To the Guest Reviewer: Oh, I definitely understand the love for "Stay with Me"! And, yes, me and my sister used to belt out to "Agony" all the time –– it really is quite a hilarious song! And, my pleasure!
Author's Note: As you probably already guessed, this chapter's gonna focus mainly on the solo competition! We've got snarky conversations, an incident with a chair, a Triceratops (yes, you read that correctly!), and someone who wants to ditch the day altogether….
(In other words, would you believe I'm seriously considering doing opening synopses for all of the remaining chapters?)
Now, serious note: one of the solos is going to deal with an understandably intense musical theatre debate. I won't pretend to have the answer to the debate. I'm only going to present a side that I've heard, a side I think will align with the values of the character speaking it.
In any case, as per usual, the songs mentioned today are listed below. I set up a little key to make it more efficient (and hopefully it'll prove to be the case) ––
Songs / Musicals / Keywords for Finding Said Song (in order of appearance):
"Very Soft Shoes" / Once Upon a Mattress / "Very Soft Shoes Once Upon a Mattress"
"I Won't Send Roses" / Mack and Mabel / "I Won't Send Roses (from "Mack & & Mabel Original Cast Recording)
"Maybe This Time" / Cabaret / "Maybe This Time Cabaret"
"Think of Me" / Phantom of the Opera / "Alison Christopher Soprano Senior Recital, "Think of Me" Phantom of the Opera"
"The Impossible Dream" / Man of La Mancha / "The impossible dream - Colm Wilkinson"
"You Don't Know This Man" / Parade / "You Don't Know This Man"
"A Cockeyed Optimist / South Pacific / "A Cockeyed Optimist"
"Out There" / The Hunchback of Notre Dame / "Out There | The Hunchback of Notre Dame"*
"Nobody's Chasing Me / Out of This World / "Nobody's Chasing Me (1950) - Dinah Shore"
"Make Them Hear You / Ragtime / "Make Them Hear You"
"Singin' in the Rain" / Singin' in the Rain / "Singing in the Rain Gene Kelly"
*= if you want a phenomenal a cappella version of "Out There", look up "Ringmasters - Notre Dame medley **REMASTERED AUDIO**" and go ahead to 2:39. The medley as a whole is fantastic and highly recommended, enjoyable whether you know Hunchback or not.
Enjoy!
_._
Saturday, the 28th of March, 2020
4:18 a.m.
Never again would Joseph Moseley watch Jurassic Park right before going to bed. He'd been unable to even think about going to bed at his normal hour –– finding himself too wound up about competing tomorrow. Which is how he'd let his mum convince him that Jurassic Park would be a great distraction, seeing as how he'd only seen it maybe once in his entire life.
And, boy, was she right! The movie proved to be quite the distraction for him!
If only it hadn't resulted in a nightmare that'd kept him up since four in the morning.
_._
3:57 a.m.
It was some sort of control room –– a room Joseph felt he'd seen just hours before. There were a few computers scattered around, helping to make it look like an important set-up. There was even a metal door, one he realized he was standing right next to. It had more locks on it than the teenager could've ever imagined, only adding to the important vibe.
"You do plan on singing today, yes?" Looking over to his judge for the first time, Joseph gaped at the sight of a Triceratops sitting behind a table, the creature staring him down all the way from the center of the room. With horn-rimmed glasses tilted in a bored manner, he couldn't start to guess just how unimpressed she was with him. "Or were you planning to emulate a codfish instead?"
"I–– I'm here to sing my solo, yes."
"Oh, excellent." Her sarcasm was as heavy as the tension in his body, "Please lock the door behind you and step forward."
Joseph wanted to ask about his accompaniment, not seeing any keyboard or piano in sight, but he kept quiet. Instead, the baritone turned back to the door, trying to move the locks into place. But they looked to be computer activated, refusing to budge even after multiple efforts that winded him.
"Or not." The Triceratops heaved out a disappointed breath, giving up on that instruction. "Just leave it alone and step forward."
"Right." Turning back to his judge, knowing he wasn't making a good impression so far, the baritone opted to awkwardly step further into the room, toward the spot in the center she was brusquely gesturing at.
"Is this really how you intend to present yourself?" For the first time in his life, Joseph Moseley was innumerably grateful for Mr. Carson. Turning back toward the entrance door, the baritone let out a shriek at the sight of a Velicoraptor standing inches away. But where was Mr. Carson? "It may be your first competitive solo, but that's no way to present yourself, Mr. Moseley!"
"My God." Joseph whispered, shocked. The Raptor before him was Mr. Carson!
"Is there something you wish to share, Mr. Moseley?" Raptor-Carson and the judge spoke in unison, vexation beginning to mark itself in their tones.
"No–– no–– nothing!"
"Good."
Raptor-Carson proceeded to hold out the paper that would save or break Joseph's day: the scoring sheet for his solo. But before the teenager could grab the sheet and present it to the judge the choir-director-turned-dinosaur brought it out of reach, "And do you know what you will be singing today?"
"Erm, yeah?" The baritone would need a minute to remember but he'd been practicing this for weeks –– he totally knew what he was doing.
Sorta.
"Really?" Raptor-Carson asked, taking a vicious step toward the baritone. Did Joseph hear glee in his teacher's voice or was he just hallucinating? "Please, share."
"Erm," The baritone weakly repeated, his mind dreadfully blank, "I'm singing 'Very Soft Shoes' from Once Upon a Mattress."
"Wrong, Mr. Moseley." The choir director ripped the scoring sheet in half. "That's William's song."
"'I Won't Send Roses' from Mack and Mabel?"
Another rip. "Septimus Spratt's. Try again."
Uh, "'Maybe This Time'? From Cabaret? But," He was remembering something! Finally! And in an effort to show he actually knew his stuff, "The song's not from the Original Broadway show, having been incorporated into the 1972 film starring––"
"Your knowledge of Cabaret is somewhat impressive." The judge tersely interrupted, "But I doubt you're a soprano in disguise."
"Quite correct." Raptor-Carson chimed in before he released a patented sigh, tutting away as he drew nearer. And soundly ripping the scoring sheet one final time, letting the paper plummet from his claws, "For Miss Blatherwick, that is. Mr. Moseley, you are, once again, wrong: that is Rose's song."
"Oh." Why couldn't he remember his own song? Why was his memory failing him now?
"I'm afraid there's only one solution for such incompetence."
"I–– I don't get to compete again?" Joseph would take that over the other "solution" coming to mind!
"I'm afraid that's too mild a solution, Mr. Moseley." Seriously, the choir director never called him that unless he was in a whole lot of trouble. But Joseph didn't want to point that out, not on the off chance it got him eaten. "It wouldn't enrich the lives of our students. Nor would it be enough to exemplify the importance of knowing one's material."
"Erm," He really didn't want to know the answer to this, "Then, what is your 'solution', Mr. Carson?"
"I'm so glad you asked," Was the dinosaur now smirking, a malicious glint in his eyes? "Mrs. Hughes finds it a little excessive, but I find it's perfectly acceptable in circumstances such as these…"
_._
7:22 a.m
The previous evening may have been a success for the two teachers, but the consequence of such a triumph meant that they'd slept through both of their alarms for the first time in months. Yes, it was only the innate sense of tardiness that caused Charles Carson to roll halfway over in bed, sparing a bleary-eyed glance in the direction of the clock.
"Elsie!" But his fiancée merely snuggled deeper into the covers at the panic, "It's 7:22! In the morning!"
"That's nice, Charlie," Having not rested this much in weeks, she reached out to him, hoping to entice the man into staying in bed for a little while longer. Although she had no real plan in regards to keeping them here, it was a Saturday and she was all for enjoying the fact that Saturdays were their days off.
"Elsie," Charles repeated, tempted despite himself. But he knew she would kick herself for forgetting. Not to mention the fact that they could never abandon their students. "Beryl'll be coming by in twenty minutes."
"My, my." Playfully looking at him whilst half-buried under the delightful covers, convinced her best friend would understand cancelling any plans for today, "Well, I'm sure she'll understand if we decide to take the day for ourselves."
"She might," He conceded, "But I'm not sure our students will."
"'Our students'?" Pushing the covers out of her face, Elsie craned her neck in the direction of the clock. When seeing the time didn't help put the pieces together, "What do our students have to do with today?"
"Honestly?" He couldn't help the chuckle, inwardly recognizing they should be bolting around by now. But, really, Charles was tickled by the fact that Elsie had forgotten all about her specialty: solos. "Everything."
_._
9:17 a.m.
"It's just like we told you all before" William Mason was more than a little exasperated, seeing as how all the soloists spent a good part of their afternoon explaining everything –– how to introduce your song, the set-up of the competition itself, everything.
"So I heard." It seemed Alfred Nugent was just as frustrated as he confessed the truth, "But I was sick when you guys had that meeting, I couldn't go."
"Fair enough." The tenor didn't really want to repeat everything, but he would for his classmate. He'd been in a similar place last year, so he did understand. "Well, each classroom on this floor has been given to a judge. Everyone competing –– whether they're a small ensemble or a soloist –– will walk into the classroom they've been assigned to, announce themselves to the judge, perform their song, and be given their scoring right afterwards."
"Cool." Alfred casually remarked, nodding along. "So, is it just one-on-one, me and the judge and whoever's playing my accompaniment?"
"No, anyone can sit in on it –– friends, family, anyone."
"Okay. So, do we just wait out in the halls before we sing? I only got here a few minutes ago and I didn't see Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes anywhere."
Now William was getting a little frustrated, even if he understood Alfred's ignorance, "Every competing school has been given a classroom for their soloists and ensembles. That way, we can all rehearse and warm-up without bothering anyone.
"And that's all there is to it?" Not really. There were beautiful nuances to the whole process that William was only now understanding. But the tenor had a feeling Alfred only needed the basics to it all.
Which meant that his answer was simple and to the point: "That's it."
_._
9:24 a.m.
"So, Mr. Carson took on the form of a Velicoraptor in your dream?"
Phyllis hadn't had a chance to talk to Joseph before now. But once she realized how exhausted her boyfriend was, the alto could only be concerned for him.
"Yes." Joseph nervously looked around, as though Mr. Carson could come out of nowhere and reappeared as a Velicoraptor once again, confirming her suspicion that he would need a nap after all of this. Preferably in her arms so as to ensure her baritone really was napping, of course.
Focus, Phyllis. "And then Mr. Carson proceeded to not only destroy your scoring sheet, but he also went on to… eat you?"
"Exactly!"
Yeah, a nap was definitely in order for her boyfriend, that much was clear. "That's really quite the–– the–– the unique dream, Joseph."
"You're telling me!"
_._
9:31 a.m.
Mary Crawley was a refined young woman with a graceful sense of movement. She was a fairly experienced soprano –– experienced for her age, that is –– who knew her way around the stage. She was most certainly not the type of person to accidentally smack into a chair upon seeing Charles Blake in the room, taken aback by her friend's unexpected appearance.
"Good morning." The soprano primly handed off her scoring sheet and brought herself to the appropriate spot, as though there hadn't been a minor collision with a chair. "My name is Mary Crawley and I will be singing 'Think Of Me' from Phantom of the Opera. The music was composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber, the lyrics written by Charles Hart."
The judge nodded, marking something on the scoring sheet. Only when he nodded again, gesturing for the soprano to start, did she signal to the accompaniment that she was ready to perform.
"Think of me," Mary had to resist the urge to rub her leg, the bloody thing aching from the accident, "Think of me fondly when we say goodbye,"
The collision will cost her a perfect score, which meant she wouldn't be performing her solo at the showcase in May. There'd be the showcase designed solely for all soloists, but it just wouldn't be the same.
"Remember me,
Once in a while,"
She should've been irritated, vexed even. But, and this was the strangest thing about it all, every time she wanted to glare at Charles Blake for being the cause of her collision, Mary could only feel flustered –– turning her attention back to performing as though nothing had occurred.
"Please, promise me you'll try."
Her voice grandly arched through the notes, sustaining itself beautifully as she continued –– the very proof of her point. Mary knew she deserved the highest rating, regardless of what the judge would inevitably say.
"When you find,
That, once again, you long
To take your heart back and be free,"
If only those chairs hadn't been stacked so carelessly near the entrance, it was absolutely not her fault! But if she focused on those chairs and not these lyrics, she would not convey anything. Therefore, it was time to draw herself back into the message of the song.
"If you ever find a moment,"
There once was a time where she had the slightest of crushes on her cousin Matthew –– not that she ever told him or anyone else. She knew very well that he was family, but there had been something there. Something that told her, had history been different and they weren't family, they might've had something.
"Spare a thought for me."
It wasn't a thought she cared to indulge in these days. Firstly, the idea of dating her cousin was strange, especially when she gave it proper thought. Secondly, she felt she'd moved on past that crush of hers.
"We never said our love was evergreen,"
And that was what she had told herself until the day she realized she really had moved on.
"Or as unchanging as the sea,"
Mary didn't know how to describe the feelings she had toward Charles Blake. She didn't know if their moments spent together would lead into anything proper. But, and this was what she was beginning to finally accept, she did like him.
"But if you can still remember,"
And the fact that he was here today, supporting her when he could've spent the morning rehearsing his own solo, did mean more than she could say.
"Stop and think of me."
Though she still could've done without the chair bit.
_._
9:43 a.m.
"Isn't it just awful Jimmy couldn't be here today?" Laura Foster sarcastically put the question forth, having no desire to hold back her smirk. She liked pretty much everyone in the choirs, but that tenor's attitude pushed the soprano past her limits.
"Oh, yeah." Robert Thompson couldn't do much more than say that before deep-throated chuckles broke away from him, giving his real opinion away in seconds. "Just awful."
"Miss Foster, Mr. Thompson," Both students froze at the sound of Mr. Carson's atypical formality, knowing that the choir director had overheard the exchange. "Would you care to rethink your opinions on the subject? I'm sure you would never intentionally speak about another fellow singer in such a fashion."
"Of course, Mr. Carson!" "You're so right, Mr. Carson!"
Their director stared them down, eventually ascertaining that they were sufficiently apologetic.
Unbeknownst to the pair, he agreed with them. However, it would never do to encourage that sort of talk, and he would never mention that in front of his fiancée. As it stood, he had barely convinced the woman that Jimmy was undeserving of a solo due to his petulant attitude.
Therefore, any comments that resembled those of Miss Foster's and Mr. Thompson's were strictly forbidden –– no matter what he personally believed.
_._
9:51 a.m.
Matthew Crawley had stepped into the classroom with the air of someone who knew exactly what he needed to do. He had introduced himself and his song with a confident tone, making sure to speak a strong mezzo-forte that ensured everyone knew what he was singing. And with determination giving his lungs a spacious strength, he started to perform his first official solo at Downton Academy.
"To dream the impossible dream,
To fight the unbeatable foe,"
Focusing on the wall in front of him, looking past the judge that observed him, Matthew bit back a smile as he concentrated on being the best unicorn he could possibly be.
"To bear with unbearable sorrow,
To run where the brave dare not go!"
Marlene Botto, one of his favourite instructors from the time spent in Chicago, really knew her stuff when she imparted that metaphor –– it heightened his awareness of his posture, helping him maintain solid breath support.
"To right the unrightable wrong," Mentally stepping away from his technique, the tenor couldn't help but think of Alice Neal and Emma Butte and all the other people in the world that thought they could get away with being cruel.
"To love pure and chaste from afar," Blue eyes did not risk looking out at one listener in particular, not wanting to give his feelings away in front of this crowd.
"To try when your arms are too weary," Truthfully, researching the Man of La Mancha had been depressing. This song itself, a tune he'd initially found to be inspiring, had darkened in his eyes after looking into the whole context.
"To reach the unreachable star!"
But that was why it was important to do this right. To give it all his best and refuse to back down from his first official solo at Downton.
"This is my quest,
To follow that star!
No matter how hopeless,
No matter how far!"
And he would. His voice would faithfully follow the music, emphasizing the heart of the piece, the reason why he'd originally fallen in love with it.
"To fight for the right without question or pause.
To be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause!"
Matthew's cadence had sharpened, trudging through each and every word. His voice reached out effortlessly, grasping for the reality behind this quest.
"And I know,
If I only stay true,
To this glorious quest,"
Decrescendoing with a knowledge he couldn't explain, his voice quieted with a resolved understanding.
"Then my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest."
Death petrified him from time to time. But the tenor knew there were worse things. He also recognized that the best thing he could do was face every day as it came, and keep on going.
"And the world will be better for this.
That one man scorned and covered in scars,"
Matthew was singing in tandem with the accompaniment, a sense of renewed purpose flooding the room.
"Still strove with his last ounce of courage,
To reach the unreachable stars!"
Power had taken those last lyrics up to forte, but a different sort of strength held out the final notes.
_._
9:54 a.m.
"I know it's ridiculous to think a dinosaur will just come out of nowhere and eat me, Mrs. Hughes, but I honestly don't know what to expect! It is my first solo, after all."
Elsie never imagined she would be talking to Joseph Moseley about this, "Exactly how many hours of sleep did you say you got?"
The boy was abashed, unwittingly confirming his exhaustion by taking much longer than normal to think it over, "Four?" But that didn't look to be accurate, "Three, maybe?"
"I see." And whilst she did somewhat understand the sentiment, she couldn't comprehend the finer details. Having never seen Jurassic Park, she could only recall her own nightmares and empathize through that. "Well, since Miss Vance will be your accompaniment, Mr. Carson or I will be sure to step in and ensure no dinosaurs of any kind interrupt your solo."
"Erm, could it just be you, Mrs. Hughes and not Mr. Carson? Only–– well,"
This was certainly proving to be a fascinating discussion, "Go on."
"Well, you see, it was Mr. Carson who was the Rapto–– the dinosaur in my dream."
"I see." Elsie wouldn't let any of her amusement show, managing a straight face as the baritone carried on. She would try her best to refrain from mentioning this to Charles and would no doubt succeed in that endeavour. But if she found herself trying to imagine what her fiancé looked like as a dinosaur, and if that image brought peals of laughter to the woman, well, that was her secret to keep.
"Yeah. And obviously, I know Mr. Carson. It's just–– you see, even though Phyllis will already be in the room, seeing as how she'll be singing for that same judge right before me, and that'd normally make everything totally fine, but, well, it's my first solo and I just really don't want anything to go wrong." The baritone gasped for breath, reassuring the woman that he wasn't going to have a collapse due to a lack of oxygen. Not now, at least. "But if you're in the room then nothing can go wrong."
"Well, then." Elsie had the capability to support him and so she would. She personally thought him competent with or without her, but she knew very well what nerves could do in these situations. And she didn't want the teenager to cast aside future solo opportunities just because he had one bad experience. "I'll be sure to be there."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." That he looked like someone who was just saved from death itself only prompted further curiosity –– what was Charles like as a dinosaur? Was it anything like his normal curmudgeon ways?
Regardless, curmudgeonly dinosaurs or not, she had a request to make: "Promise me you'll get at least seven hours of sleep tonight."
"Of course! And I definitely won't be watching Jurassic Park the week of our show!"
_._
10:03 a.m.
Blonde locks breathed in the melancholic chords as they wafted from the piano. Glassy blue eyes forlornly locked gazes with the space directly in front of the young woman prepared to sing.
"You don't know this man,
You don't know a thing!"
Wrongful imprisonment. Wrongful imprisonment and righteous words, words that struck wherever they could to land their message. That was what Anna Smith brought with her today.
"You come here with these horrifying stories,
These contemptible conceits,
And you say you understand how a man's heart beats,"
Mrs. Hughes had challenged her this time around, daring the young singer to tap into her anger. To sift through her unspoken pain and grief, the emotions she never shared with others, and hold nothing back.
"And you don't know a thing!"
The fact that this song fought for someone else's rights, that it wasn't explicitly about her own problems, only helped to further the soprano's connection to it –– drawing Anna in from the start.
"You don't know this man,
You don't even try!"
It helped her let go of what happened last spring, the day of the show. Gave her a chance to cry for a reason, to cry and scream and let it all out through these barbed lyrics without giving away her own story.
"When a man writes his mother every Sunday,
Pays his bills before they're due,
Works so hard to feed his family,
There's your murderer for you!"
Already, the young woman felt her body begin to lighten –– oblivious to the tears that'd taken hold of her cheeks. Each breath felt freer than the last, a necessary anger fueling her lungs, begging for everything to be finally released.
"And you stand there spittin' words
That you know aren't true!"
The judge looked to be a little concerned, probably wondering if she should stop this performance, but Anna wouldn't let that stop her.
"But you don't know this man!
I don't think you could!
You don't have the right to know,
A man that wise and good!"
Nothing would stop her now.
_._
10:07 a.m.
"I could say life is just a bowl of Jello,
And appear more intelligent and smart,"
Joseph could listen to Phyllis all day. Whether she spoke or sung, her voice always soothed his nerves.
"But I'm stuck like a dope
With a thing called hope."
He really had lucked out, being scheduled to sing right after her. And in the same room, to boot! It hadn't seemed possible at first. But he'd checked the schedule, and then checked it again, and then did it one more time just to be sure.
"And I can't get it out of my heart!
Not this heart…."
Her voice dipped and softened, eventually quieting. The piano accompaniment faded alongside the sound, and it was only when the silence reached him that Joseph realized it would be his turn to sing soon enough. Yup, right after her scoring sheet had been officially marked, Phyllis was gracefully taking a seat in the classroom right next to her boyfriend, not caring what her score was when she could support him instead.
"See? No dinosaurs in sight." The reassurance didn't reach the baritone, though its words fascinated Miss Vance –– who had played the accompaniment for Baxter and would be doing the same for Moseley.
"Horn-rimmed glasses, though." Joseph miserably noted, looking as though he wanted to cry for reasons neither Miss Vance nor Mrs. Hughes could understand. Not even Phyllis knew what to say to that, the young woman suspecting that only Joseph could get himself out of this by this point. "Just like in the dream."
_._
10:12 a.m.
"Hello," Thomas couldn't hold back his beam, trying his best to look directly at the judge and focus on his introduction. His heart still drifted in the direction where Andy and his mum were sat, the pair having managed to sneak a laptop into the proceedings. A laptop that held the live feed of his boyfriend excitedly watching everything in anticipation –– something that the baritone had not been expecting!
Right. He needed to continue if he actually wanted to compete today.
"My name is Thomas Barrow and I will be singing 'Out There' as from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The––" If he didn't get a hold of himself, he just might cry. Tears of understandable shock and joy. But tears, nevertheless. "The song's lyrics were written by Stephen Schwartz and the music was composed by Alan Menken."
The judge acknowledged the introduction, sparing a glance and a faint smile in the direction of the laptop. And seeing as how the scoring sheet was in hand, Mrs. Hughes patiently waiting at the piano, it was time to perform.
Thomas cleared his throat, looking toward the ground and closing his eyes if only so as to somehow remember the character he was to present. Quasimodo was someone kept away from the world, someone who could never connect to the life he was surrounded by. Personally, he wouldn't have had any issue relating to this a year ago.
"Safe behind these windows and these parapets of stone,
Gazing at the people down below me."
It was going to be a struggle to stay in-character today.
"All my life I watch them as I hide up here alone.
Hungry for the histories they show me."
It was repeatedly striking the teenager that Danny had gotten up hours earlier than he normally did, his endearing sleepiness apparent even from this distance. That his boyfriend had done this, all for a three-minute song that could've been recorded and shared later, it was indescribable.
"All my life I memorize their faces,
Knowing them as they will never know me."
But Danny's actions were not alone in flooring the baritone. He found himself drawn back to how Andy managed to secretly enlist help, putting this all together. There'd been nothing that gave this surprise away –– no knowing smiles or teasing remarks. Nothing at all to suggest any of this was possible.
"All my life I wonder how it feels
To pass a day not above them,
But part of them."
What did he do to deserve this?
"And out there,
Living in the sun,
Give me one day out there."
Drinking in the sentiment that had settled into the air, he realized this was exactly what it felt to be 'out there'.
"All I ask is one to hold forever,
Out there, where they all live on,"
There was no need to imagine, not anymore.
"Where, what I'd give,
What I'd dare,
Just to live one day out there."
_._
10:17 a.m.
Although she would never admit it, Edith Crawley did regret refraining from traveling abroad last summer. As fun and fulfilling as that writers' convention had been, she felt as though she had missed out on something. Which was part of the reason she let Mrs. Hughes persuade her into taking another solo in the form of this jaunty little ditty.
The other part behind the decision was that, after a mournful piece like "The Lass From the Low Countree", the soprano wanted a literal change in tune.
"The breeze is chasing the zephyr,"
As the teacher promised, this was quite the change!
"The moon is chasing the sea,"
An older piece from the 20th century, it made for a sprightly key and cheeky melody in which to play with. Much more entertaining than most of the other pieces she'd had to sing other the years!
"The bull is chasing the heifer,"
Her voice warmly strolled through all the words, saving the punchline for this next lyric.
"But nobody's chasing me!"
Honestly, her typical nerves weren't in sight. With Mrs. Hughes in full control of the piano and her family happily watching her –– yes, even Mary was there to support her sister, much like Edith had been before with "Think of Me" –– it was all so awfully wonderful.
It also helped that a sweet friend she'd met at said writers' conference was in the crowd. That Bertie had made it today, even being able to come out with the Crawley family for lunch afterwards, was perfectly marvelous.
_._
10:23 a.m.
"Go out and tell our stories to your daughters and your sons!
Make them hear you!
Make them hear you."
Ragtime. A powerful musical that was composed with the African American spirit in mind. Its message and plot had Sybil wondering right from the beginning: Did her boyfriend have the right to sing such a song? She had needed to know what Tom thought, what he felt when he delved into this musical and why he'd decided to stick with after doing proper research.
"And tell them, in our struggle,
We were not the only ones.
Make them hear you!
Make them hear you."
His answer had been honest, to the point: Tom didn't really know what to think. He couldn't presume to know what was right or wrong, and he didn't want to. All he knew was that the lyrics resonated with him more deeply than he ever imagined. And when he looked into the musical itself, the teenager found the story touched a part of him –– a part that was honoured to bring to life, to give its message to just a few more people.
"Your sword can a sermon
Or the power of the pen!"
Tom's tone was poignant, the grief and struggle that inspired it emanating. A misery, one that carried an inherent responsibility, one that was determined to lift itself toward a better world, soundly struck the room.
"Teach every child to raise his voice and then, my brothers, then,
Will justice be demanded by ten million righteous men!"
The crescendo climbed fearlessly into forte –– the force behind it strong, fiercely determined despite his initial hesitation.
"Make them hear you," The baritone was speaking to anyone who had struggled to raise their voice in life, anyone who felt diminished in their power. Forte had given way to mezzo-piano, a quieter plea to stand up for one's self. "Make them hear you."
As the piano accompaniment built once more, so did his volume –– intentionally rising alongside the final sentiments of the piece.
"When they hear you," Gradually pushing himself one last time, purpose sharply layering the teenager's tone and bringing it toward the depths of fortissimo, "I'll be near you, again!"
Tom held the note out for as long as he could, feeling entirely taken over by the song's message as it coaxed him into carrying support for far longer than he thought possible.
Was this right or wrong?
He was getting the feeling that he'd never really know.
But he also knew that bringing this message to more people would encourage curiosity. That it would incite a fire in the minds of others, that people tended to become empowered just by listening to it. They were even likely to track down the song on the Internet, find out the inspiration behind it, honour the original sentiment by delving into it and learning more.
So, with all of that in mind, he couldn't regret it.
_._
10:47 a.m.
"Did you hear CJ'll be doing a solo today?" Gladys Denker snarked in the direction of one Septimus Spratt. The young man blushed, stiffening, hoping no one else heard her. Yes, he was insistently keeping that alter-ego a secret after all this time. "I heard she's got a pretty impressive range when it comes to those low notes."
"Really?" He weakly managed, eyes darting around. This was not the time to be giving all that away!
"Yeah." Leaning against the wall, looking straight at her friend, "And I know for a fact it's going to be pretty decent."
Septimus paused. He met her gaze, that blush of his never quite fading –– this time, for entirely different reasons. Coming from Gladys, "pretty decent" was high praise indeed.
"I hope so." The bass eventually responded, "I'm sure she's just as nervous as everyone else."
"Probably," Denker admitted quite candidly, "Good thing she's twice as talented as the lot of them, including that Mary Crawley."
Now that declaration distracted her friend, "Pretty sure that's not true."
"Oh, really? Did you hear that our prima donna's voice cracked today?"
"No! Really?"
Gladys stared him down, a serious look in her eyes. Septimus leaned in, never seeing her look so candid before. The last time she'd look this serious –– well, it had been a heavy conversation to say the least.
"Nah, it'd never happen, not with her." He rolled his eyes at the confession, inherently knowing it had been too far fetched to be true. "But she did trip into a chair when she saw who was in the classroom."
"Very funny,"
"No, I'm being serious––"
Ah, but the alto had lost all credibility in this conversation. "Uh-huh. And CJ'll be performing live for all of her fans."
Let it be known that Gladys Denker was never one to refrain from taking an opportunity, "Oh, that's brilliant! I'll get Rose to help her set that all up! Of course, we'd all need to know who she actually is, but I suppose it won't be too hard to figure it out."
"Now, wait a minute, we were talking about Mary…"
_._
10:51 a.m
Andy Parker may have had a hand on the door leading to his next opportunity in life, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. It had been easy enough to support Thomas, but this was his solo now. And it was his first one. Ever. What if Mrs. Butte really had been right about him? What if he really should've left it all alone and this was only going to prove it?
"Excuse me, I'm here for my friend and I need to get through that door before he arrives." Ellie Bell came out of nowhere, looking to be oblivious to his nerves as she continued to playfully inform him, "Goes by the name of Andy Parker –– he's a brilliant tenor. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"
Andy could only look at her in disbelief, before remembering that his friend had technically asked him a question, "Never heard of him."
"Shame. Well, best be off." And discreetly opening the door to the classroom, Ellie ducked inside to take a seat.
He could only stare after her in wonderment, remembering that she'd had her fair share of problems with Mrs. Butte. And if a ridiculously talented girl like Ellie thought that someone like him was "brilliant", well, maybe Mrs. Butte was wrong after all.
But why did she drop by today? Bel Canto's not competing––
"Andy?" The tenor turned to Mrs. Hughes, his tension fading even further as his teacher approached. "My apologies for the delay: there'd been a mix-up with the rooms."
"It's all right, Mrs. Hughes." They technically had a minute or two before he was expected inside. And while it wouldn't make a terribly good impression to take a lot more time, he knew it would be okay.
"Well now," His accompanist for the next five minutes held quite an encouraging tone in her lilt, "Are you ready to start 'Singin in the Rain' one more time?"
Andy cracked a grin at the not-so-subtle reference to his solo, finding the question to be exactly what he needed. Without another word, he knew the answer.
"Yes."
_._
11:38 a.m.
"Mr. Carson! Mrs. Hughes!" Both teachers looked in the direction of Alfred, having a feeling they knew what the young man would ask next, "Now that we've all finished singing, can you finally tell us who did the best today?"
In other words, can you tell us who will be singing at the concert?
The highest ranked female and male soloists of the group always had the chance to sing their entire solo during the spring concert. That was the standard reward for earning the highest score. Yet the difference this year was that the two singers would be able to dress up and go "all out" for their respective solos, if they so desired.
"Alfred," Daisy chided him in embarrassment, "You can't just ask them that, you should know better than that!"
"It's all right, Alfred, Daisy." Although the choir instructors preferred to privately inform the two soloists and inform the class at a later date, someone else always wanted to know. "However, we will be announcing the soloists on Monday, as per tradition."
"But, why?" Everyone knew Mr. Carson normally would have protested Alfred's tone. However, everyone watched in disbelief as the director only looked to his fiancée, letting her respond to the question.
"That would be because, regardless of who sings in the showcase, we want today to be about acknowledging how very, very proud we are of each and every one of you." The woman paused, making sure to meet the gaze of every person before her. "Many of you faced an incredibly challenging time last spring. But, despite those challenges, you all have come out of it the better. Something that was proven today. Therefore, no matter the score you were given today, it does not define you. The fact that you took this chance does."
That didn't look to satisfy Alfred, but many other students were nodding in agreement, understanding. A little applause even broke out, causing the woman to blush as she tried to bat the attention away.
"Now, I do believe celebratory group photos are in order?"
_._
12:15 p.m.
"You sure you don't want a lift back? Get a bite to eat?"
"Positive."
Beryl meant well, but all this talk of solos had only reminded Elsie of her first mentor. The mentor who had passed away around this time last year, the woman who inspired the teacher to take on singing in any capacity she could. That Charles understood where her thoughts were the moment she mentioned them, that he was willing to step aside from the celebrations and even requested they make their way to the cemetery to pay their respects, made a world of difference.
The band director eyed both choir teachers carefully, trying to ascertain why they'd kindly reject her offer to drive them back. But, having decided long ago never to give too much of her energy into questioning others, Beryl soon gave up on the endeavour.
"All right," She eventually conceded, "But if you change your minds I'm only a phone call away."
The pair nodded at this, respectfully hearing the offer out. However, the train was what they took last year –– it felt fitting to do so again today. Though, they wouldn't let themselves remain stranded this time. She couldn't allow it, not if the timing was to work out.
For the woman had one more idea in mind, one more plan for the day.
"Charles" Elsie quietly spoke up only once they were alone, strolling down the path. Liz's grave laid about an hour away from home, but there one was another grave –– another mentor –– who rested much closer. "Hers is not the only grave I'd like to visit, if that's all right."
The man recognized at once to whom she was referring, suddenly overtaken by a trembling grief.
"I would like that very much, Elsie. Very much indeed."
_._
Author's Note: I am honestly shocked that it's been more than a year since her passing. That the other individual, the one who brilliantly mentored some ridiculously talented friends of mine, has been gone for eight months is equally flooring.
Okay. One final thing before I sign off.
Because this is the last story in the series, would you like to see any particular student be featured as a soloist? If any song in particular (or any character, for that matter) really spoke to you, definitely feel free to mention it.
In any case, definitely hope you have a lovely day. Until next week!