A Greater Song
Follow the unusual morning interactions of a skilled girl as she interacts with her loving father.
Gail parted her kitchen curtains and allowed the rays of dawn to float into the room. Her touch sent vibrations through the curtains that released a sweet note in the air. It was the familiar tone that greeted her each morning. The terrors of the night before were forgotten as the breeze swept her hair from her delicate shoulders. She spun to the oven to dish out the final piece to the breakfast buffet. Each item she touched vibrated with a different tone, filling the room with lively music. Pouring a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, she sat on her papa's lap. The song faded as she stilled.
"So, Papa. How should I spend my day off today?"
His laugh rippled through her hair and tickled her ear. "How about we start by finding your own seat so we can eat? You'll need all the energy you can muster today."
She obediently moved to her seat and served the eggs onto her plate, and again the music began to ring out as her fingers danced across the table. She eyed her papa as he poured the goat's milk into her cup.
"Papa!"
"M?" He looked up at her, his cheeks filled with grapes.
"Please don't keep me in suspense. What do you have planned?"
"Can't I just enjoy your presence for a while before we begin?"
She threw a piece of bacon at his face. "Fine. Enjoy this too."
He responded by plopping a grape in her milk, splashing her plate. "I will. Thank you. Now you can start the morning by turning your attention back to the painting you've left sitting there for six months."
She rolled her eyes. "But why? Is there even any point?"
He placed a hand on hers. "Do I ever give you any pointless tasks?"
She laughed. "I don't know. Half the time I don't get to find out."
"Exactly. So why question that now?"
Gail looked at the painting, still splattered with the frustrations of her last sitting.
"I don't even know where to start."
Her papa's voice echoed from the next room. "Start with something simple... The background."
She squeezed the black paint and watched as it oozed onto the palette with a beautiful smooth consistency and low warbling sound. It was tempting to simply paint over the whole canvas, erasing every frustration with it, but she knew there were hours of line sketching she didn't want to lost and the dark colour would only cast the whole finished image in a shadow.
She raised her brush and touched the canvas. A single deep note whispered through the air, as if sharing a secret with her. The familiar thrill ran up her arm until it struck her heart. She relaxed, allowing her arm to flow across the canvas in easy strokes as the quiet note rose and fell with her brush movements. A piercing shriek filled the air and she dropped the brush as the cutting pain shot up her arm. She cried out and doubled over, clutching her throbbing heart. A strong arm wrapped around her, returning warmth to her chilled body. Silent tears fell from her nose.
"I can't get it right, Papa. Why do you ask me to do this? It's too hard."
"You're learning, but the more you continue and listen to the notes, the greater your confidence will grow and your skill with it."
"But it hurts."
"Everything does. Imagine the fulfilment when you are finished though - the great reward, the sense of accomplishment, and the incredible beauty."
She raised her eyes to the painting. He brushed his hand over the canvas without smearing the wet paint. The finished work flashed before her eyes, singing a full symphony, ringing with harmonies, dancing with colour and life that contrasted with the heavy clouded background. Then it was gone and she was looking at her splattered, half-finished work again.
"Stand, child." He took her hand and placed the brush in it. Continuing to hold her hand, he guided it through the part she had fumbled. The deep tone filled the air again, this time paired with a second note in rich harmony. He withdrew his hand and the harmony faded. He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulders. "You can do this. I know you can or I wouldn't have asked you to do it. There's no shortage of artists in our family, but this inspired piece asked me for your name to be written on the bottom."
She wiped away the remnants of tears and sniffled one last time.
"Yes, Papa. Thank you for trusting me with this." She smiled and stepped back. "It is going to be beautiful, isn't it?"
His smile matched hers as he examined his daughter. "Yes, she is."
