Chapters The five-page piece ended with a low D. There was a fermata on it as well, so I let it vibrate through the room for as long as my bow allowed. The sound echoed through the whole room in a graceful vibrato. It didn’t say so on the sheet music, but I did it anyway. It also didn’t say I should have played it forte. That too, was my own interpretation. When finally my bow came to an end, I watched the ponies in the room.
Fortissimo was silent, trembling, as if the note had disturbed him greatly. His shifty eyes went from the paper to me to my parents to his cello case, perhaps wondering if our lesson had finished. Was he glad it was over? Did I not play beautifully? I did my best!
‘Honestly, I’d say the last note was a bit much,’ Father said.
Mother sniffed. ‘Indeed. That couldn’t be right. Was it, Monsieur Fortissimo?’
My shoulders slumped. Now I started trembling a bit as well. I had promised myself not to. Yet I did.
‘It was… not what the sheet music said, no.’ Fortissimo took off his glasses and blinked hard. ‘It was her own interpretation.’
‘Then I know enough.’ Father gave me that signature gaze of his—the one that could make the greatest villain in Equestria envious. ‘As long as my daughter does not play as… freely and frivolously as she did just then, all should be fine for her performance tonight.’
He was silent, as if he were done talking. I knew he wasn’t. I kept silent as well.
‘Did you hear me, Daughter?’
‘I did, Father. I am terribly sorry.’ As I apologized, I almost let my bow drop to the ground from my weak hooves.
Mother tapped with her crystal horseshoes on the ground. A graceful grey evening gown adorned her perfect figure. It seemed as if she were always ready for a formal event. ‘Une question, Monsieur Fortissimo: is her playing adequate?’
Just the barest hint of a smile tugged at Fortissimo’s lips. He almost winced with the effort of concealing it. I could know, because I had seen that expression often enough. ‘She played absolutely—’
My parents frowned simultaneously.
But Fortissimo checked himself—just in time! ‘Adequate. Absolutely adequate.’ He wanted to sigh, but withheld himself once more. ‘She will perform as you want her to perform and as the conductor expects her to perform.’
‘It pleases me to hear that,’ Father said, accompanied by a, ‘Très bon’ from mother. None of them smiled or even made a small nod. Not that I was expecting either of those gestures from them. But still…
‘And how is her theory?’ Father informed after a moment. ‘Did you teach her from my own old theory book?’
Just thinking about that old piece of parchment from before the paleo-pony period made me want to gag. Yet, I followed Fortissimo’s example, and controlled my instinctive reaction.
Fortissimo nodded. ‘We work on it every lesson, and she assured me she studies hard when I am not here as well.’
Father snorted. ‘Of course she does. I made sure of that.’
‘That is… splendid!’ This time, Fortissimo almost gave himself away.
‘And I take it you work on theory for at least one hour per lesson?’
‘That is what we agreed on.’
‘Good. “If you understand how music theory works, you understand how success works.” That is what my old teacher used to say. He could not be more right.’
‘Right as rain, Mister Melody.’
Mother leaned in and scrutinized poor Fortissimo, going as far as to pull her glasses to the tip of her nose with a tingle of unicorn magic. ‘Do you test her regularly?’
‘Of course,’ Fortissimo said.
‘Hmm? When she least expects it?’
‘Naturally, Missus Melody.’
She let out a small, half-chuckle, sounding almost like a cough. ‘Ah, that is what we wanted.’
There was a small silence. Father took a spotless, pearl-white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket, waved it around to unfold it, and dabbed his forehead. ‘My oh, my, it is so warm in here.’
‘That is because of all the hard work we have done,’ Fortissimo said.
Exactly where he got the nerve to make a joke like that right in front of Father and Mother, I couldn’t possibly guess back then and I still cannot guess today. I swallowed. My eyes flashed from my parents to my music teacher. I waited, tail between my legs.
I could hear Father’s teeth grind together. He cleared his throat. ‘We are once more satisfied with your service, Fortissimo,’ he said, although his tone suggested very different “words of praise.”
‘Oui, indeed we are,’ said mother, who looked as uncomfortable as a bassoonist on a solo stage.
Luckily, Father proved to be merciful today. ‘You may go, Fortissimo.’ His voice was icy cold.
He didn’t need to be told twice! Immediately the music teacher collected his sheet music, crinkling and folding the pages in panic, dropping some of them, scooping them up and jamming them in his cello case somewhere. I too, carefully put my cello on the stand and moved over to help. Father cleared his throat again, extra distinctly this time, which was my cue to cease my kindness. I looked at him; he looked at me. I knew enough.
Suddenly, Mother said, ‘Sacrebleu! The atmosphere is simply dreadful in here.’ And to illustrate her point, she waved an ornate silk fan.
‘You are right, darling.’ Father broke eye contact with me, a relief beyond description. He tucked the handkerchief in a pocket. ‘Shall we get something to drink? We still have that excellent Chardonnay in the basement.’
Mother nodded approvingly. ‘One good glass before we go to the Canterlot Music Hall sounds simply magnifique! Yes, they have beautiful music, but poor taste in wine, unfortunately.’
‘I couldn’t agree more, my darling.’ When Mother offered her hoof, Father took it. Together they walked out of the practice room and closed the door behind them.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Fortissimo ceased his panicky packing. He literally froze, closed his eyes, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. I could see his whole body relax as if he could finally put down the solid stone cello he was carrying up Mount Everhoof. As he stood up, he stretched his back in all directions, then walked towards me. A broad smile adorned his clean-shaven chin.
I knew what that meant. Together we counted.
‘With a one, and a two, and a you-know-what-to-do!’
The clap of our high hoof made my ears ring for a bit. But it was a great feeling. I hadn’t felt that way since the last cello lesson, a week ago.
‘You were absolutely fan-tas-tic, Octy!’ Fortissimo called.
I couldn’t help myself and blushed. I did so every time he complimented me. ‘Thank you, Forty. You were good too.’
‘Well, that is what one might expect from me after so many years of playing,’ Fortissimo said with a chuckle.
Of course I giggled along, still a bit tense, although I knew there was nopony in the room but he and I. ‘I did my best.’
‘Indeed you did. I just wish you would loosen up a bit. I mean, you play exactly what the sheet music says, but I always hear some… tension in your playing.’
For a moment, my gaze went to the ground. ‘I know. I should play with more expression. I can’t help it.’
Fortissimo lay a hoof on my shoulder. ‘I know you can’t help it.’
‘But… you are nervous too. I saw it just a moment ago. I see it every time.’ My eyes met his sorrowful frown.
Another sigh. ‘You are absolutely right, Octy. Playing under a watchful gaze is always… difficult and challenging.’
‘Yes…’ I felt the urge to sigh as well.
‘But… that is why I have so much admiration for you, my little Octy, because you always play loud and clear.’
I giggled again. ‘Yes, you just heard how much I like to play loud.’
All the stress, nervousness, and cramped-up emotions burst forward in a duet of laughter. I staggered backwards and almost knocked over my cello stand. Fortissimo’s glasses trembled on the tip of his nose, then fell to the ground. Yet he did not notice it. His hind leg came dangerously close to them, and I could already imagine the cracking sound in my mind. I shot forwards but couldn’t stop myself in time. Next thing I knew, I had tacked my music teacher to the ground and lay on top of him.
A silence. Flabbergasted faces. Then more chuckles.
‘You saved my life, Octy.’
‘No, just your glasses, silly.’
I took a moment to look deep in Fortissimo’s brown eyes. I saw a flicker which I still remember. He grinned but the flicker remained. ‘You’re still nervous?’
Fortissimo scrambled up as I stepped back on the carpet. ‘A little,’ he said after bending down and placing his wire-rim glasses back on his muzzle.
‘I saw it.’
‘You saw it right.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m so glad you have an eye for detail, and, more importantly, an innate ability to read other ponies and desperate music teachers,’ Fortissimo said with a wry smile.
‘Desperate? Why?’
He turned towards his cello and proceeded to place it in its case. ‘Oh… grownup matters. Nothing that would interest you.’
‘But father always tells you to treat me as an adult. I’m sure I will understand.’ Actually, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this, yet my pity went to him, especially after seeing those eyes.
‘It’s nothing, really.’ He was already tucking away his bow.
‘If I can help you in any way, I will.’
Fortissimo froze again. Slowly he turned around. ‘It’s just that teaching you… wears me down in a way.’
Pure bafflement made my eyes grow. ‘But… don’t you like our practice sessions? Our duets? Don’t you like… me?’
A loud gasp. ‘What?! No, of course not! That was absolutely not what I meant!’
‘Then what did you mean?’
He crouched down so our eyes were level, and scratched the back of his head, ruining his neatly-styled mane. ‘It’s just that… How can I say this nicely…? The relationship between you and your parents is… impacting me heavily.’
I nodded slowly. ‘I think I understand.’
‘But not everything,’ Fortissimo said. ‘My parents were very different from yours. They supported me and my playing in every way. They bought me a cello from what little money they had. They always gave me compliments and got me the friendliest teacher there was.’
I had never heard something that incredible, and couldn’t possibly imagine a childhood like that. Somehow, it frightened me.
‘The contrast between my childhood and yours is just…’ Fortissimo threw his hooves in the air. ‘It pains and drains me beyond measure.’
‘Then maybe I should come with you?’ I said.
A small tear blinked in the corner of his eye, although he wore a gentle smile upon his face. Quickly he wiped the tear away, probably knowing I had seen it nonetheless. ‘I wish that were possible, my little Octy, I wish it were.’
The bang of the swinging door made the windows tremble. Both Father and Mother stormed into the room like a stampeding herd of bulls. ‘I THINK I HAVE HEARD QUITE ENOUGH!’
Driven by a flight instinct, Fortissimo jumped backwards, tripped over his cello, and fell down. He hadn’t closed the lid of the case yet. The cello made a heartbreaking, creaking sound as the wood splintered beneath the weight of Fortissimo’s hooves.
‘I could not believe my own ears,’ Mother said, turning up her nose as if I had just played out of tune.
‘Y-y-you have been l-l-listening?’ Fortissimo’s voice was trembling. Never before had I heard him stutter. The suddenness of it all must have shattered all the nerves in his body.
‘And I am GLAD I have,’ Father roared. ‘My sixth sense told me to keep an ear to the door.’ He stomped forwards, advancing on the shaking music teacher. I wanted to protect him but stood nailed to the gold-lined carpet.
‘I-I-I don’t know what you heard, good Mister Melody, but you should know that I meant no d-d-disrespect.’
Father stopped. His nose almost touched Fortissimo’s. A rain of spittle flew out of his mouth as he shouted. ‘NO DISRESPECT?! You have disrespected me in every way, Fortissimo. First you break the iron rule of NO compliments, and then you make an attempt to abduct my very own daughter!’
‘M-m-mister Melody, please. That was not what I i-i-intended, and—’
‘LIES!’ Mother shouted.
‘Yes, lies!’ Father snorted. ‘I can smell your lies and betrayal, Fortissimo. My sixth sense tells me so.’
Somehow I found a drop of courage in my heart. ‘No Father, he is speaking the—’
Just the sight of his blazing eyes was enough to silence me. For a moment he seemed unsure who to stare down. In the end he continued his rant on Fortissimo, whose tail looked as if it were going to shake loose. ‘Consider this the end of your lessons to my daughter. And the end of your reputation as well.’ His voice lowered to a hiss, but I could understand every word. ‘The details of your shameful and unprofessional behavior here will spread all through the Canterlot Musical Society. You will never find a music teaching job in this city, and I will do whatever I can to assure that any other music hall in any other city will shun you as well.’
Fortissimo’s brown face went white. ‘But… but—’
‘It is a good thing you ruined your cello, because you will not need to play it ever again,’ Mother said, letting out a high-pitched giggle. ‘At least you can still use it as wood for the fire.’
His eyes looked from the broken instrument to the ground. Many tears now streamed down his cheeks. I couldn’t tell what had caused him to weep.
Suddenly, Father turned around and walked towards the door. ‘You may leave, Fortissimo.’
Never before had I heard a voice more desperate, as Fortissimo kneeled down and folded his front hooves. ‘Oh, Mister Melody, accept my apology and offer me another chance! I am not a wealthy pony. I need this teaching job and I need my reputation. Surely you must understand and find forgiveness in your heart, as a great musical genius.’
I felt the urge to gag once again. Only this time it wasn’t funny.
Father froze in the doorway. He stood close to Mother now. The two of them whispered. When Mother smiled, the scheming ended, and Father turned around. His eyes betrayed no understanding, let alone forgiveness. ‘Very well, I will forgive you.’
‘R-r-really? Oh thank you, Mister Melo—’
‘On ONE condition…’
‘Anything!’ Fortissimo cried.
‘I will allow you to keep your reputation, IF you agree to teach my daughter free of charge for the rest of her life.’ His tone indicated that this was not an offer he could refuse.
Fortissimo went silent. His breath was shakier than a novice’s bow.
‘If I were you, I would accept,’ Mother said. A thin smile was glued to her muzzle. ‘You have no other options, Monsieur Fortissimo.’
Upon seeing this frozen scene, I felt like bursting into tears myself.
After a few more endless seconds, Fortissimo hung his head. ‘I agree to your terms.’
So it was done. After mentioning something about a contract, Father retreated with Mother close behind. I helped Fortissimo pack his things in total silence. After this tragedy I saw him three more times. We practiced in silence, the only sound coming from our cellos. Apparently he had found a replacement, but is sounded simply dreadful. Or perhaps he himself was playing badly. I could not tell. After the third lesson I never saw him again.
‘Gone with the wind,’ Mother said.
‘Good riddance,’ Father added.
I just remained silent, thinking my own thoughts. Although I did not know where he was, one thing I knew for certain:
I would never forget him.
‘Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!’ Every time he uttered that word he waved his hooves in the air as if he were worshipping some goddess of music. He even started clapping his hooves when nopony responded.
I felt somepony bump me. It was the cellist next to me. ‘Our conductor sure is enthusiastic, isn’t he?’
I made a quick attempt to recall the cellist’s name, but gave up just as quickly. She wore a gorgeous blue dress, that much I remember. ‘Indeed he is.’
‘I’ve never seen somepony so passionate about classical music, have you?’ the mare continued.
Of course I could think of somepony—somepony who had been my only friend in my childhood years. I had learned many things from him, and not just about playing the cello. Yet I doubted whether he would realize that, wherever he might be. My eyes traveled to the ground and spotted my bow lying there. I must have dropped it at some point in my silent musing.
When I raised my head again I noticed that the conductor was looking right at me. He brushed back his curly black mane before staring some more. ‘Especially the bass part of the piece was simply divine. It truly stole my heart.’
‘Why thank you,’ said a stallion behind me, making a shallow bow during which he almost dropped his double bass.
‘I wasn’t necessarily talking about the double basses, more about the cellos.’ The conductor showed a slim smile, perfectly adorning his square jaw.
There was no mistaking his clear articulation and intonation in his voice. I wished I hadn’t heard him saying that. Involuntarily, I scooted behind my cello, shrinking a bit.
Luckily, his attention drifted away from me. I could regain my focus again. ‘Very good, everypony. The performance tomorrow will be memorable to the audience, to me, and to you surely as well. If you play like this, I guarantee you an applause that will last forever and ever. Mark my words!’
‘Gee, he sure knows how to hype things up,’ said the mare in blue. I barely heard her.
‘Have a wonderful day, everypony. Rest and go to bed early, because my heart would break if I had to conduct this orchestra with only a single pony missing.’
Why was he looking at me again? Actually, I didn’t want to know. The bassists, violists, violinists, bassoonists, clarinetists, oboists, flutists, horn players, percussionists, and the rest of the orchestra collected its sheet music in a chorus of rustling paper. Already some members stood up and headed down the stage for the cloakroom. I couldn’t wait to join them. Was it just me, or did the temperature suddenly become unbearably hot?
I grabbed my cello and descended the ornate wooden stairs as well. I was too late. The backstage exit was too narrow for all of us at once. A large traffic jam of musical instruments tried to squeeze through. To top it off, the bassists were going first, and it would take ages before they and their massive wooden double basses could finally leave. There was complaining everywhere. The bigger the instrument, the bigger the temperament, and that is no joke.
Turning around, I briefly considered heading for the visitors’ exit, or maybe even the emergency exit? Alas, it wasn’t meant to happen that way.
‘I meant what I said, you know? You were truly astonishing.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him approach. Just let me wait in peace, I said to him in my head. Of course, I could never say such a thing to Fermata Con Spirito, Canterlot’s most renowned conductor. So instead I made a small bow. ‘Thank you. You are most kind.’
‘Well, I find it easy to be kind to you, and I think my kindness suits you well,’ he said with a nod.
What was that supposed to mean? I felt a strange churning in my stomach, and it was not hunger. I nodded back as politely as I could.
Fermata smiled. ‘Only you know how to stand out in the crowd when you play a bass part, Octavia Melody.’
‘I was not trying to stand out, to be honest. I am just a cellist.’
To that, he made a strange sound which was probably supposed to be comical. ‘Just a cellist? My dear, you are the cellist. You could carry everypony’s bass part on your back with ease.’
‘That would be… uncomfortable.’ I forced a smile at my own stupid joke.
Fermata seemed to like it, for he chuckled loudly. ‘If anypony would play as good as you, I wouldn’t mind to conduct a whole orchestra of Octavia’s.’
This was going a bit too far. The way he stared at me made my legs tremble like the strings of my cello. I almost dropped it from my weak hooves. Quickly I flashed a glance at the backstage door. It looked unobstructed by now.
‘You look nervous. Surely a pony with talent like you should have no need for that,’ Fermata said.
‘I… um… I should go. Yes, yes I should.’ I could barely utter a normal sentence at that point.
Fermata did a step closer. ‘Why the hurry?’
I did a step back. ‘Because… because… um…’
‘Ah, I see. You have to practice for your solo performance tomorrow.’ He slapped his forehead in a poorly disguised suggestion of surprise. ‘How could I possibly have forgotten that?’
Was I supposed to answer that question? ‘Cello solo performances are rare in the Canterlot Music Hall, or so I have heard.’
‘Indeed they are.’ Fermata spoke as if I were a little filly who answered a question right in conservatory music theory class. ‘And that is why you will stand out even more! Lucky, lucky you!’
My cello scraped over the shiny wooden floor as I retreated. ‘Yes, lucky me,’ I managed to cram out of my mouth.
‘And lucky me as well. I will be watching, Octavia, and I will enjoy it twice as much as anypony else in the hall. You can count on that.’
The door came closer. ‘I will not disappoint you.’
Suddenly, his smile faded a little. ‘Actually, you are disappointing me a bit right now. Do you still need to practice so much? I bet you could sight-read every page of the piece.’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’
‘You shouldn’t be afraid. It’s alright.’ He edged closer. For a moment I imagined him breaking into a sprint to catch up with me.
I forced my legs to obey. My cello felt as if it weighed a ton in my hooves. ‘What… what do you mean?’
‘I would love to get to know the star of the Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra better.’ His wide smile showed his perfect, pearl-white teeth. ‘Perhaps over a glass of fragrant Chardonnay?’
When he winked at me, I almost fainted. Quickly I threw my hoof around the doorknob, or else I would really have fallen down. Without another word I stepped through and closed the door behind me. It wasn’t the most polite thing to do, but it was the right thing to do, and the only thing I wanted to do. As quickly as I could I reached the dressing room, jammed my cello, my bow, and my sheet music in the case and left the building.
* *
Fermata had been right. the second after the last, furious chord bounced through the Canterlot music hall’s auditorium, everypony in the audience promptly stood up and clapped his or her hooves together in an almost endless applause. The wave of applause hit me harder than the forte-piano. All musicians were supposed to stand up and take a bow, but I felt the urge to keep sitting. The mare in blue next to me nudged me with her shoulder. ‘C’mon, Octy, you’re part of the family too!’ I found myself obey and made shallow half-bows.
I didn’t know why I felt so nervous, yet at the same time I did. Next up was my solo performance, Etude in A flat major, Op. 25, No. 1, composed by the famous pianist Frédéric Clopin. Of course, my upcoming moment of truth was not at all the reason why I gripped my bow extra tight.
Fermata turned around and hop-skip-jumped from his platform on the stage. He made a big, almost comical bow before he grabbed the microphone. The applause died away reluctantly. ‘Fillies and gentlecolts, it is an honor for me to personally announce to you a rising star in the heaven of string players…’
In the meantime, I descended the steps, cello and bow clutched in my hooves. I gulped hard more than once. Apparently, the memory of yesterday afternoon hadn’t faded thoroughly enough.
‘…And a silent celebrity in the world of cellists…’
Where did he get that from?! I could hardly breathe, and counted myself lucky I did not play a woodwind instrument.
Fermata took a deep breath and called my name, pure passion resonating in his voice. ‘Miss Octavia Melody!’
He too, applauded as he stepped aside. I tried my best to forget the direction he was walking in and the location where he would be standing, watching and watching some more. Instead I focused on the area marked by the spotlights. I only half-succeeded in closing myself off from the sound of clapping hooves. Whom was the audience clapping for?
I stood perfectly in the light of attention, positioned my cello in front of me. Back straight, deep breath, eyes closed, mind sharp. I was ready as I would ever be.
The first few notes sounded a bit shaky, but I corrected myself quickly. There was no sheet music stand in front of me because I knew the piece by heart. It was the last piece Fortissimo and I had worked on years ago. He had arranged it as a duet for two cellos, but unfortunately I hadn’t been able to find it again when Father had confiscated every single piece of sheet music the poor cello teacher had ever composed or played together with me.
As I reached the end of the first part, I felt a tear glide over my cheeks. Whispers resounded in front of me. The front row must have noticed the glimmer in the spotlight. It was a waking call for me. I had to control myself. Taking a deep breath, I repeated the first part in a fluent transition back to the beginning of Clopin’s etude.
The notes waved through the Canterlot music hall in arpeggios as graceful and expressive as I could play them. The acoustics of the auditorium were fantastic, as I had noticed during the rehearsals. It was almost strange how uplifting the piece sounded, being composed in a major key. Even stranger was the contrast of this happy, rapid piece full of colorful crescendos reminding me of so sad a scene so long ago.
The moment I played the few natural tones of the second part’s arpeggios, there was dead silence from the audience. Where they enthralled or shocked? Was I crying again? I opened my eyes just to see if the audience was still satisfied.
That was a big mistake.
Leaning gently against the stage, right in front of me, as close as he could possibly get, was Fermata. His hooves were folded together as if he were worshipping me. Of course he was. I could also see that he was listening to my breath, not to the notes I played; and that he was looking at my eyes, instead of my bow strokes.
My heart skipped a beat. Every muscle in my body tensed. Disaster struck. With a loud PLOING! My C string snapped. I felt a pain lash through my cheek, and the warmth of a single blood drop dripping down.
A rustle and a gasp went through the audience. Then mumbling.
Any normal cellist—any normal pony —would have stopped, run off, and grab a handkerchief. But I wasn’t normal, and I had never been normal—not one single day in my life. Words from Father rushed through my head: Whatever happens, Daughter, never, ever, stop a performance! No matter if your cello breaks or you yourself break, keep on playing till the last note.
So I improvised. I had to. The piece suddenly sounded a bit higher, due to the lack of my lowest-sounding string. I had no idea if this was going to work, and wished I had my sheet music in front of me. Especially the rapid sixteenth notes were a true pain to transpose from memory. The piece was about ninety percent sixteenth notes. Perhaps I skipped one or misplayed one in the desperate process. I cannot possibly remember. The whole performance was a blur fueled by pure survival instinct.
Then something else happened. It went all by itself, as if I were possessed by the Phantom of the Opera. Without even realizing what I was doing before it was too late, I modulated. The last part of the piece I played not in A flat major, but in its enharmonic equal: F minor. I used the same notes, but with different intervals.
It was neither what Clopin had intended when he wrote the piece, nor what Fortissimo had in mind when he arranged it. It was what I wanted to do—what my inner self wanted to do. For the first time in my music career—the first time in my life— I did my own thing, and followed my intuition. I did not care what the audience would think of the minor key. I wasn’t playing for them, for Clopin, for Fermata, for the Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra, or even for the memory of Fortissimo. I was playing purely for myself.
I began to tear up at the sorrowful tones. The complete atmosphere of the sounds changed from a gentle, welcome summer drizzle to a cold, uncomfortable autumn rain, as they cascaded through the auditorium. Even if I had the sheet music right in front of me, it would have been useless. I could see nothing through the haze clouding my eyes.
‘Miss Octavia, are you… alright?’
Hearing Fermata’s voice did not help. I must have looked like a savage with the blood, sweat, and tears on my face. I played on, twice as intense as before. There had been no accelerando sign anywhere in the piece, yet I played faster as if that weren’t true. Instead of softening in a decrescendo, I played louder in a furious crescendo. My bow almost screeched against the strings with the increasing pressure. It might have snapped in two if I had clutched it but a tad tighter.
The last note came: a high F, the tonic of the key. I let it vibrate for as long as my bow allowed.
Then it was done.
Deathly silence reigned in the auditorium. I dropped my bow and wiped my eyes with the back of my hoof, so I could take a glance at the audience. I am not sure why I wanted that. Big eyes, gaping mouths, and silent wows everywhere. I waited for the verdict.
One clap resounded, then another, and another. Within three seconds, the applause grew to an earthquake of sound. Ponies stood up and raised their hooves. Some even had the nerve to whistle, as if my performance had been some kind of rock concert.
I bowed to the left, to the right, to the middle like a robot: stiff and lifeless. Fermata was already approaching me with a smile and outstretched hooves, ready for a hug. I dropped my cello and hurried off the stage. Not back to my place in the orchestra, but to the backstage door. It was over for me. Maybe forever.
I did not even play the last part of the piece, but focused instead on her left hoof technique. She was undeterred by the sudden loss of the second voice. Quite the opposite happened. The little filly closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by the last passage of the piece in C major, arguably the happiest key in music. It wasn’t hard to conclude that she was indeed in the mood for something cheerful.
The last note was a staccato note, but instead of playing it short she turned it into an ornamentation, moving lighting fast from a low C up the scale to a high C. A smile adorned her lips as she opened her eyes and looked at me, even before the sound had echoed away through the windows of the living room. What would be my judgement?
‘That was truly beautiful!’ I said, nodding vigorously.
‘Was it?’ Treble looked doubtful. ‘I know that twiddly bit at the end wasn’t what the sheet music said, but…’
‘But you made it work out absolutely brilliant, and I appreciate your creativity, Treble.’
Still Treble didn’t look satisfied. ‘It’s just… when I go play in the student orchestra I can’t do something weird like that.’
‘Hm… perhaps not…’ Now even my smile faded a little.
‘Everypony will give me funny stares. I mean, not funny, but more like, disappointed,’ Treble said, fumbling with her pink ponytail while she spoke.
I put my cello on the stand together with my bow, then stepped closer to my student. ‘Usually, when you play together with others, you have to play exactly as the sheet music says, because it might indeed sound… off, if you start your wonderful improvisations all of a sudden.’ I paused and smiled a sly smile. ‘Or perhaps it would also be nice to surprise the rest of the students and shake them awake with some nice forte-pianos!’
Mission accomplished! Treble giggled along, almost losing her grip on the small cello in her hooves.
‘Whoopsie daisy! Let me get that for you, my little virtuoso.’ I reached out and placed Treble’s instrument carefully on its stand. After that I stroked her mane.
‘So you’re not disappointed, even though it wasn’t perfect?’ Treble said.
‘To me it was perfect, and that is what counts for the moment,’ I answered. ‘It sounded perfect because you made it perfect. It was your very own voice sounding through your instrument. I wish I could have played as expressively at your age.’
A blush flared up on Treble’s white cheeks, which made her look even more adorable than when she had the tiny cello in front of her. ‘Golly! Thanks, Miss Octy. I, um… Yeah, thanks a lot!’
I knew that look in her eyes when she cast them downwards painfully well. It was time for me to ask her a question. ‘This might seem a bit random, but, may I ask you, why did you decide to play the cello?’
‘I… didn’t. My parents kinda chose that for me,’ she mumbled back.
Just as I expected. ‘I see…’
Treble’s expression darkened. To my own surprise, she continued all by herself. ‘And it gets worse! They only want me to play sad songs. You know, minor keys and stuff. Every time I ask why, they tell me that “music is suffering,” and that “the essence of all arts is suffering,” whatever that means.’
I couldn’t stand listening any more. Three years she had been my student, yet I had never dared to ask her that question, nor had she ever shown her opinion about this matter. ‘So that is why you always want to do pieces in major keys when we play together?’
‘Yeah… now you know my secret.’
My mouth was open in a silent gasp. ‘I could never have guessed! You always look so happy when you play. I can hear that as well.’
Her shoulders slumped for a moment, but then she met my gaze and smiled again. ‘I know, but it’s not really the music that cheers me up. It’s you!’
‘It is me?!’
‘Yes, of course, silly Miss Octy. You’re the best music teacher I’ve ever had!’ She grabbed my hoof in a funny hoofshake.
I just stood petrified. ‘But… why?’
‘That’s easy! You’re kind and always give a million compliments. Oh, and you let me choose the pieces, of course. No minor keys in your lessons, haha!’
Upon her giggle, I thawed a bit. Yet I retreated my hoof and rubbed it as if a flyder had stung me. ‘That is very friendly of you, and I appreciate your compliments very much,’ I said, discovering that I sounded stiffer than I actually wanted to.
‘We’re a dream-team! With your help, I’ll be a pro cellist in no time!’ Treble jumped up and down. ‘That’s what my parents say too. “You will fulfill your destiny, my daughter.”’
She probably mimicked her father’s voice. The exaggerated tone struck a false chord in me, which made my bones rattle. Was it just me, or did her imitation sound just like my own father? He had said that exact same sentence to me many times, when I was still a little filly. Involuntarily, I fumbled with my bowtie.
‘Are you alright, Miss Octy? You look a bit strange.’
That concerned gaze called me back to action. ‘Yes, yes, I am quite alright. Excuse me for my… absent-mindedness. I was… um… distracted.’
‘Oki-doki!’ Treble swished her flowing pink tail aside to reveal her cutie mark: a treble clef. It looked just like mine, except smaller and adorned with the colors of the rainbow. ‘Yeah, music is my special talent, I guess, but I still think it’s odd that my cutie mark is a treble clef. I mean, it should be a bass or alto clef, right? We’re playing cello and not violin, after all.’
‘My cutie mark is a treble clef as well and I too, play cello,’ I said, although my tone wavered a bit. Something was on my mind. ‘Of course I also play piano accompaniment from time to time, where I have to read treble clef.’
Treble gasped. ‘Two instruments?! Wow! You’re even more talented than I thought. Only, how do you know what your special talent is, then? Piano or cello?’
I let a small silence drop just to think how to say what I wanted to say. When I finally gathered up the words, I crouched down so I could look Treble straight in her big, blue eyes. ‘I know very well what my special talent is, but I think you misinterpreted yours, little Treble.’
‘Mis—mis—interwhatnow?’
‘Oh, eh… I mean, misunderstood.’
‘But it’s right there on my flank!’ She pointed. ‘Music!’
Gently I guided her gaze back to me. ‘Yes, the treble clef means music, but what does music mean?’
Treble tapped her chin and took guesses. ‘Sounds? Notes? Instruments? Cellos? Orchestras? Tones? Keys? Bow strokes? Bowties?’
I chuckled. ‘Yes, you are giving all the right answers. Yet, there is one you forget. That doesn’t matter, because I have seen many musicians forget it.’
‘Which one do you mean? Tell me, tell me!’
‘Do you remember when I said you could play very expressively and made your voice sound through your instrument?’
Treble’s gaze wandered. ‘Yeah, uh… I wasn’t sure what you meant with that, honestly.’
‘That’s okay. Don’t worry.’ To my gentle words, she paid attention again. ‘The only thing you should remember is that music is not only about talent, hard work, and prestige, but about expressing yourself with sound.’
‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded, but I could hear in her voice that she did not quite understand.
I placed my hoof on her shoulder and took a deep breath. ‘With “expressing yourself” I mean letting your emotions sound through your instrument. If you feel happy you play fast and lively, with quick sixteenth notes and arpeggios; and when you feel sad you play slowly and gravely, for example vibrating semibreves that last for at least a bar.’
‘Ah! Now I get it!’ Her eyes glimmered.
‘Very good!’ I cheered. ‘That little improvisation of yours was yours and yours alone, and you played it only for yourself, to show that you enjoyed playing the piece. Am I correct?’
Treble nodded.
‘You should do that more often. Not only when you play solo, but also in the orchestra. Explain to the conductor what you intend to do, and perhaps he or she will incorporate your ideas in the original composition. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?’
‘Sounds really cool!’ Treble said.
I continued. ‘Learning to express yourself through your music is a very valuable lesson, little Treble. A lesson I had to learn the hard way. In fact, the realization came to me years ago when I least expected it, and at the most inappropriate time imaginable: during a solo performance!’
Apparently I voiced it as a joke because Treble laughed. From the inside it didn’t feel like a joke. I felt myself chuckle along anyway.
‘And the music will always be yours. Not your parents’, not the composer’s, not the conductor’s, but completely yours. No matter how boring or dreadfully sad the piece is, if you learn to express your thoughts and emotions, you can always put something from yourself in the music.’
‘Okay… Alright…’
I nodded. ‘It doesn’t matter if you do not understand yet, Treble. Some things you learn automatically when you practice, as you know all too well. Trust me. It will come.’
There was a small silence in which we both thought. Then, Treble suddenly scooted forward and threw her hooves around me. ‘Thank you, Miss Octy.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I quickly uttered, before a tear fell down and my voice began to croak. ‘You are very welcome, my little virtuoso…’
Chapter four: Octavia’s story
‘Jeez, Octy! That last part almost made me cry. Why did you tell me all of this?’
Octavia stared at Vinyl’s face in the warm glimmer of the nightlight, yet she didn’t see her. She also lay under soft linen sheets, but did not find their comfort against her hide. Her head was buried in a thick pillow, but she didn’t have the feeling the pillow was carrying it completely. At this point, she felt everything but her physical world, or the mare lying opposite of her.
‘Oh no, and no you are the one crying!’ Vinyl reached out to wipe her tears. Octavia turned her head away. What might have been a romantic gesture ended with Vinyl’s hoof hanging in the air. ‘Eh…’
‘It’s okay, Vinyl. I just… wanted to say this. I just wanted somepony to listen. I’m glad you’re a good listener, even though you listen to terrible music most of the time.’
Vinyl grunted. ‘Should I take that as a compliment?’
Silence.
‘Eh… Yeah, of course I’m a good listener. I mean, I gotta listen if the beats are in sync, otherwise I can’t get a clean mix,’ Vinyl Scratch said.
‘I was not talking about headphones.’
‘I knew that,’ Vinyl said, although her tone suggested that she did not.
Once again silence. Only the sound of Octavia’s breath could be heard. It started to shudder.
Vinyl made the bed rock, as she raised herself to a sitting position. ‘I still don’t understand. You were the one who could choose where we would go on our vacation this time. You chose this prissy, ridiculously fancy-schmancy and expensive resort. I should be the one feeling sad.’
The sheets crinkled as Octavia wrapped them around her shoulders. She barely heard her marefriend speak.
‘But you’ve been acting all weird ‘n stuff today. At breakfast, at the pool, and now here in bed… You were so silent and uninterested and, just, not in the moment. Almost as if I try out a sweet new dubstep bass on my synth back home, and you try your best to ignore the awesomeness.’
A heavy sigh from the other side of the bed.
Vinyl wasn’t done yet. ‘Trust me, Octy, I know how to read ponies, although they’re normally packed together in a crowd. You told me these three stories. But what do you wanna tell me with them and why now? C’mon, Tavi, I’m no good with abstract things. You gotta help me with this one.’ Her voice sounded playful at the end, and Vinyl even nudged her marefriend gently with a hoof.
Octavia took a few deep breaths before she prepared her answer. Despite her efforts, her voice still trembled like her cello tones. ‘Today is… a strange day. I thought I would feel alright, with you by my side I mean, and in a comfortable, stylish mountain resort…’
‘Yeah it’s comfortable alright. I’ll have to agree with that. I mean, check out these pillows!’ Vinyl Scratch punched hers a bit, which made a muffled sound. ‘I can sink my whole foreleg in it. look!’
But Octavia didn’t look. ‘Today, April the twelfth, is Fortissimo’s birthday. He told me only once, but I never forgot it.’
‘Oh…’ Vinyl mumbled.
‘I composed a piece only for him on that special day. I was only small and had had just a few lessons from him. The sheet music must have been full of errors, but he never pointed them out. Father had to do that. But Fortissimo, he just… just…’ Her voice became distorted. ‘He just listened, fighting against a smile and his tears of joy.’
Vinyl swallowed. ‘That’s just… wow! That must have sounded great! Why don’t you do something like that on my birthday?’
‘Vinyl, please…’
‘No I mean it. I would really enjoy a cool gift like that. Who could say that her marefriend made a song for her love?’
The bed trembled with Octavia’s sobs. ‘Stop it, I beg you.’
But Vinyl kept going as if she didn’t hear her words. ‘And it will probably sound awesome! When you make something like that, you make it special for sure, am I right, heh?’
‘NO! NO MORE!’ With a desperate cry and a furious swing, Octavia cast the bedsheet away. She jumped up and fled out of the bedroom. A half-confused, ‘Tavi, what are you—’ from Vinyl got cut off as the door shut.
Now she was alone. Despite her rubber legs, Octavia managed to stagger to the blinds and raised them. A full moon, encircled by a family of stars, made her tears shimmer. Octavia didn’t offer it as much as a single glance, although it would probably have given her inspiration for a sonata or two. The light felt cold and distant, doing nothing to thaw her frozen soul, or decrease its unbearable burden. It felt as if her heart and her soul became heavier with every second that passed. The hoarfrost grew and hugged them both close.
Octavia went through her legs, but luckily there was a piano stool to catch her. The owner of the hotel had offered her and Vinyl this room. She could still remember his words for some reason. “It is the only room with a piano in it,” he had said. “Perfect for such a renowned musician such as yourself.” Of course, the last thing she wanted to think about now was music of any kind.
The creaking of the door reached her ears as somepony carefully opened it. She heard hoofsteps, slow, hesitant. Vinyl Scratch stopped next to her. Octavia had no idea if she was searching for her gaze, because she kept looking at the moon and the stars.
‘Um… what was that all about?’
To her own surprise, Octavia felt that Vinyl’s voice made her more nervous than she had ever been before any concert. Her heart and soul rattled. ‘I just… couldn’t take any more.’
‘But I didn’t insult you, right?’
‘You did not.’
‘Then… What’s up?’
‘I… I…’ She half-chuckled without joy. ‘This is going to sound ridiculous to you, but… Alright, how can I explain this…?’
‘I’m not such a dumb party animal as you think I am,’ Vinyl said.
Octavia rubbed her forehead. ‘Very well, then.’ A deep breath. No comfort came from it. For a moment she doubted. Then uttered, ‘I am done with all the praise.’
‘What?!’ Vinyl actually jumped. ‘How can you get enough of praise? Like, seriously! What’s more awesome than a crow shouting your name and clapping their hooves to the snares and stomping to the beats? What’s cooler than the ponies going wild on your newest dubstep banger, even forming mosh pits and going completely crazy? Isn’t it the best feeling in the world to see that your audience appreciates you?’
A few more sobs came. Octavia ruffled her mane.
‘I know, I know, I might be exaggerating. But still, I guess classical music ponies go crazy on your tunes as well, don’t they?’ Vinyl asked doubtfully. ‘What about applause? I’m sure after every set you get a sweet, loud, appl—’
‘NO! NO MORE APPLAUSE!’ Octavia swished her head around and gave Vinyl a furious stare. In her head, she wasn’t looking at the love of her life, but straight at a room full of sharply-dressed stallions and elegant mares, forming the audience of a classical music concert. And that was not what she wanted to see. Not on her holiday and not on Fortissimo’s birthday.
Vinyl wobbled and did a step back. ‘Jeez, I’m sorry!’
Fueled by an unknown strength and frustration, Octavia stood up. ‘I am thoroughly finished with applause and praise from ANYPONY!’ Her voice was raw, sounding weak and powerful at the same time as she shouted. Tears streamed down like rivers. ‘I do not want to please a teacher, my parents, the orchestra, the audience, my admirers, or even you! I only want to please MYSELF!’
‘Okay… well, that’s easy, right. You just—’
‘I want to be SATISFIED with what I do for ONCE! Just one BLASTED time I want to feel like I have accomplished something, that I can go to bed and say to myself, “You did a wonderful thing today, Octavia, and I am very proud of you.”’
Vinyl Scratch had never, ever heard her marefriend curse. She bit her lip as a heavy thinking frown appeared on her brow. ‘But I say that to you all the time, when we cuddle in bed and stuff, remember? I always tell you that you make beautiful music, even though I like to joke about it.’
‘That does not count!’ Octavia slammed both hooves down on the piano, which created a loud, distorted chord fit for a horror movie. Even Vinyl Scratch, queen of the loudest raves in Equestria, had to wince. ‘It’s not about THIS, or THIS, or THIS!’ With every “this,” Octavia made some more noise, her chest heaving.
Suddenly, she felt a hoof on her shoulder. ‘Relax, Octy. It’s alright.’ Something happened to her. A warmth, subtle yet potent, streamed through that soft touch. It felt as if the first hesitant rays of a rising sun peeked over the horizon, not sure if the time was right to herald day yet. She let the hoof guide her back to the piano stool. All the tension started to fade from her body. Her shoulders loosened up a bit, although they still shocked with every muffled sob.
‘It’s not about m-m-music. It’s about s-s-self-respect,’ Octavia crammed out of her mouth.
‘I know, babe. I know.’
Octavia turned her head around, wiping away a few tears. ‘You… You do?’
‘Yeah.’ Now it was Vinyl’s turn to look troubled. ‘I’ve never told you this before but… heck, I dunno. Maybe it helps when you hear it. Ready? Okay. Here it comes. When I first started experimenting with sounds and wubs ‘n stuff, everypony hated what I was doing. My parents, my family, my friends, my neighbors, my neighbors’ cats—’
A soft, delicate chuckle came from Octavia. It sounded strange to her own ears. The sound almost scared her.
‘No seriously! They stayed away from my house in a fifty-yard radius.’ Vinyl had to laugh briefly as well. ‘Point is, my parents made it clear: either my synths and drum machines had to go, or I had to go. I think they were actually happy when both my synths and I left for good.’
‘For… for good?’
Vinyl Scratch shook her head. ‘Never seen them again after that day. Not even once. But… you know? Whatever! Not as if I wanted to see them anyway.’
Octavia’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. This was new for her. ‘That is so utterly sad!’
‘Maybe. I dunno.’ Vinyl scratched the back of her head, making her mane even messier than normal. ‘Well, yeah, I was kinda sad and lonely for a long time. Until I met you of course. Remember what happened that day?’
The club, the chaos, the troubles, the struggle, the adventure… It all came back to Octavia in a string of memories. ‘How could I ever forget?’
‘Yep, weirdest day of my life.’ Vinyl wrapped her hooves around Octavia’s waist and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘And the best day of my life.’
Octavia’s breath quickened. ‘I had no idea such trauma lurked behind your air or carelessness, Vinyl.’
‘And I had no idea something heavy was going on behind that snooty little face of yours.’ Vinyl nuzzled her.
Yet, Octavia didn’t nuzzle her back. ‘I know. I have reflected on that for a long while. Being snooty is just my most comfortable way of hiding everything. To harden me so I can face Equestria with dignity.’
‘But… It’s not real dignity, is it?’
‘No…’ Octavia whispered, casting her eyes down. She paused and focused on the feeling of her marefriend so close. A new emotion welled up inside—an emotion which soured and ruined the whole experience. ‘I am dreadfully sorry for nagging and troubling you with my troubles. It seems you have had your own share of drama yourself.’
‘You don’t have to apologize, baby. You’re just venting and that’s okay.’ Vinyl cleared her throat. ‘I do it sometimes too on my manager, only he’s not as understanding as I am. We’re fighting all the time. It’s a shame he’s so good at his job, or I would have ditched him long ago.’
‘Um… okay?’
‘But I’m trailing off.’ Vinyl rubbed her nose against Octavia’s cheek. ‘You said it yourself to Treble: it’s important to express yourself.’
Those words, accompanied by the memory of the enthusiastic little cello student, awakened a light upon her heart and soul. The light only amplified the warmth, making it buzz through Octavia’s entire being. ‘Yes… you are quite right.’
‘And I have the feeling you’re still struggling with that, aren’t you?’ Vinyl asked.
Octavia drew a sharp breath. The light dimmed for a split-second. ‘So am I a hypocrite then?’
‘I dunno what that means. You’re you. You’re Octavia Melody and you’re my love.’ Vinyl gave her another peck.
A silence followed. It was no longer a difficult silence or an awkward silence, but a silence of reflection. Both musicians—both ponies— looked through the crystal-clear, frosted window to the outside world. The moonlight seemed more graceful now to Octavia, and the stars more cheerful. In the distance, enormous mountain peaks, crowned with snow, stood straight and rock-solid. Their bases couldn’t be spotted, yet Octavia could feel how unmovable the mountains were. Some trees clung to the sides of the range. Snow began to fall—a romantic, wintery sight.
‘It is absolutely gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Octavia said, her voice filled with awe.
‘Yeah, it’s nice. Not as nice as the sight of you, though.’
Octavia ignored the oldest pick-up line in the book. ‘Nice… nice… nice… Maybe I should be nicer to myself. Softer and more gentle.’
Out of nowhere, Vinyl began to tug at Octavia’s hoof. ‘I think I can help you with that,’ she said with a sly smile playing on her lips.
‘What do you mean?’
Vinyl pulled a bit harder, and did a step back towards the bedroom.
‘I… um… I’m not sure that is such a good idea after all of this troublesome—’
Vinyl’s smile only widened as her tone grew more playful. ‘Aw, c’mon, Tavi. I’m an expert!’
Of course Octavia didn’t resist. The kind and soft part of herself already knew it was the right thing to do. She led herself be guided back and then flopped onto the bed with Vinyl. ‘I hope I did not break the piano,’ she muttered.
‘I’m just glad you didn’t break yourself,’ Vinyl said back.
The sensation of Vinyl’s warm breath on her face made her last doubts, fears, frustrations, anger, and sadness evaporate.
‘Ponies can always repair the piano, but only you can repair yourself, Tavi. I’ll help you, of course. Don’t worry.’
Octavia let out a small gasp. ‘Goodness, that’s deep! Where did you get that from?’
A shrug. ‘I have my moments. But right now, it’s time for our moment.’
As Octavia finally felt the glow of her marefriend against her hide, she let out a content sigh. She reached up.
With a click, the nightlight went out.
THE END
Author's Note
I’ve read in a writing guide that good stories are about creating a powerful emotional experience for the reader, and I completely agree with that. This also explains why I get interesting ideas and feel an irresistible urge to write when I myself encounter an intense emotion. As you have probably guessed, this story is about an emotion and a challenge I think many writers—and creative people in general—face. Sometimes a lot, sometimes a little, and sometimes all the time. Making friends with others is easier than it sounds—especially at MLP conventions! Yet, making friends with yourself can be difficult. I hope Octavia’s Story struck a chord inside of you, and I wish you a wonderful day and lots of harmony deep inside yourself.
P.S. Don’t forget to check out the making-of in the blog post section if you’re interested in finding out how I wrote Octavia’s Story . I hope to see you there!
