•✦—✦•
February 24th, Woodfield Primary, Chester
I started to grow ragged from my demanding dance practices. Gilles had assessed me and critiqued me harshly for many things that I was found to be lacking. Biggest, however, was the fact that I only had five sessions per week. As it turns out, the students enrolled into Hammond got about seventeen hours of training per week.
"Zey are not in a play and put more effort than you, lazy boy gets no worm!" Gilles had said.
So now I was signed up for sixteen hours of lessons per week, which, if you notice, was basically everything I was earning from my appearance in Doctor Dolittle. Worrying, but I believed in investing in myself and Gilles had a good wedge for his private lessons. It was Tuesday, and I was enjoying closing my eyes and turning off my brain, so that my everywhere stopped hurting.
"Wilfred, wakey-wakey!" Mrs. Ramsdale said sweetly right next to me.
"I'm not sleeping, ma'am," I answered clearly and smoothly as I stood up straight.
I dried my drool on my cuffs and for some reason all the kids started to laugh.
"You're called to the Principal's house," Mrs. Ramsdale said while walking to the board.
"Ohhh." Kids said ominously around me.
I smiled at the children around me and shook my head. Ever since Oliver!, things had changed a bit. I was slightly more popular, but it seemed that my previous attitude of keeping to myself still held, I still didn't find much to relate with these kids even though I was the same age.
Chris Hale worked as the principal, it was he who had suggested that I practice and study for the UKMT and join up King's. His office had folders stacked up a foot high on certain rows.
"Hey, Wilfred." Chris smiled at me from his papers. "Great news today, amazing news in fact."
Going through the closest and smallest pile of letters on his desk, he took picked out an envelope that looked much the same as the rest.
"UKMT sent a letter, you must have gotten something because I can feel something good coming! Go on, open it." Chris handed me the envelope.
I had completely forgotten about the challenge with how many life-changing events I went through recently. Even as tired as I was, I got excited to see how I measured up to the sixteen-year-olds in the UK. I tore open the envelope to reveal a letter that had the triangular ribbon logo of the UKMT along with my name, competition, and a small congratulations for me scoring perfectly with 20/20 questions correct.
A smile came unbidden to my face, and as my eyes gazed over to Chris, I saw he was staring down at the envelope in my hand. Curiously, I looked at the envelope, unfurling it to see it completely empty. I looked up at Chris with a confused expression. He laughed.
"Here it is." Chris bent over to the side of his desk and came up holding a rigid cardboard folder. "That is the certificate, I reckon. Did you get a bronze?"
I thought it was my time to tease Chris. "Not sure, can you open it for me?"
"Sure, Will." Chris struggled with the cardboard for a moment before putting his house keys to it.
Out emerged a very nice red envelope-like folder with a seal of UKMT. I opened it to find the golden framed certificate with a UK Maths Trust and my name printed out. It wasn't as fancy as the envelope, which was a crying shame, but the foil color on the two badges on the top left-hand side looked suitably nice.
[Best in School] and [Best in Year] it said on the badge same as the one I received for the Junior one. It seemed almost meaningless for the intermediate challenge. I would be the best in school even if I had scored a single point because I was the only student from my school to participate in UKMT Intermediate Challenge. Primarily because Woodfield was a primary school, thus; no one would be competing in secondary school exams. Best in Year was even more meaningless, but I liked how it looked embossed and foiled up like that.
"Are you going to show me?" Chris said.
"Oh, there you go." I handed it over without much care.
"This is brilliant, my god!" Chris started to go on a monologue, but my eyes shifted back to the letter in my hand.
[Congratulations! Your score on the Intermediate Mathematical Challenge - 1998 has earned you a place in the Senior Mathematical Olympiad 1998 follow-on round.]
I wanted to go on to the Olympiad as soon as possible. According to the letter, only 5% of all students who gave the challenge received the same invite. March 19, 1998, and I could give this paper. I had scored perfectly on the challenge, sure, but would it really be a good use of my time to practice for the next step? Was I better off just going with only my revelations as my weapon? I didn't know.
"Thank you, Mr. Hale." I nodded to Chris. "I'll come and fetch it from your office at the end of school, if you don't mind."
"Sure, sure. Great work, Wilfred. Will you be going on to the Olympiad?" Chris asked with some worry. He was one of the only two people at school who knew about me being cast in Dolittle.
"Yes. I'm not sure how good I will be, because I've heard some stories. But I'll give it a try."
"Brilliant," Chris said, his eye drawn back again by the certificate.
I walked back to the classroom in a bit of a slump. I enjoyed my time in Hammond, especially the handful of lessons I had with Gilles so far. Most enjoyable thing was learning something new and failing many times—maybe I did not enjoy the failure. Rather, the moment I finally got something right after countless tries. The rush was immense. Having a body of child made the chemicals feel even more intense; a session with Gilles ended in smiles and tears in equal measure.
On the other hand, I felt like a cheater when I did the Challenge. Yes, I had practiced, but it was almost entirely my revelations being put to use that resulted in the perfect score. Mrs. Ramsdale was great, but she didn't teach me enough theorems that were key to many problems. Revelations were mine, it belonged to me like my memories were mine, but I still felt scummy because I hadn't put in the effort.
Then there were more things, like my singing. Most of that talent, I think, was already with me. However, revelations had given me lessons that would've taken me years to finally click in my mind. Yet, I enjoyed it and never felt guilty about it. I suppose, I could've had the revelation and if I didn't have the voice, I never would've been as good. Musical training could do a lot, but if god had given me a gift in anything it had everything to do with music. My mind had an internal clock so fine I could keep a drum beat to any song. My ears were so sharp that I had an absolute pitch. Should I feel guilty for that? How was my revelations any different? Lots to think about.
I bumped into someone. "Watch it!" A boy said.
"Aw." I rubbed my nose.
"It's you." Henry said, a bit too sharply.
"Hey, Henry! Sorry, I was almost asleep." I apologized.
Henry smiled. "Don't worry, I wasn't looking anyway."
"What are you doing out of your class?" I asked, curious.
Henry's smile froze on his face, eyes narrowing. "None of your business!"
I felt whiplash in the quick change of attitude. Henry was already walking away to the cafeteria as my brain caught up.
That was really weird. Henry wasn't like that, and he was being defensive about something. I almost chased after him to find out what, but felt some space should do him better. I could always talk to him once he'd calmed down.
•✦—✦•
Gilles looked down at me condescendingly. I had my shoulders straight, my feet went around in place as I kept my gaze on the mirror. On the fifth count I whipped my head around to come back and look at the same spot again.
"Non, non. Zis is ridiculous. You 'ave good timing! How are you so bad at zis?" Gilles asked.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Oui, we try zis." Gilles went to the wide wall mirror. He took out a bandage and taped it to the mirror horizontally.
"Bien, try now. Eyes on this mark, head straight. Five-six."
I started my move again. My head did the same whip-around motion and I held my gaze on the bandage on the mirror.
"Finally, mon dieu. Now keep trying until you don't need ze mark."
Dopamine was injected straight into my brain. I sometimes felt that I was a sadist by nature and would do anything for that hit of learning or succeeding in something new. Ballet was the worst style of dance for me, and we performed it the most in eight hours of training so far.
Gilles let me go after a cool-down exercise. I was to go in for my first singing lesson not taught by Mrs. Moss. If the dance studios were empty rooms, the music studio was furnished to the maximum and were numerous. Walls were padded in a red velvet-like material, and in each of the tiny room was an instrument, two stools, and stands for sheet music.
Linda Metcoff was to be my music teacher. She was a plump woman who had short curly hair and dressed in hipster fashion that matched pre-WW2 America.
"Wilfred. Good to finally put a face to the name, heard a lot about you." Linda said.
"I had no idea Jill-eh talked about me! Hello, Ms. Metcoff." I gave her my cutest smile.
"It's Mrs. Metcoff. My husband will be cross with you if you speak too kindly, young man," she said jokingly.
"Jill told me that you are very good at singing, do you want to show me?"
"Of course!" I stood at the back where the music stand was and Mrs. Metcoff took the stool to play the piano. Awkward because I was behind her.
"Simple warmups." She went through scales, and we did the solfege as I had done in the audition.
"Very good, how about some songs?" Linda smiled up at me over her shoulder to hand me a few pages' worth of song.
"Can you read that?" Linda asked.
"Yes. But I never sung this before," I said, reading the lyrics to Pity the Child.
"Try it," Linda told me simply, and we started the song.
I didn't really feel the song; it felt more like slam poetry than a song. I added some more music to it, doing my best to fit the simple and soft piano. Chorus came up and I sang to a sudden upbeat track. Right as I was getting into the song, Linda stopped her playing.
"Well done, Wilfred. You are indeed good, I see why Gilles referred you to me. Singing a new and hard song like that and actually getting it right is very impressive work. You must have learned a lot of songs from sheet music." Linda complimented me.
"Mrs. Moss gives us the lyrics to the songs so we can memorize it with our parents. That's how I learned most of it," I explained proudly.
"Good, it is brilliant, I think I'll have a lot less to teach you in technicals because you are really ahead of the curve there. We'll work on clarity, projection and very important for you vocal stamina. First, I must teach you the soul of a song," Linda said.
There it was again. Gilles had talked about heart and spirit enough for today. Yet, here was Linda saying the same thing.
"You have to feel the song, so even though you can sing that song well, you will never be able to compete with someone who understands the song. I don't think this song is good for you. How about something really upbeat?"
"Sure," I said. I didn't feel the best I could, but songs could make me happy.
"Have you seen Aladdin?" Linda asked.
"Yes, I love it. Genie's my favorite." Robin Williams had voiced it, and I started to feel sadness for when he would hurt himself in the future.
"I want you to imagine yourself as the boy Aladdin. You are on the street and you're hungry, your stomach is rumbling and you have to sate it the only way you know how."
"I can busk for bread," I pointed out.
"Sure, but for some reason everyone is really good at singing in that city. Have you seen the movie? Don't be silly now, put yourself in Aladdin's shoes. You are a boy full of mischief and trickery, you never take anything seriously. You are in a cartoon world," Linda explained but her eyes brightened at an idea.
"Emotions are important because you need it to make the listener feel your words and for that it is best if you have an experience with it. We'll sing a song and you can pick one that resonates with you." Linda told me. "Listen to my emotions!"
She started to sing acapella. Her voice sounded broken, unsure, and sad.
There was a time when men were kind,
And their voices were soft,
And their words inviting.
There was a time when love was blind,
And the world was a song,
And the song was exciting.
There was a time when it all went wrong
I had a revelation that queued up in my brain, but I held it back; my control had improved.
As she kept singing, I started to cry. It was a story about how you could have so many dreams and how life looked so bright until everything was taken from you one by one. Dreams turned to shame, hopes turned to acceptance of a failed life, and a heartbreak of saying that part out. Revelations abounded in my brain, but I was too busy crying. Linda had hurt me more than anyone else had, just by singing a sad rendition of a sad song, not just with her voice but with her heart.
Linda came over to hug me close to herself, and even she was crying softly. I started to bawl my eyes out while we both sought each other's warmth.
"There, there." Linda rubbed my back.
My sobs died down, but I had to be excused so I could blow my nose to stop my sniffles. When I arrived back in the room, Linda ushered me in and asked me to sing a song I felt in my soul. I told her the name and she smiled at me. The song felt an appropriate answer. Piano wasn't the exact instrument for it but piano was the king of instruments for a reason.
I started the song slow but with a clear voice. I felt that some words in it connected to me in more than a few ways.
Every time that I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
Oh, it went by like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way?
When the chorus came on, I sang it with all the hope that I had in my little body. Linda had lived a life, did many things. She was now a teacher and probably didn't play in musicals, so part of her dreams had died. But I hoped that she lived a productive life that she could be grateful for. My mother named me Wilfred Price, I had a memory from the past future. I had become young again, and while I didn't recall the life I had seemingly lived, I would live this one with the most joy I could experience.
Oh, sing with me, this mournful dub
Sing with me, sing for a year
Sing for the laughter, and sing for the tear
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away!
I was smiling as I sang the lyrics. It was the opposite of Linda's song; it told that the future was not set in stone and you could live without regret if you lived in the moment. At the end of the song, I poured my heart and soul into the high notes. I cared not for my volume, nor the fact I had never sung this part out. My vocal cords may not have been ready for it, but they combined with my feelings to belt out the note, so high that it came up to my head, mixing in a way I had never sung before.
Dream on
Dream on
Dream on
Oh.
Words couldn't describe my emotions. It had burst out of me and music felt like a kaleidoscope of shapes that I could move into a new unique and perfect form as I hit note after note. When I finished with the line: Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away, I emphasized it to end on a fuller voice, lower register, bright and hopeful to shout out my answer to Linda.
I slumped as I finished. That was so heavy. Linda's song had drained hope from me so that I was left a husk, empty and devoid. While Dream On burnt with all the hope in me and the smoke from the bonfire still lingered in the room, you could taste it, breathe it and live in its warmth.
Emotions—they were the soul of a song. I could only sing my best if I could align myself with the emotion demanded by the song. I learned something new today.