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Anne-Marie was sure the other girls would laugh at her if they found out she had been writing poetry again.
She had gone through some of her old poetry in the holidays and had felt so embarrassed; it was strange, how sensible and humble one could become after hearing real opinions from other people, instead of the biased praise she had received from her parents and their friends, who had been too polite to say what they really thought. She had always been told that she was a genius, and had as a result become a swollen-headed girl with an inflated ego, so inflated, in fact, that any criticism towards her precious poems felt like a sharp pin popping a balloon. She had protected her ego from popping quite successfully at first, brushing of the girls’ forthright negative oppinions and Miss Cox’s snide comments as ignorance and envy.
Anne-Marie had become so much more sensible now, and could tell her poems back then had been...well, not bad, exactly; the metres and rhymes were quite correct. However, they were painfully pretentious, and Anne-Marie could hardly believe some of the ridiculous words she had used - “the hydrocephalic listlessness of the sea rumbling in the shadowing twilight” - what did that even mean? Just a stream of words she thought had sounded good together and no real feeling or invocation of emotions. No wonder the only people that had been impressed were that feather-head Alison and snobby Angela, who couldn’t really tell a poem from a nursery rhyme. Everyone else had laughed and mocked her for being pretentious and not writing from the heart, and they had been right.
“Find something worthwhile to write about”, they had all told her. She didn’t know if what she was writing now was impressive or not, but at least she wasn’t trying to be. She was writing for herself now, not for others. Back then, she only felt she needed to impress the people around her, and didn’t have anything worthwhile to write about, so she wrote about - the looming sadness of the nighttime, or whatever she had thought sounded grand and imposing. Now, she did have something worthy and important to write about - to her, at least. And these poems she was writing now weren’t grand, or filled with abstract concepts and long pretentious words. After all, her feelings were complicated enough as they were, and trying to express them with long words felt terribly daunting.
Now, she just wrote down what she felt in rhymes. She wasn’t a genius the way Felicity was with her music. Felicity would suddenly have an urge, a sound come into her head like magic, and she could think of nothing else but writing down the tune in an almost frantic manner. Anne-Marie’s talent was calmer, less glamorous; poetry and rhymes wouldn’t suddenly come into her head and demand to be written. She had to sit down and think, think about her feelings and her thoughts before slowly beginning to form them into simple rhymes. There was no magic, none of that sudden hearing of melodies and rhythms that seemed to make it impossible for Felicity to think of anything else. It was very much the other way round with Anne-Marie and her poems; she would first have to think long and hard about what she wanted to say and then start writing. So surely, she wasn’t a genius. However, she did feel she had something in common with Felicity; the urge was still there, although it was a much calmer urge. She felt compelled to write, she needed to write, otherwise the thoughts and feelings would get all muddled up and confused in her brain. Poetry helped her straighten them out.
These thoughts and feelings she was having lately about this “worthwhile subject” that filled her mind, however, were so soppy. She was sure they would make the girls scoff and laugh like anything. Especially said subject.
They were still rather sad poems, that was for sure. No, not sad, exactly, more – bittersweet, both happy and sad, with such a yearning to them, and at the same time, with such fear conveyed in those words. One concept summed them up: unrequited love; forbidden love. For Anne-Marie was sure it was unrequited, and it was certainly forbidden.
She was just jotting down some lines when Felicity entered their shared study. They had become friends this term - not special, best friends the way Angela and Alison were, continually whispering to each other and hugging and sharing secrets and giggles and calling each other “the sister I never had”. At first, Anne-Marie thought it was due to the fact they were both much too sensible to indulge in such silly schoolgirl soppiness, and she was sure Felicity thought so too; but then she realized it was something else entirely - after all, neither Anne-Marie nor Felicity could really be considered sensible, so that was a lousy excuse. No, it was mostly due to the barrier Anne-Marie placed between them, filled with an unnamed tension, a different kind of soppiness altogether which she was certain Felicity wouldn’t approve of, or any of the other girls for that matter. She didn’t feel like Felicity and her were ‘sisters’, and she never would.
Anne-Marie quickly shut her notebook as Felicity entered the room, which wasn’t really necessary, considering the other girl was completely possessed by some melody in her head and hardly noticed she was there, and was too caught up in her own world at the best of times to even spot the notebook, let alone what was written inside it.
“Where is it...where is it…”
Felicity had a glazed, intense look in her eyes, as she opened the drawer of the little desk they shared, and began rummaging through it, mumbling a tune under her breath.
Anne-Marie rolled her eyes, suppressing an exasperated smile. “What are you looking for?” she asked, patiently.Felicity took no notice of her, continuing to rummage through the drawer desperately and absent-mindedly at the same time.
“Earth to Felicity!”
Felicity continued to mumble the same little tune over and over, still not seeming to hear Anne-Marie.
“FELICITY!” she finally snapped loudly, causing the other girl to jump and stare at her as though she was somehow the crazy, unreasonable one.
“What did you do that for?!” Felicity exploded, angrily. “I’ve forgotten the tune now…how did it go…”
Anne-Marie sighed. “If you listened to someone else apart from the little singing voice in your head, maybe you’d find what you’re so desperately looking for. Here, I assume it’s this,” she lifted a half-written essay to reveal underneath it Felicity’s music-book, a green, rather old notebook where she wrote down all her music. Instead of looking pleased, however, Felicity made an exasperated noise.
“Why didn’t you tell me before I forgot my melody?!” she snapped, snatching the book and walking towards the sofa.
Anne-Marie raised her eyebrows. “You’re welcome”, she replied, sarcastically. “You know, maybe if your half of the desk didn’t look like a nuclear bomb had just exploded on it, you’d find things quicker…” she trailed off, seeing it was no use; Felicity had stopped listening to her again, and was grabbing her head in her hands, mumbling, trying to find the tune again. Fortunately, she seemed to remember it, and began to jot the notes down - or she would have, if she had a pen in her hand. She suddenly looked down at her hand in puzzlement, as though wondering why no ink was coming out. Anne-Marie snorted disbelievingly.
“For god’s sake…” she muttered, amused and exasperated, reaching out for a pen. She tossed it to Felicity’s head, who let out a yelp.
“Oh, you’ve made me forget it again!” Felicity exploded once more.
“You’re welcome. Again,” retorted Anne Marie.
Lord, she really is hopeless, Anne-Marie thought, shaking her head. However, she soon became enraptured, as usual, watching the girl; her red, slightly chapped lips mumbling the melody, her eyes - those big, intense dark eyes that were normally so unfocused and spaced out when looking at anything as ordinary as a history book, or a health certificate (which she always forgot) or Anne-Marie herself - completely focused on the music she was jotting down, her long brown messy waves falling into her face. She looked insane, a beautiful, crazy, fascinating thing.
Anne-Marie shook her head again, not out of fond exasperation for the other girl this time, but rather as though scolding herself for those thoughts. She tried to make it a rule not to think such things when she wasn’t writing her poetry, and just let those feelings bob to the surface when she was, but it was very hard to stick to that rule sometimes. Especially when Felicity was writing her music, all crazy, all intense, looking like that.
Noticing the other girl was completely wrapped up in her song and probably wouldn’t notice if Anne-Marie suddenly happened to sprout out two heads, she opened her own notebook again, slyly. As she looked at the musical genius in front of her, she began to think about what she was feeling, and scribbling them down in rhymes. She had never done this before, actually write in front of her subject, looking at her; it was most exhilarating. The feelings and thoughts flowed so effortlessly, so beautifully, Anne-Marie almost felt like a genius herself.
Suddenly, Felicity heaved a sigh of relief, and Anne-Marie knew she had managed to get the melody down at last. The genius lifted her head and gave Anne-Marie a rueful smile. Anne-Marie’s heart jolted like it always did whenever the other girl’s eyes fixated on her own.
“Sorry I exploded on you like that. I was just…”
“It’s alright, I understand," smiled Anne-Marie.
And she did. After all, Felicity couldn’t help being a genius. She couldn’t help it that when a melody came to her head it filled her mind entirely until everything else was blocked out. She understood, for Felicity was Anne-Marie’s own melody, and when she looked at her, she couldn’t think of anything else.
“What’s that?” Felicity asked, suddenly, looking at the notebook Anne-Marie was holding in her hands. Anne-Marie flushed, realizing that while Felicity had been wrapped up in her world of music, she herself had been so fixated on the other girl that she had forgotten to put away her poems.
“Oh, nothing” she replied breezily, slamming the notebook shut and putting it away in the drawer, perhaps a little too hastily for it to not raise suspicion. A part of her hoped it would; that the curiosity about that stupid notebook would fill the other girl’s mind like a melody that she couldn’t get rid of until she got to the bottom of the matter. But of course, it didn’t, for it wasn’t a melody. It was just a stupid notebook. A part of her wished - hoped - that Felicity would demand to see the notebook, overcome with curiosity, that her eyes would become as intense and focused as when she played her violin - but they didn't. They simply went dreamy and unfocused as they always did, as though the ordinary, plain things in front of her were not important to be looked at with the same intensity she looked at piano keys or a music sheet. Anne-Marie’s heart sank, as it always did, whenever the reality of being a completely ordinary thing to Felicity’s eyes became so painfully evident.
Felicity smiled distractedly, shrugged absentmindedly and got up from the armchair, yawning. “Is it time for class?” she asked.
Anne-Marie smiled and gave a slight shake of her head. “It’s 6 o’clock, you scatterbrain. It’s time for tea”, she replied, with a small laugh.
Felicity’s dark, intense eyes widened. “Really?! Gosh, how time flies when I’m writing music. Was I really that long?” she wondered out loud.
“Not really; you came in at thirty-five past five,” replied Anne-Marie, grinning.
Felicity looked slightly bewildered and shook her head. “Golly. I thought it was much earlier than that.” She suddenly groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead in despair. “The English prep! Oh, I forgot! And the Geography prep!”
“Oh, you donkey”, Anne-Marie cried in exasperation. “How do you plan on doing all that now?”
“Well, I could do the map for geography if you help me with the English essay”, said Felicity, her eyes wide and pleading. “You’re so much better at writing essays than I am.”
Anne-Marie sighed in exasperation. “Fine. But this is the last time I help you with your prep,” she said sternly.
“I promise,” replied Felicity, her face breaking into a grin.
Well, that was a promise Anne-Marie knew Felicity wouldn’t keep. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last time she did her prep for her.
“Are you coming?” asked Felicity, holding the door open.
“You go ahead, I’ll come along in a minute”, replied Anne-Marie.
Felicity nodded and left.
Anne-Marie retrieved her notebook from her drawer and, hastily, scribbled down the title of her new poem:
“If Only I Were a Melody.”