March the Writer

   Piercing stares. 

   Heavy whispering.

   Soft gasps.

   March Henderberry lowered his head and pulled up his hood. The chills began to travel up his spine and spread into the rest of his body. In his stomach, something twisted. He bit his lip and scurried on to his destination: his first period classroom.

   Of course, the stares, whispering, and gasps continued inside the stuffy classroom. It was worse than outside. March shuffled over to his seat and slumped down. Before he could take a breath, a classmate approached him. 

   “March, I heard you won a contest. It was a writing contest, right?”

   Oh no. March returned a forced smile. “Not really…”

   “Yeah, I heard about it too!” Another classmate stood up and approached them. It was his best friend, Conner Waze. Like a cat in the warm sun, he slipped into the seat next to March and rested his head upon the arm he propped up on the table. “You won the country young writers competition. First place.”

   March glared at Conner. “It’s not that big of a deal…” His mouth was dry and his throat could cough up the words he wanted to say. 

   Naturally, all the other classmates, whether they already knew or not, rushed over to crowd around the winner of a contest no one knew the day before. In fact, March wondered. How did they know about the young writers competition? None of them except for Conner had an interest in competitions. No one should care about it then.

   Suddenly, as if someone had read his thoughts, one person blurted out, “As expected of a Henderberry kid!” Everyone else muttered in agreement, every voice building up to a cacophony of sounds.

   Then it clicked together. They didn’t really care about the young writers competition. It was the achievement. His prize showed his talent and genius. Again, it proved that he was indeed part of the Henderberry family, a family full of extraordinary prodigies. March, like many of his siblings before him, wasn’t a composer to his classmates. He was a Henderberry.

   “Congratulations, March. The competition was difficult,” a soft voice complimented. It was such a soft voice that no one noticed. March, however, instantly recognized that voice. He whisked his head around and spotted his other friend winking at him.

   Her name was Riku. 

   March knitted his eyebrows together and glared at Riku as guilt filled up his face in red anger. Riku caught his gaze and responded with a sweet smile. March’s expression faltered, and he turned away.

   In his mind, a sad melody began to play in his mind.

   Lunch finally started, much to March’s happiness. He stormed out of the classroom before anyone else could bother him. With large strides and a brisk pace, he passed the music room, turned a corner around the parking lot driveway, and arrived at a large cherry tree. At the base of its trunk was a simple bench. On that bench sat Riku, Conner, and Felix. Conner, as usual, lied down on his back and took up the whole bench. Riku and Felix sat on the ground in front of Conner.

   Felix was the only person March had not seen in his classes before lunch. Riku and Conner were both in March’s first period class. Felix smirked as March approached them. “So I’ve heard that you’ve won the county young writers competition.”

   Finally, March exploded. “You guys knew!” He shot angrily. “I wasn’t the one that wrote the winning story! It was Riku!”

   “So?” Riku shrugged both shoulders. “I wasn’t going to submit it in the first place.” She popped a cherry tomato in her mouth. “It’s nice that you submitted it.”

   “I thought it was funny that people cared about it when I told them that you won,” Conner added, “Just let it go. What’s done is done.”

   “You were the one that told everyone?” March raised his voice. 

   “Conner is right. Give it a rest.” Felix gesetured March to sit down. “There’s no point in correcting the mistake.” 

   “But I can’t!” March sat cross legged in front of all three of them. “I’m sorry, Riku. I should’ve never used your story.”

   Riku rolled her eyes. “I don’t care, March. What’s done is done.”

   “You could’ve won instead. You could’ve been famous.”

   “Since when did I ever want fame?” 

   “But I can’t let this go! Right now, I’m being revered for something I didn’t do!” 

   “So?”

   March let out a cry of frustration and stood up. The turmoil in his stomach refust to calm down. “Forget it. I’ll confess to everybody the real truth.” He should’ve done this from the start. The prize was not for him. Instead of feeling accomplished, he felt dishonorable and conflicted. If he revealed to everyone that he did not write the winning story, then maybe the heavy weight on his chest would be lifted.

   “Don’t do that!” Felix grabbed March’s wrist. “If you reveal the truth, you might be disqualified from entering future competitions. Your reputation will be ruined.”

   March wrenched free of Felix’s grasp. “Then am I going to live with this guilt and shame for the rest of my life?”

   “I have an idea.”

   Everyone turned to Conner. March narrowed his eyes. “You do?” He noted skeptically.

   Conner nodded. “While you were so busy being a drama queen, I was busy thinking.” He held up a finger. “You’re unhappy that you’re being honored for something you didn’t do right?”

   March paused and then nodded.

   “Then just do something that’ll people honor you for instead of the young writers competition.”

   “You mean March should just do something so grand and awesome that people wouldn’t revere him for the competition?” Riku cocked her head to one side. “That might work. People will eventually forget the competition then. It’ll be as if he had never won it in the first place.”

   “The problem is,” Felix piped up, “Is that what’s more grand than a country competition?”

   All four of them pondered for a while. 

   Riku glanced at March. “What are good at, March?” 

   “I don’t know,” March admitted bitterly, “I don’t have anything special.”

   “Your older brother was a fast athlete,” Conner brought up,”Maybe you’re also a runner. You can win a race or something.”

   “That’s my brother, not me,” March replied coldly, “All my siblings have something I don’t.” He casted his gaze down at the grey cement floor. “Talent.”

   Felix sighed. “Well, this will take a while then.” He turned to his violin case and took out his instrument carefully. 

   March noticed the violin when the varnish glinted in the sun. “Did you finish learning the piece?”

   “The piece you composed?” Felix grinned. “Of course. Memorized it.” He rested his bow on the string and began to play. 

   A euphonic sound flowed out of the violin. The notes were smooth, light, and soft, like a spring breeze. The melody soothed the worries within March, and instinctively, he started to add in the harmony in his mind. When Felix finished the playing, he bowed. Riku and Conner applauded.

   “That was good,” Conner praised.

   “I liked it,” Riku added.

   “In the last half of the piece, you need to crescendo the long notes more to lead into the eighth notes. I wouldn’t staccato the triplets either, just lightly bow it instead of bouncing it. You also tend to be flat whenever you play A flat.” March nodded. “Otherwise, it was pretty good.”

   Felix chuckled. “Thanks,” he said to March, “I needed that.”

   March returned his laugh with a hearty one. Unlike him, Felix was a violin virtuoso. Despite his harsh critique, March knew and understood how much potential Felix had. It wasn’t hard for Felix to make the violin sing or cry. Since he learned fast, March could compose a piece in a day, only for him to play it beautifully ten minutes later and master it in twenty. 

   “I know!” Riku raised her hand up.

   “We’re not in a classroom, just speak,” Conner replied with a waving hand in the air.

   “March, you’re good with music,” Riku said, “Maybe you can do something cool with it.”

   March grimaced. “It’s just a hobby. I never thought about doing anything with it.”

   “You’ll never know if you don’t try~” Felix sang the hackneyed axiom.

   Conner pointed at March. “Just do it. There’s no one stopping you. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll figure something else out.” Suddenly, he reached into his pockets to fish out a crumpled flyer. “Here. Take this.”

   March took it. “The international composers contest?”

   Conner nodded. “I spotted it at the college and career center. It’s a big contest, the only one I know that’s bigger than the county writing one.”

   The deadline was in four weeks. Compositions could range from orchestral pieces to pop songs. March wrinkled his eyebrows. He should be able to do it. He looked up at Conner. “Thanks,” he said softly, “I think I can—”

   Ring, ring!

   The bell rang sharply and everyone jumped in surprise. 

   “Well, goodbye for now.” Felix packed up his violin.

   “Ugh.” Conner struggled to get up. “Fifth period.”

   “See you guys later.” Riku popped the last cherry tomato in her mouth and got up.

   “Bye, thanks,” March returned with a small grin. After waving everyone goodbye, March stood for a while by the cherry tree. 

   It was quiet, but he heard it. A hopeful tune began to play inside his head.

   March arrived at his house with a slight bounce in his feet. His mother met him at the entrance. He greeted her shortly, and bent down to take off his shoes.

   “I heard you won the young writers competition,” she brought up.

   March winced. “It was kind of a mistake, really,” he mumbled.

   His mother ignored his words. “Well, congratulations. When do you want to start the classes?”

   March whipped his head up. “What?”

   His mother smiled. “Your writing classes,” she repeated matter-of-factly, “You didn’t expect to ignore that raw talent of yours, did you?”

   March’s voice faltered. “Ah… maybe later…”

   Her voice turned cold and strict. “No, if we want to start. We start now. I’ll schedule classes every Saturday. Is that alright?”

   Something March didn’t like about his mother was her domineering atmosphere. Everytime time her voice turned dark, March could feel his mind slip away. He was sinking into a deep quagmire, and nothing could pull him out of it. 

   “Okay,” March uttered. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

   “Then that means you need to devote yourself more to writing,” his mother added with a smile, “That means you might need to decrease your time with music.”

   “Ah…” March’s vision blurred. “Actually I—”

   “I thought you wouldn’t be able to find something you’re good at,” his mother cut him off. “Now that you found it, it’s time to focus on it and get rid of any distractions.” She leaned in forward so her voice would resonate in his ears. “Make sure you spend less time on your hobbies.” When she leaned back, there was a curious look in her eyes, as if she expected March to say something in response. When he didn’t, her mother turned away, “Well, if you need help, just tell me,” she finished off before walking away.

   Again, March began to feel something inside of his twist. He was sinking in deeper. His mouth grew drier, and his throat constricted. His voice disappeared, and the ringing in his ears began. 

   March listlessly trudged up the stairs. Each footstep felt heavier than the last. He entered his room, and without thinking he fell face forward on his bed. 

   If he was going to try composing, he would have to hide it from his mother. Why did he have to submit that story? He just wanted to save himself from the pressure. He got up and went to the piano.

   Slowly, he began to compose a piece. He would make it a sad piece, perhaps an elegy, but add a slightly hopeful lift in the end of the melody. The tune from earlier in the day began to repeat in his head.

   “She took away all my instruments!” March threw up his hands. “My piano, violin, guitar, drums, recorder— she took them all!”

   “What?” Conner immediately sat up. “Your mom did all that?”

   “Why?” Riku raised an eyebrow and furrowed the other. 

   March averted his gaze. “I’ve been going to writing classes because of her,” March explained, “But I’ve been failing and missing every assignment. The teacher says I have been behind during class. The teacher then found out I’ve been composing during class, so she confiscated it and showed it to my mother.”

   Felix groaned. “Uh oh. Now what are you going to do?”

   “I guess I’ll just tell her the truth,” March said sadly, “I’ll just tell her that I’m not talented like everyone else in my family. I’m just an average, normal boy. I can’t write. I can’t run. I can’t do anything.”

   “No.” Riku’s voice was firm and unwavering. “You can write.” She pointed to March’s backpack. “You showed us your music compositions. You can write music.”

   “Well, now I can’t write music anymore!” March lashed back. 

   “No, you can.” Conner lifted his head slightly up and gestured towards the music room across the parking driveway. “You need a piano or whatever, it should all be there,” he explained, “I doubt anybody will care if you use them.”

   “And don’t forget that I play the violin,” Felix piped in, “If you need to test out a melody, I can play it for you.” 

   March could feel everything that was falling down before beginning to lift itself back up. All of them still supported him. Even when he felt like nothing was going right, they were still here to give something. He blinked away his glassy eyes, and with a resolute gaze, grinned. “You guys are really the best!” He shouted and embraced all of them in a smothering hug.

   The hopeful tune, now determined and unfazed, continued to hop around March’s head.

   Elated chattering.

   Jumpy glances.

   Silent gapes of awe.

   March Henderberry waltzed down the hallway on his way to lunch. There was a sparkle in his eye others noticed. He passed the music room. The conductor popped out of the doorway before he disappeared around the corner. 

   “March!” He cried out. When March turned, the conductor’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Are you done composing that choir song?”

   March nodded and reached into his backpack to hand a thick pile of music sheets to him. “If any sections need clearing up, just tell me,” March said enthusiastically, “Otherwise, have a blast with it.”

   “Actually, I was wondering if you would be the one to conduct it,” the conductor said suddenly.

   “What? Really?” March’s eyes glowed with ambition. “Can I?”

   When the conductor nodded, March thanked him profusely and headed on his way around the corner, around the parking driveway, and to the cherry tree with the bench beside it.

   “Hey look, it’s the composer genius,” Felix teased.

   March grinned. “It’s conductor now,” he returned.

   Riku laughed. “You’ve just won your seventh competition, and now you’re offered a chance to be a conductor? Nice job. I guess me proposing the idea that you should pursue music was a good idea.”

   “Don’t forget that I was the one that knew about the international competition,” Conner chipped in.

   “And that I help you play out the winning pieces,” Felix added.

   “Thank you guys,” March said, “I couldn’t have done it without any of you.” They all winced at the cheesy phrase. However, no one disagreed.

   “By the way, how is your mother?” Felix brought up suddenly. “I know it’s a bit late, but now I’m curious. How did she react when you won all these competitions?”

   March paused. He smiled softly. “It was all right,” he answered proudly, “It went all right.”

   “I heard you won the international composers competition.” His mother was standing by the doorway. 

   March’s heart flipped a bit. He nodded. 

   “Congratulations.” His mother turned around to walk away.

   “No, wait, Mom!” He lurched forward to catch up to her. “About the writing competition—”

   “You didn’t actually win it, right?” His mother turned her head back.

   “I—” March paused. “Ho- how did you know?” 

   “March.” She knelt down and grabbed his hands. Her gaze was soft and sweet. “I know my son’s writing. I know that you could never write in that style and level.”

   “Then why didn’t you say anything?” March frowned. “Why did you go along and sign me up for writing class? Why did you take away all my instruments?” With each question his voice raised.

   “Oh March.” His mother smiled. “I wanted to challenge you. It takes a lot to finally find out what your true passion lies.” She then averted her gaze. “I also wanted to punish you a bit for lying to everyone, including to me,” she admitted.

   March could feel his vision blur. “Mother,” he sniffled, “I’m sorry.”

   His mother hugged him. “You did a good job, March,” she assured, “You finally, truly, found what you were looking for all this time.”

   March dug his face into his mother’s shoulder. For the first time in his life, he felt like himself. He wasn’t just a Henderberry. He wasn’t a lost boy who couldn’t find his talent. He was March, a proud composer and lover of music.

Everything, from the despairing melody to the hopeful tune, from the abject guilt to genuine satisfaction, culminated into a resolving chord, a lasting note of resolution.