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Hi, my name is Ainsley
Moore
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 | Music and Heartstrings [01] |
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 5 with 2 vote(s)
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| Created: 2008-12-29 17:28:45 |
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”Music rots when it gets too far from the dance. Poetry atrophies when it gets too far from music.” ~ Ezra Pound
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I have never been the kind of girl with big dreams. I’ve never expected more from life than what it decides to give me. But I’ve decided that fate can be a very funny thing. And that she has a sense of humor.
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I loved living in Queensland. There were benefits to living so near the coast. For one thing, surfing every day. Two, a spectacular view. Three, you always got the balmy, warm air coming off the water. I got in at 4:37, after a day spent on the beach and boardwalk with my friends Riley and Morgan. It was a typical summer day for us, and while my mum thought I had better things to do with my life, she stopped complaining after awhile, realizing there were worse things I could be doing.
I slid the glass door closed, walking around to the kitchen. I could hear my older brother in the living room, most likely playing video games. I sighed, rolling my eyes, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it up with water. “Afternoon, Ainsley,” mum greeted, climbing out of the butler’s closet. I smiled around my glass in response. “Have a good time?” I nodded, tipping my glass back to get the last drops.
“Yep. The waves were great today. Very productive. Oh, and Morgan found a great top on the boardwalk today.” I left out the part where she had purchased a “do-it-yourself” belly button piercing kit; her mom would kill her if she found out. I rinsed out my cup, placing it in the dishwasher. “I think I’m going to go shower up,” I said, looking back to see that my mom was submerged in the pantry again. “I still kinda smell like sea water.”
“Alright. Well, put your wet things in the dryer when your done please. Oh!” She poked her round, dark head out from the closet. “Before I forget. You have mail. I put it on the table.” I nodded, suppressing a sigh. It was most likely from cousin Sheridan. After the last family reunion, my ten year old cousin had attatched herself to me, wanting to be just like me. Which must have meant she wanted to be a cocky, stubborn, eighteen year old. Exciting. She had been writing me quite frequently, wringing me for details about my life. The response was always the same: sorry, I live a boring life so, not much.
I grabbed the slender envelope off the table, sliding on the tiled floor to the stair case. “Hey blondie. Get any water up your nose?” Ah, good ol’ Avery. He’s my 19 year old brother, who was supposed to go to college last year, but instead decided to stay at home and play video games all day. The only break he got from the electronics was eating, showering, sleeping, and teasing me. And I was a prime subject for his jokes. I looked very much like our mom: tan skin, white-blonde hair, wide grey eyes, and a thick fringe of dark lashes that made them look like doll’s eyes. The only difference was in our height and stature. Mom was tall and elegant. I was short and scrawny with scarcely curve to my name.
“Better watch it Avery, or I’m going to shove something worse than water up your rear,” I threatened, taking the stairs two at a time. Discarding the envelope on my bed, I grabbed some dry clothes from the closet, locking myself in the bathroom. I was tense and tired, and therefore planned to enjoy this shower. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to last. After about 3 minutes, Avery was pounding on the door. “Save me some hot water, squirt!” He bellowed, stomping off to his room across the hall. I sighed and rinsed the last bit of conditioner from my hair.
I was wrapping my hair up in the towel when I looked at the letter. I must not have been very observant that day, because I was just now noticing that my address was not written in the clumsy scrawl of my young cousin. It was typed, official looking. Important. Curious, I ripped it open, pulling out a tri-folded paper. It was a letter from someone called Evermore Records.
"To Ms. Ainsley Moore:
"First, allow me to introduce myself. My name is David Jacobson, head of Evermore Records. I doubt you’ve heard of us; we’re fairly new. But we’ve decided we want to change the face of the music industry. And you, Miss Moore, have been randomly selected to help us achieve that goal.
"Let me explain. You and one other teen have been randomly selected to write our next song. You will be sent another letter shortly with the contact information of your partner. Correspondence is restricted to mail only. No e-mails, phone calls, text, instant messages, etc. will be allowed. There is no limit to the length the song needs to be, though we do humbly ask you give us at least a verse and a chorus to work with. Once it is finished, you will be brought to our studio in San Diego California, to hear the finished piece.
"There is one catch, however. You and your partner can write this song only one word at a time. I imagine it will be a bit of a struggle and a challenge. But we hope that it will help you grow as a person. Never forget, Miss Moore. Music is the infrastructure of life itself. It is what the very world is built upon. We wish you and your partner best of luck in this project and have faith that you will exceed our expectations.
Sincerely,
David Jacobson."
Alright, people were officially crazy. I couldn’t recall ever putting my name in for something like this. I pretty much stayed away from those kind of things, figuring that they were just rigged competitions that went to the person who could pay the most and they always had strings attatched. I snatched the envelope off the floor, looking at the return address. Sure enough, straight from the States. Crazy Americans. Leave it to them to come up with a crazy idea like this.
I must have been more tired than I thought. I was so going to just shred the letter. I didn’t need that kind of stress. And besides, why would I want to correspond with a stranger? For all I knew, I could be sending information to a 30 year old internet stalker! But, against my better judgement, I placed the letter carefully into my desk drawer, saving it for further questioning. Booting up my laptop, I saw that Morgan, bless her soul, was online. Opening up an instant message window, I quickly sent a message.
"Thank God you're on! You’re never going to believe what happened to me." |
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