Blackbird

I have never been particularly fond of The Beatles. Jack was obsessed with them for a while, before he got into Hamilton, and he had me listen to some of their songs. They were fine. However, there was one that really stuck out to me. Blackbird. It has been interpreted in different ways: as a love song, as a nature song, or as a metaphor for the civil rights struggle. But at the root of this song, I hear something familiar: a feeling of yearning, a thirst for the things you want but know will never come to be. I listen to this song often now. After Emmie’s funeral and the events that transpired afterwards, this song is sometimes the only thing I can hold on to, to trust in these days of uncertainty.

*** Two weeks earlier “Again! This is NOT how the piece is supposed to be interpreted. Please keep the notes gentle when they are in stepwise motion. Remember, try to make the first movement more...deep.” My music teacher had become more invested in this than I thought. “I don’t want it to be deep, I want it to be PERFECT! It has to be. For me. For Emmie. For her parents.” I couldn’t think anymore. The stress from being caught up in the aftermath of Emmie’s death was taking a toll on my mental health. The fact that I had to learn a sonata in one day didn’t help. I was going to play it at Emmie’s funeral because it was her favorite song. “And the fact that I know the accompaniment doesn’t help me now because I have to play the melody! I don’t know anyone who can play it for me.” “Kenzy! Stop shouting. I will help you learn it if you shut up!” “But I have to master this piece before the funeral.” “Remind me when that is?” Joy inquired for the third time that morning. “Five o’clock. Sunset.” “Well, you didn’t wake me up at six in the morning for nothing, I hope! Let’s get to work.” That’s what I liked about Joy. She was a very down-to-earth, matter-of-fact person, just like me. My parents describe it as ‘brutally honest,’ and my brothers describe it as ‘mean.’ Just then, my dad swept into the room. “I’m so sorry to interrupt the beautiful music, but I just have to make sure this dress fits Kenzy. She wasn’t able to go shopping with me, but I tried to get a purple dress that matches her hair.” I hate dresses. I really hate them. And he was holding up a hideous, ruffly one that looked like it had black tulle sticking out of the bottom and a gigantic purple bow in the back. It did match my hair, but that is the only nice thing I will say about it. I think Joy had the same opinion. She grimaced when she saw it, but then gave me a look that said, I know you hate it, but c’mon. Just put it on to make your dad happy. You can rant to me about it later. I did. It was terrible and the tulle tripped me five times when I tried to walk around in it. But it did fit. And just when I thought the morning couldn’t get any worse, my brothers walked in. Tyler and Miles looked at me like I was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen. They did a terrible job of stifling their giggles and promptly fled the room. Dad rushed after them and gave them a big talking-to about ‘respecting your sister’. But of course, two brothers didn’t do justice to the sheer amount of bad luck I experienced that morning. Noah opened the door. “Kenzy? Where are my Legos? Have you seen them?” And then he saw me. “Kenzy!” Or, more precisely, my dress. “It’s terrible!” “I know!” I yelled. “I know. Yeah. And I have to wear it to Emmie’s funeral. I’m sure she wouldn’t approve. But it’s all my fault anyway, so why don’t I just annoy her a little more?” My dad, hearing our conversation, ran in to set things right. “Kenzy-girl. We’ve talked about this. It’s time to forgive yourself.” But he knows that there will always be a shadow of thought in my mind. Did I do something wrong? Did I imagine something that wasn’t there? Does she understand how I feel? Did she? My dad left, and Noah spoke again. He whispered, really. “It wasn’t your fault. Kenzy. It wasn’t.” “I know, Noah. Go play with Miles. I’m sure he’s stolen your legos.” My brother raced out. “MILES! Why did you take my Legos? They’re MINE!” My dad often tells me, ‘Don’t create tension

between family members, Kenzy. It disrupts the harmony.’ Eh. I knew they’d work it out in the end. Life is hard being the only girl in a five person family. But I had to get back to practicing. I took off the dress and joined Joy in the music room.

*** I practiced all morning. Then I took a quick break to eat lunch (a grilled cheese sandwich) and went right back to practicing. I was about three quarters of the way through the second movement in mid-afternoon, but there were four whole movements. Even though Joy was doing her best to keep me upbeat by throwing encouraging comments out there, I was dreading my performance. We both knew the odds weren’t too good. “C’mon, you can do this, Kenzy. Measure after measure and you’ll get through it before you know it. Handel sure isn’t being easy on you.” How did Joy still think that I wouldn’t ruin the funeral and turn it into a total trainwreck? I was losing hope. “I can’t! I’ll ruin the entire evening, and you know it, Joy!” “Would you rather skip it? Tell Emmie’s parents you couldn’t learn it in time? They’re counting on you, Kenzy.” The funeral was kind of centered around my piece, because it had been Emmie’s favorite. Her parents cried tears of joy when I offered to play it. They said that I was a wonderful child and that my playing would make the funeral perfect. I couldn’t let them down. “No! I have to! It’s just…” “Kenzy! No justs. We will learn this in time. You have to focus.”

*** A few hours later, Jack came over to listen to me practice. It’s still hard to be around him when he reminds me of Emmie. We used to be a trio, and it was rare to see one without the other two. We did everything together. We were always over at each other’s houses, cooking or playing music. I would talk for hours about books with Jack, and Emmie joined in sometimes if we were talking about adventure stories. She would drag us along to hunt for gold or collect samples for her leaf collection. Her brown hair was always windswept and it was rare to see her without her trusty leather boots. On one very memorable occasion, Emmie took us on a walk through the lush boscage to a secret goldenrod meadow she found to watch the sunset. What we hadn’t realized was that after sunset it gets dark. Resourceful Emmie kept a small red flashlight in her pocket for emergencies, but bushwacking a mile through the forest in the dark is still not an ideal situation. Jack was attempting to distract himself from his fear of the dark with Hamilton references, (“Dang, it’s getting dark, so let me spell out my name!”) and Emmie was exclaiming over his unhelpfulness. (“Jack, shut up! Lin Manuel Miranda can work wonders, but making the sun rise prematurely is not one of them. Inspiring the love and admiration of teenage boys is, however.”) I thought they were funny. But Emmie didn’t have the time to watch musicals. (Yes, those were her exact words.) She would rather be out collecting salamanders. I miss her so much, and whenever I see Jack, I am reminded of all the times we three spent together. I’m sure he feels the same way. “Kenzy, It’s beautiful! I love it! You sound just like Emmie.” Jack has always been my biggest supporter. I add more rosin to my bow. “Jack, here’s the thing. It doesn’t matter how gorgeous this movement is. ‘Cause I still have two more. To learn. In two hours.” I couldn’t even communicate in complete sentences. I was hyperventilating and definitely not okay. Then time stopped. Black fog obscured my vision. We were walking through a beech spinney together. Emmie had a wicker basket containing two tomato sandwiches and some chocolate ice cream. I told her not to bring it, because I was sure it would melt, but she scooped it into insulated containers with ice packed around them instead. “Let me carry the basket for a while, Emmie! With all the ice, it must be heavy.” “Of course not! Let me. This is my outing and you are my guest. I invited you!” Emmie was always exploring the acres of woods behind her house, and she sometimes dragged me and Jack to see the especially exciting things she found. She called us that morning to ‘have a picnic in a cave around lunch time.’ Jack had declined, saying he had a math club meeting. I had never heard of him being part of a math club before. He was

terrible at lying, but Emmie was completely oblivious. And now we’re here in the middle of the woods alone. I wonder what Jack was thinking. We sat at the cave mouth and ate our (not melted) ice cream and sandwiches. It was a good afternoon. Alone, but together in the wild forest. We didn’t start back until sunset. On our way back, Emmie wanted to check on a falcon nest because she said there might be babies. Even though it was almost dark, she said we had time. We crested a wooded holt and walked through a copse of sassafras that opened up to a beautiful view of the Perilette River. The nest was halfway down the cliff overlooking it. The river had carved out the land, creating a cliff made of soft soil and clay. It looked pretty dangerous. I declined going on the cliff with her, saying I didn’t trust myself to climb in the dark. ‘Be careful!’ I said. Those words now haunt me. Be careful! Be careful. Be careful. I walked down a herd path into the canyon and along the river while she climbed, picking up smooth rocks and driftwood. I could see her small figure slowly traversing the rugged terrain. Be careful. The opalescent river water reflected the pastel pink sky, and it was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. Be careful. Be careful. The river looked swollen due to the freshet after a recent rain. I was suddenly filled with an overflowing love for the world, for life, for her. Be careful. Be careful. And then I heard a rumble and the tall cliffs that the river had patiently carved out over hundreds of years started to crumble and groan. Be careful. Be careful. Those were the last words I spoke to her.

*** “Kenzy! Kenzy, are you okay?” I looked up to the faces above me: my parents, Joy and Jack. They looked concerned. Emmie. My Emmie. My blackbird. I miss her every day. I think of her every second. What did I do wrong? Tell me, Emmie! Was it too much all at once? Was I imagining that anything had changed? No, I don’t think so. It couldn’t be. Still, what was my mistake? “No. She’s clearly not.” That was Joy. Matter-of-fact, like I said before. Well. This is fun. After a glass of water and many hugs, I still felt a little dizzy. And then my dad was holding out THE DRESS. And I looked at the clock. It said 4:30. I had no choice but to walk to the car. Joy looked appalled, “Oh, my hat! Is it 4:30 already?” (Yes, she really said that.) “I’m afraid so,” replied my dad. We all piled into the car. (Well, except for my cello, which went into the trunk. I had named my cello Cláudio.) It was a five minute drive to the Collins’. We exited the car and got swept into a small crowd of people walking into the woods. Cláudio slammed against my legs with every step as we traversed a crude path through a thick brake of spicebush. Jack walked beside me. “Where are we going?” “Emmie’s parents wanted to have the funeral in her favorite place: the woods. We’re going to that meadow she found. Remember when we went to watch the sunset?” “I will never forget.” “That was a scary night. We were in the woods in the dark!” “Yeah,” I replied. “How much of the sonata did you learn?” “Not enough. It’s going to be a disaster.” I whispered to myself so Jack wouldn’t hear: “Sorry, Emmie. Sorry for ruining your funeral. For everything else. I’m sorry.” Jack looked at me, his eyes full of sorrow and...something else.

*** Everything else happened as if I were in a dream. Emmie’s mom showed me where to sit down. There was a stool on the damp grass. I sat. She motioned for me to take my cello from its case. I did. I sat with it between my knees while she talked. She thanked everyone for coming, told them where to spread out their picnic blankets. My family forgot to bring them, so they sat on the ground. The thought crossed my mind that if they sat on the grass they would get wet. I saw the beads of water in the grass at my feet. But then I realized they had been sitting for at least five minutes before I had noticed. Emmie’s mom talked some more, then her

dad, then her mom again. Somehow I couldn’t hear them. Their mouths were moving but the only thing I could hear was a soft humming. Her mom was crying a little bit. Then another man that I didn’t know stood up to speak. He spoke for a few minutes, and then he gestured to me. And at that moment I realized I didn’t have my music. Or anything. And the sound came rushing back. At first all I heard was a wave of racket that swept over me. The voices of Emmie’s mom and dad and the man I did not know filled my head. There were the whispers of every person sitting on the grass as well. I listened. In the roar, the river of words, I heard only a few recognizable words. “-for your loss- -gathered here for- -wonderful girl. Emeline Collins- -never forget.- -forever- -fifteen years old- -rambunctious- -love her-” Then he was talking about me, saying that I was about to play. I have no music. Nothing. The man was still looking at me, asking me to play. And I played.

I’d never played it before. But It didn’t matter. I started with the melancholy introduction. It is played on a lonely guitar. Of course, I didn’t have a guitar, but that didn’t matter either. It was just me and Cláudio. I played what I knew. And that was enough. I heard someone singing. It was a velvety smooth voice, strong and confident. And then I realized it was

me.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise

~ Lucia Gomez-Ibáñez