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Tildy Jenkins
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Tildy Jenkins |
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SPIRIT Senior Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 1745California Desert |
The school's annual Nativity play is over for another year, yet we, the audience are asked to remains seated as there is going to be a treat for us, before leaving to go home. Unexpectedly the music teacher Miss Phillips drags onto the stage a very uncooperative Tildy Jenkins. A titter of amusement goes up from the onlookers, but a look of rebuttal from Grace Phillips puts us promptly in our places. Tildy, mouthy, energetic and over-exuberant, is the town tomboy. Her legs are badly grazed and scratched up from too many slides into home plate, without benefit of protective clothing. She can hit the ball better than any of the boys in town, and her throwing has to be seen to be appreciated and believed. Without a doubt Tildy keeps the glass and window shop here in business. Believe me, as owner of the said shop, I am grateful every time she goes out to play. An ordinary child bordering on plainness. Her features are blunt, or maybe as yet, unformed. Her hair the color of burnished copper is coarse and unruly. With out of control curls, it appears to be the type of hair that no amount of brushing could harness. The hair could be classified as stubborn, as stubborn as the head upon which it grows. Her eyes are the clearest and deepest green ever seen. With her pale and lightly freckled face the eyes have the tendency to stand out, kind of like royal emeralds set mistakenly into the face of a commoner. She is standing, on the stage, before us. No! Let’s rephrase that to fidgeting before us. She rocks nervously back and forth; she appears timid even, as she keeps her eyes lowered, as if counting the tiles in the floor pattern. Her hands clasped in front of her are turning whitish blue from the tight hold she has on them. We are not used to seeing Tildy in a dress, but a dress she is wearing, obviously borrowed from her more ladylike sister. A floral print on pale yellow, and by the dirt on it and the torn hem that is hanging noticeably from the side, Tildy rough-housed a little before she got here. This is a child only a parent could love. She is standing on-stage like an orphan up for grabs. She scratches her leg and a spot of blood can be seen trickling down, as she removes one of her many scabs. We watch fascinated as the redness stains the rim of her sock. Miss Phillips is droning on and on and finally quits. Heaven only knows what she was talking about. The pianist starts to play and Tildy finally raises her eyes and scans the sea of bemused faces until she has contact with her family. They all return here somewhat pitiful gaze with big grins. Her father gives her a 'thumbs up' sign. The music appears to relax Tildy, she is beginning to unwind, like a tightly wound toy ready to race helter-skelter towards an unknown freedom. The tenseness leaves her hands and she stops rocking. A certain softening of her features is becoming very apparent. She is definitely creating a mood of interest with us, the audience. 'Ave Maria' is being softly played and we are stunned by the wonderful vocal renditioning that is coming from the stage. No one knew, had any idea that Tildy had the voice of an angel. The stillness of the audience, who are barely making breathe, has to be seen to be appreciated. Did I say she's plain? I apologize, please accept my apologies, I was mistaken and terribly so. Tildy is a vision of great beauty. Her face radiates a joy that we would all like to feel, but rarely, if ever, do. Head held high, her eyes flashing with more passion than befitting for a twelve-year-old; she brings tears to us all. If we were standing she would surely bring us to our knees. Even those hands that are used to swinging bats and hurling balls are daintily expressive, another surprise for all of us. She pours her heart and soul, her entire being, into her performance. She is no longer seeing us as a threat, she is not even singing for us any more; we are a non-existent entity. Tildy is above us, way above us. Her voice is a blessed gift, and she appears to be entirely accepting of this and thoroughly aware of the responsibility of such a gift. Tildy is singing for a Higher Power. Her face is brighter than the noon sun. She is positively beautiful, with a beauty that defies all description. To soon, it is over and the silence in the room is deafening. Tildy Jenkins stands before us biting her lip apprehensively; she is starting to rock nervously from side to side. Her hands are clenched and tears are very close to falling from those emerald eyes. We are in awe. We start to clap and stomp our feet and cry out for more. The look of relief on her young face is embarrassing. What a treat, what a treat indeed. My perspective of me is different, |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
This was a very nice piece. You've done a good job writing yet another piece imploring us not to judge the proverbial book by its cover. There are a few grammatical errors you may wish to correct. Your style is awkward in some places, like here: "Believe me, as owner of the said shop, I am grateful every time she goes out to play". The sort of legal language is out of place here. You could get by just fine by saying "as the owner of that shop." "the silence in the room is deafening" This is a bit too cliche. "The stillness of the audience, who are barely making breathe, has to be seen to be appreciated." This is very awkward. It is difficult to tell whether you are saying the audience is breathless or barely breathing. The latter seems favoured by the exerpt above. I apologise if I have caused you some grief here, but we all need correction from time to time. I look forward to growing with you in terms of writing style, here at piptalk. "If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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SPIRIT Senior Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 1745California Desert |
No grief. I am quite possibly the Queen of the Cliche, how well I know that, and I appreciate very much your input. Thank you. I am an enigma, even unto myself. |
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lorenlynn Member
since 2003-01-27
Posts 203California Beaches |
What fun, glad I found. |
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