V.C. Andrews - Shooting Stars 02 by Ice

Author:Ice
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-01-17T01:31:47+00:00

5

A Song of My Own

I thought our first rehearsal went just all right.

but Balwin was more enthusiastic. When he referred to me, he used words and expressions like "terrific,"

"amazing talent," "a prime candidate for any school."

Of course. I assumed he was just being nice. I knew what it meant to compete in the world of entertainment. Daddy had told me lots of stories about singers and musicians he had known in his life, people who were talented and yet failed to get anywhere because they didn't have the breaks they needed or the grit to keep trying.

"It's much easier to accept failure and become comfortable with it than it is to keep coming at them.

Ice." he said. "You blame it on destiny or fate or luck and just settle into mediocrity. Lots of good people I know lost the fire in their spirits and now smoulder in some dark, small place, drowning their ambitions and dreams in alcohol or drugs."

The way Daddy spoke about it made me

wonder what had been his private dream. When he finally revealed that he had once hoped to play the trumpet because his teacher had encouraged him. I was surprised. He had never even hinted at it before.

Then he dug down in a dresser drawer to show me his trumpet mouthpiece. His maternal grandmother had bought him the instrument.

"It's all I have of the trumpet I once had," he said. "I blow on it from time to time when I get nostalgic."

"What happened to your trumpet. Daddy?" I asked. His eyes darkened and he shook his head.

"My father made me pawn it. only I pretended to have lost the mouthpiece. He beat me for that," he said.

"Why didn't you Zo back to playing, Daddy?" I asked him.

"I guess I was afraid," he said. "I was afraid I would get so I couldn't live without it and that would make it terrible. Ice."

I had never known my grandfather. He had died when I was only two, but if he was alive now, I wouldn't be able to look at him without hating him.

Amazingly, Daddy didn't sound hateful or angry.

"Didn't you hate him?"

"No." He smiled. "He couldn't see how it mattered in my life then and the money was sure handy that month," Daddy said.

Hearing him speak about it made me wonder about all the secrets people buried in their hearts, all the dreams that had been crushed and interred. Those were the real silences, the ones they were afraid to disturb. It frightened me and did the most to make me hesitant when it came to my own singing and dreams of success. Dare I dream?

It was probably why I just shook my head at Balwin and thanked him for his compliments as if I knew he was doing it just to be nice. I could see the confusion and even the anger in his eyes.

"I mean it." he insisted. "You're going to make it. Ice. I love music too much to lie about something like that.

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