my room. I didn't open the box again untill everyone was asleep. The melody seemed even more lovely in the night time. I felt my eyelids grow heavy as I listened. I didn't realize that I had fallen asleep untill my mom woke me up. I had fallen asleep on top of my bed covers and fully clothed, though this wasn't the first time.

My mom was heading off to work, so I said my goodbye and she kissed me on the cheek. Unlike normal mornings, I didn't go back to sleep, instead, I opened the music box for another listen. I was home by myself, so I disturbed no one. I closed the box, allowing the music that had just played to swim through my mind as I ofton did with songs. After awhile, an image formed it's self in my mind, it was lines, a staff with a treble cleff and notes began to form themselves on the lines.

I quickly wrote down the notes I was seeing and ran over to my piano/keyboard. I sat down and placed the music in front of me and placed my fingers on the keys. I then began to play the music, feeling the keys under my fingers, feeling each note I played. I suppose only a musician can understand this kind of pleasure.

I heard the door in the background open, but I was to envoloped in the music to care. I heard a gasp and then my dad ran up to me. "What wonderful music!" he praised. Never had I heard him compliment my music before. "Where did you hear this?"

I remembered something carved on the inside of the box, which had read: This music is now your own, take credit for it for I no longer wish to own this song. "From my heart," I answered, it semmed to fit the circumstances. My father had me play this music for our family that night before dinner. Everyone adored it, and I enjoyed playing it.

Then something happened that I could never have expected, the music became a hit with my parents, so they had me play it for their fellow workers and the rest of the family, or the family that we communicated with on any level. Again and again I played this song. Soon I doubt there was a soul who knew me who hadn't heard this song.

The funny thing was that, the more I played this song for other people, the more I came to dread playing this song. Day in and day out I was required to play this song for the pleasure of others, but not my own. Soon, music no longer gave me pleasure, I began to dread when I would have to play the song.

Late one night, I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed the music box and ran back to the small forested area behind my house. I ran to where the stick was and fell to my knees. I opened the music box one final time, letting the music surround me, then pass me by. The song was lovely still, but not to me, the joy of being a musician had gone.

I moved the dirt from the hole and buried the music box back, but not before I made my own carving contribution to the inside of it. As I covered the box with dirt, along with my music career I suppose, the words I had written resurfaced in my mind.

"Keep this song close, for it is your own song. If you play your song for others instead of yourself, it will become unbearable. Sometimes the only person who needs to hear your song is quite simply, you."