Mother had wanted a boy, a handsome and clever boy that could carry on the family name and grow up to be successful and wealthy. And yet, despite all of her praying, she had gotten me, a scrawny and dull girl with crooked teeth. Girls were not worth anything in the oriental society that she was raised in. They could not carry the family name, much less achieve or become anything greater than what a male could. I was a failure before I even had a chance to be.

Nothing I ever did would ever be good enough, and yet I still tried to please my mother in every possible way. Maybe I did so because I believed and hoped that somewhere beneath my large, awkward teeth, my mother would finally see past all of her wishes for her son that could have been, and truly see me, her daughter, and accept me the way I was. It was the secret wish within me that was often the only thing that kept me going, but sometimes it seems to me so foolish that at times I am ashamed of thinking such, and so I bury the wish along with my pain, in to my heart.

The only beauty that I found in my life was music. I had discovered this wonderful realm in which I could release all my being freely and as I pleased through my cello. There, I could be anything and anywhere I wanted.

As I lay in bed, still listening to the senseless chirping of the sparrows while these familiar thoughts passed through my head, I heard mother cry out in her familiarly authoritative voice, “Midori! Be down to breakfast this instant.” Groaning, I dressed myself while trying to shield my eyes from the intruding rays of the sunlight. There was a strong smell of raisin oatmeal. Wincing, I ate the bland meal while my mother tugged my hair into a tight bun.

“Ow, ma, that hurt!” I complained aloud.“Hurry and finish your oatmeal before your bus comes,” she commanded, ignoring my request as she gave another hard tug at my hair.

 “There it is,” I mumbled as I hastily gathered my things, mindful to grab my diary, and headed out the door with the sound of my mother’s shrill voice still echoing in my ears. I was relieved to be freed from my mother’s unbearable instructions when I realized the foolishness of my thoughts, which were most severely contradicted as I watched Marcy Johnston stalk onto the bus.

She cast a sidelong look at me, paused, and then remarked, “You know, you really should do something with your hair, you look as if…well maybe I had better not say,” and with that she tossed her hair and smirked, as her friends made similar gesticulations. With my head hung down, I retreated to my usual spot at the front of the bus, alone. Setting my diary aside for the moment, I stared out the window blankly as I tortured myself by listening to the howling laughter and talk from Marcy and her friends. Unable to bear anymore the seclusion and solitude that I was in, I saved myself, consumed with one of Chopin’s nocturnes, wondering what such a day could possibly bring for me.

We finally reached school, and I quickly departed the bus. I maneuvered myself around the different cliques and bags that were congregated around the doors, and escaped into the school. A stampede of students burst through the doors as the first bell rang, and I quickly raced down the hall, in a state of frenzied defiance to find that my journal had gone astray. Frantically I scourged my memories for possible places that I could have left my diary. The bus. I scolded myself for being so careless, and then continued to my first period, English. The halls had long since cleared, but I cared not if I was late to class, for that only meant all the less mockery and sarcasm that I would have to bear.

I walked into class to thundering applause, but soon realized that it had been for Marcy. I had almost forgotten that today would be when we were sharing our poetry.

“Why good morning, Midori, and would you care to explain to us the reason for your tardiness?” came the inquisitive voice of our English teacher, Mrs. Shofin.

“Oh, I couldn’t find my, um I was missing something.” Mrs. Shofin gave a deep sigh of discontent.

“Well I’m sure that English ought to be more important than finding some silly thing. Come to class first next time. Now why don’t you present your poem to the class.

”“Me? Now?

”“Yes, Midori, now please don’t make me repeat myself.

”I could feel myself trembling, and my breath shaking as I uttered the words on my paper.

“The CurtainThe air hung low and humid

Tangible through the musty smell of an unusual mix of exotic scents,

Indulging the senses and ensnaring the mind. A curtain stands, concealing the depths of the living

Assimilating into its surroundings until it seems not to be there,

For is it not so?

Those who believe so pass the living awayWithout ever lifting its veil.

A passerby sees only an abandoned playground, Whose swings, rusty and dreary, tell of a stale story.

The laughter and smiles have long since passed, Leaving only memories of such jovial realms, But those soon dwindle away, too,As they are tucked away,

All to be concealed in the depths of the folly curtain of man’s mind.”

As I read I could feel the eyes of the entire class upon me, following my every movement, and grasping onto my every breath. And yet I was not afraid, as there was a silent truth in my poem that empowered me, and I kept on…

“Wait, Midori…” there was a stern look of both confusion and shock on Mrs. Shofin’s face that I could not quite comprehend. It seemed as though a conductor had just waved his baton and directed our class, as everyone had suddenly burst into whispering. The situation was as confusing to me as an orchestra that were warming up and tuning before their performance.

“I don’t understand, Mrs. Shofin, was my poem not in the right format?

”“That was my poem, Midori.” My spine froze as I turned to meet the face that I dreaded most, Marcy. The class had suddenly silenced to a deadly hush. It was one of such horror, as it seemed oddly to be deafening my ears. I could not quite comprehend the fact of the matter, as it seemed my insides had melted along with my body into a swirling puddle, at the horrendous words from Marcy.

“Come with me, Midori Chung, and you too, Marcy, just because the principal will want to hear it from the bottom of the source.” Mrs. Shofin’s words had softened towards Marcy, and I could see that she had put her hand on Marcy’s shoulder, in a comforting gesture. Not knowing what to say or do, I followed meekly behind the two. I felt as though I were not really there, but just a shadow, a part of the cascade of darkness that had slowly been encompassing me, daunting, grasping, and prying deeper and deeper into me.

The principal’s office was a shade of off white. In the middle of the room sat the principal, a rather jaunty man with a strong build. He greeted us with a smile.

“What seems to be the problem ladies, Mrs. Shofin?” came his gruff voice.“We have a problem here with stealing.

”“Stealing? Oh that is indeed a nasty thing to have to deal with. Well, will one of you ladies tell me what exactly it was that happened?

”“It was Midori, she stole Marcy’s poem, you see,” said Mrs. Shofin, ignoring the principal’s request.

“Ah...”

It suddenly dawned on me the extreme injustice that was being done, as I realized how utterly distorted the whole situation had become.

“I did not! That was my poem! I have proof, I wrote it here in my diary, I even have the drafts and corrections!” Frantically I screamed, trying to drown out the panic and restlessness in me. I was tired of being misunderstood and being picked on as a scapegoat.

“Where is your diary, then, Midori?” came Marcy’s voice, almost humorous.

“It was there by my seat in the bus this morning, I forgot it there, that’s why I was late to class, remember? Remember Mrs. Shofin? That’s what I was looking for, my diary! I left it on the bus, but I know my poem is in there, if I could just…

”“Midori that’s enough. There’s no need to make up stories. I would rather you confess, you would save yourself from further and very severe punishment.”

“But can’t you see I didn’t do it! It was Marcy! She rides my bus, she must have found my diary there and copied my poem and…”

“Now that is going too far, why would Marcy do such a thing? She can write perfectly well.”

“You are just accusing other, innocent people because you are under pressure and guilt. Midori, I say you just calm down with expulsion for a day. Believe me, I am being very generous indeed, since this is your first offense, but it will not be so easy next time. You should have your parents pick you up right now. You are dismissed. And Mrs. Shofin, thank you for bringing this to my attention.

”It was the most helpless I had ever felt. They were all completely blinded under the charm of Marcy. I could see it. Marcy was gorgeous, athletic, smart, and well liked by everyone. What more would someone like me, someone who had no friends, want more than to ruin such a perfect person? They thought I was jealous. Why would I be? From what I could see, Marcy might indeed be perfect, but couldn’t anyone see deeper? Couldn’t anyone see the cocky, rude, and self-centered Marcy? Why could her faults be hidden to all, but not mine? Maybe I was indeed jealous, but definitely not for that of the same reason.

The bell for second period had already rung as I walked to the phone to call mother. I was just about to dial when I heard laughter behind me. Marcy. She was accompanied by two other girls, Alyssa and Molly. Anger boiled inside of me, and I could feel my hands clench into fists.

“Why? What did I ever do?”

“It was a nice poem, Midori, I never knew you had such a talent. Don’t be too mad, after all, I needed that poem more than you did. I have a reputation to keep up.”

“How could you say such a thing? It’s all because of your own, lousy, self-centered self!” I shrieked, and I ran home.

Through sobbing tears, I reached for my cello and began to play. For a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped, and was floating in midair. I could almost feel it and hold it in my arms. The notes crafted by the great Chopin were alive, dancing around me, leaving only a trail of a melody that so delicately and gently melted in my ears. And suddenly, I was dancing on the tops of trees, skipping effortlessly and freely from top to top, only barely skimming the leaves. I felt myself swaying, further and further away I went. Left behind me was all the tears and anger. They all melted away with my music. “Midori!” As suddenly as it had begun, I once again was jerked back to the cruel and rude world.

“Who is it?”

“Hi Midori,” came a strangely familiar voice. Alyssa.

“Oh, you! Why are you here, what do you want?” I replied harshly, careful to hold our front door only half-open. I could see she was avoiding my question as she gently fiddled with her perfect blonde hair. Her stunning blue eyes drifted towards my hand, at my cello.

“I didn’t know you played the cello, are you good?” Why did she want to know? What did she, or anyone of them care, I thought irritably. What did she want with me? She didn’t walk all the way to our shabby little apartment in the neighborhood that none of them probably had ever been to just to act nice to me. Nobody did. And anyway, hadn’t they all ruined me enough? Weren’t they satisfied yet?

“It’s just something that I like doing. When I feel lonely or angry…it’s a way to escape. Not like you wanted to know, I just felt like saying that.” I silently stood there, with my head cast down, waiting for a sarcastic remark of some sort that I so often received from them. There was none. I slowly raised my head, like a little puppy raising its head to its owner after knocking over a vase. Wasn’t she going to say something, or comment on how “uncool” I was? The tension was too much for me to bear. Cautiously I raised my eyes in an effort to see what her reaction was. She seemed happy to see me look up, as she was smiling at me.

“You’re lucky, you know, that you can escape just like that, whenever you want. There’s nothing I can ever escape with. I used to play the cello too, when I was really small, but then school and everything just caught up with me and I had to quit. I wasn’t any good at it anyway, can’t figure out how those ol’ notes fit together.” She was fiddling with her hair again.

“Lucky? You don’t understand a thing about me, so don’t you dare ever, ever judge me like that Alyssa! You don’t have to pretend to like me, I can see through all of your schemes. Whatever it is, just get on with it.” And with that, I cast aside my head. Why was I acting so rude? I could tell that she probably did come here by choice, without any of her friends, just to be nice, so why was I pushing her away? Somehow I just couldn’t bring myself about to befriending her, after all that she’d done to me. My head swam with these thoughts that all seemed to be smashing into each other, as they jumbled together to form a new Mozart concerto that my teacher had just presented me with.

“Look, Midori, I’m really sorry at how rotten Marcy treated you today, I really thought that what she did to you was horrible. So…I came by to give you back your diary. I asked for it from Marcy. I hope that this clears things up, and if Marcy gets in trouble…well, she deserves it. Oh and…I wanted to apologize for not telling the principal sooner, and for, well for us treating you rudely all the time. The girls just think that you’re a little different from us so they’re, they act differently around you, but if you really get to know them they’re really great people, so maybe you should get to know them better and…” But I was not hearing her words. They were drowned by the crescendo in the part of the music where the sharps and flats coincided dreadfully to form the odd and distorted harmony.

“Thank you,” I replied before she finished.“What?”

“I said thank you, for coming over here.” What was I doing? How could I say such kind words to a person who had been so cruel and evil to me?

“Oh, I…your welcome Midori, it was something I should have done anyway.” She said this while flashing her biggest smile.

I smiled back.

I opened my diary to the page of my poem, and I finished reading it aloud, just as if I was in class again.

“Nature will not be so easily ignored, however, As she is not one of humble meekness.

The vibrant world of her child’s palette

Screams for attention with its splatters of floral tapestry, Attracting a frantic ballerinaWhose delicate stuttering toes fumble over her lilac silken skirt As she arches back, ready to strike in such poise as a cobra does its prey,Her perfect arabesque.

” As I read these words, I felt a great rush of excitement and energy of such magnitude that I had not felt before, and I knew that I would be ready to tackle what lay ahead of me. It seemed that a light had just been cast over my shadow, and as I looked towards the nest of chirping birds outside my window, I guess Mozart concertos made sense over time after all. All they needed was a chance and some molding and acceptance by the one playing.