Fine Lines
Melanie’s Song Elizabeth Elliott In a town where secrets were the rule and lies were the norm, no one would ever believe a sevenyear-old girl who tells of the “boy next door” coming into her room and doing unspeakable things. No one would believe what her father would do when he would drink away his paycheck. Who in the town would believe her, when her mother wouldn’t even listen? This seven-year-old girl was Melanie Ryan. She was born in a small town in eastern Kentucky. The neighborhood she lived in was a row of rundown shacks with weeds covering the porches and dogs warding off any unwanted visitors. Of course, no one even tried to visit such a neighborhood, where seedy men came back and forth between Bob’s Bar and the adult video store. No one ever discussed anything. A man could get away with murder in this town, and they would just ignore it. Melanie was a classified victim of her surroundings. She had the purest smile that could melt the heart of anyone she met. How could such a cute girl with blonde curls be hurt so much? She attended the local public school but was often teased for looking like a rag doll. Her curls were always kept back with a rubber band, and the clothes often had holes in them. Even her shoes lacked laces, but she couldn’t help her situation. Her family was poor, and they couldn’t afford nice things. If her dad wouldn’t drink so much, he might be able to provide better things. Melanie liked school, despite the teasing. She was smart for her age, so at any chance, she would go to the school library, until her mom picked her up. In the library, she would gravitate towards books about music and nature. Melanie would dream of being one of those musicians or even a forest ranger. She wasn’t picky. All she knew was that someday she would find a way out of town.
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When Melanie was in the fourth grade, she had the opportunity to join the school band. The local music instructors came to give a demonstration of the instruments that were available and gave a little concert for students in her class. Melanie paid careful attention to the timbre and emotion of each instrument. The trombone looked a little too daunting for Melanie to even grasp in her petite fingers, and the cello, with its rich dark tones, was enticing but spoke of things she wasn’t able to understand. Then she heard the flute. Its ability to mimic the sounds of birds and practically sing a tune drew Melanie towards it. She could be one with nature and music. When she heard the instrument, it was as if she knew her destiny. She would be a flutist. To Melanie’s utter surprise and due to her incessant begging, her parents let her join the school band. The instruments would be on loan and wouldn’t cost a thing, which pleased her father; and band practice would take place after school, which pleased her mom that she didn’t have to pick her up as early. It was the perfect match for everyone. She was told many times as a young child that she would never amount to anything. Melanie was an only child, born to Brad and Sarah Ryan. Her father was an alcoholic, and her mother was caught in her own world of depression. There was little attention paid to Melanie except when she would play her flute. Only then did Melanie have a voice. Knowing this about her family, Melanie practiced for hours on end, entering as many competitions as she could, longing for the attention that was to be achieved only on stage. She poured her heart and soul into her music, and while she wasn’t practicing, she was dreaming of performing on stages across the globe. When Melanie was seventeen, while playing the flute at a local gathering of politicians, a man with “connections” invited her to audition for a CD he was producing to introduce new talent to the world. She agreed to try but didn’t tell her parents. She didn’t think anything would come of it. Besides, her parents were not fighting at the moment, and they always seemed to get into arguments over Melanie’s future. She never understood that one, but she was enjoying the peace just the same. Things at home had been calm for a long time. Her father was starting treatment for alcoholism, and her mother was also going to
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counseling. She could still never tell those dark secrets she held in her heart. One night she was heading out to dinner with her parents to celebrate the end of the school year. They had the radio tuned into a station that played local talent. It was an instrumental selection that was on the radio at the time, and Melanie gasped when she realized it was the song she auditioned with for the CD. The announcer came on the radio to announce it was Melanie Ryan’s rendition of “Sonata in F” by Marcello. Melanie’s parents were shocked and also very proud of her accomplishment. They were upset that she didn’t tell them she was even going to audition, and she did receive some scolding for that, but it didn’t deter from the joy of the evening. Her parents asked what she planned to do next, and they didn’t even argue about it. Melanie couldn’t believe it. Everything was falling into place. All her practicing was worth the struggle. The next day, the producer called Melanie to ask if she would be willing to come to the studio for additional work. He told her that the debut on the radio station prompted many calls to the station for her CD. She was a hit! She always dreamed about making a CD but never in a million years did she think it would happen. Now, her dreams were coming true. That little blonde-haired girl who had so much happen to her was finally making a name for herself. Dozens of doors opened for her, and she became quite popular. She even played a duet with James Galway, whom she idolized as a child. Her CD went platinum, and she took the music world by storm. It was a new era in music. Flute was in, and she was alive! Melanie was invited to Washington, DC, to perform for the president at the annual White House Ball. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. That evening, the car she was traveling in was hit headon by a drunk driver. She was asleep at the time and was knocked unconscious by the impact. When she woke up later the following day, she looked down to see her hand wrapped in several layers of bandages. What pain was pulsing through that hand. When the doctor came to check on her, she was aghast to find out what was beneath those bandages. The doctor said the fingers were
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severely damaged. He wasn’t sure to what extent, but he wasn’t hopeful that she would be able to use the hand again. Melanie felt as if her heart had been ripped out while it was still beating. “Not being able to use my hand? But that’s who I am, a flutist,” she thought to herself. She never dreamed anything like this could happen. What would happen to her identity, if she could no longer provide music? After many months of intense physical therapy and counseling, Melanie was finally able to return some sense of sanity to her life. She couldn’t find work, because she trained for so long on the flute that she didn’t pick up many other skills. Working as a waitress was a disaster, because she could only carry one plate at a time, and she was so depressed about not being able to play her beloved instrument that life seemed to be over for her. What was the use? She gave up all hope of trying to perform again and put the flute away in her attic. While in that depression, the painful childhood memories came rushing back, and it took her so long to process all that happened. It had been three years since Melanie Ryan picked up the instrument she cherished as a child. When she played her flute after all this time, she could literally feel the pain and inner turmoil escape with each note. Her phrasing spoke of hurts buried so deep that mere words could not grasp them. The high pitches gave voice to the strange inkling that healing was possible; while the lower pitches worked to remind her of the despair she held in her heart. It would be a long road back to where she was before, but Melanie knew in her heart that she could accomplish anything she dreamed. After all, she had come this far. Her CDs were still selling, and people were asking about when she would perform again. She captured the hearts of so many with her talent, smile, and genuine goodness. She knew in the fourth grade, being a flutist was her destiny. Melanie wanted to do something more than be a performer. While she was recovering from her injuries and depression, a friend gave her a CD that was filled with healing music. It carried her through so much. She hoped she could return that help by making her own CD for those who are suffering. Now that she was well, it was possible.
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From the Desk of Someone Who Works Here Tony Endelman Somehow, between daydreams of winning the Powerball, I found myself deep inside the bowels of a modern day office. I hadn’t planned it this way. After college, I’d moved to Chicago to pursue comedy, using a carefully and brilliantly devised strategy. By day, I’d find my inspiration in hip and trendy coffee bistros, and on El trains, gazing out at the quickly passing cityscape. By night, I’d play at open mikes, only to catch the ear of George Wendt, sign a development deal, and be thrust headlong into comedic superstardom. As it turned out, telling jokes about flatulence to drunkards on a Monday night didn’t quite pay the astronomical rent for my 400 square-foot palace without air-conditioning. As far as I could tell, George Wendt didn’t leave the house much. Using every contact I could drum up, eventually, I landed my first job at one highly respected advertising rep firm, a billion dollar company just gracious enough to pay me $26,000 a year. The office occupied the sixteenth floor of a glossy high-rise on Michigan Avenue, conveniently situated between a Starbucks and another Starbucks. It featured the same colorless walls and vomit-inducing carpet patterns that seem to appear in every American office. I’d arrive there at 8:00 each morning, walk drowsily to my cube space, and plop down in front of an outdated office PC. I soon discovered that finding a job requires more work and dedication than an actual job. It took weeks to advantageously condense all of the lies and trivial life experiences on my resume down to one page. After several more weeks of pestering employers, until they agreed to meet me for an interview, so I could lie to them in person, I dressed in a suit and tie, took the bus from office building to office building, only to find out the complete irrelevance of my
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