Eighth Note Endeavor

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

I wrote this for L.A. It's a true story, and probably one of my hugest blonde-moments of all time. Oh, and I got an 'A' on it. :D

Eighth-Note Endeavor

 

“Oh, my god, you didn’t,” I gasped.

“Oh, yes, I did,” Marlie laughed, nodding matter-of-factly at the picture frame.

My eyes rested in horror on a tiny black musical note, perfectly content in its small, mocking frame, sitting on the little table next to the bed we were perched on in Marlie’s room.   

“Remember that?” Marlie asked, cocking her head to the side and handing me the frame, which I unwillingly took from her.  

I chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I remember…”

 

I slumped into the art room of my four-story, prison-like torture house of a middle school. My senses were overloaded with sights, smells, sensations. Walls of sporadically-placed artwork by Iowa nobodies, burning clay, and the feeling of chalk in the air—which was so intense I practically choked. Purely out of respect, and my unwillingness to get to know the principal better, I sat down in my seat, next to my partner in crime, my confidante, my other woman in black, my best friend, Marlie. 

“Hey, Cat,” she sighed. Her arms were crossed on the table and she had her head resting on them.  Her senses were obviously clouded by all the chalk and clay dust, as well. The room did have poor ventilation…

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Uhg…”

I raised my eyebrow at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Uhg, nothing,” she mumbled, clearly tired—already—of my comparably perky disposition.

I sighed and perched my elbow on the cedar table, and rested my chin in my hand. I was set to begin the daily torture.

Our art teacher, Ms. White (Coincidence? I think not.), had a few things to say before we were set free to run around like decapitated chickens, scrambling here and there to retrieve our work from the vast, disorderly piles of cardboard and clay and paper-mâché and who knows what else on the counters.  “Okay class,” she began in her usual, perky/dreary/art teacher-like manner. “You can continue working on your vertigo-design art-techno absolutely insanely uncomprehendingly stupid and useless “personality boxes”.”  Then she sat down behind her desk and buried her nose in her computer, undoubtedly looking up the physique of a muskrat as part of her latest undertaking in the painting department: Muskrat: How do You Feel?

Okay, she didn’t really say all that and she wasn’t—to my knowledge—doing a project on muskrats. Then again, you never really know, do you? All she said was “Okay, class, get to work on your personality boxes.” So, being the good, obedient child I was, I hopped up (well, more like forced my legs to act against their primal instincts and make me stand) and slumped over to the counter that housed my box.  

My box. My personality box. Thinking back to that box, I sigh with sorrow. Oh, woe is me and my lame, uninteresting personality that more than easily fit into that empty box of Celestial Seasonings herbal green tea. Once again, I sigh.

So, I plopped my rear back down in my chair and got to work on my little box of joy. Dawdling and doodling, I beautified that box until it actually appeared to represent somewhat of an interesting girl.

In the mean time, Marlie was—of course—working on her box, too, which was quite a bit more interesting than mine, even unintentionally. “Ah, I need music notes,” she muttered.

Me, being the helpful friend I was, offered to find her some. Ha. “Ms. White? Is there sheet music anywhere we can use?” I asked, propelling myself out of my chair, ready and able to help a friend in need.

“Yes, there is some on that bottom shelf over there.” She pointed to a shelf right next to my and Marlie’s table. So I hopped over to the music and pulled out a big, yellowed stack. I dumped it on our table and started sorting through it to find the perfect notes for my friend to use.

“What kind do you need?” I asked her.

“Oh, just any random ones. Whatever.” I glanced away from the music and up at her face long enough to see her eyes twinkling and the corners of her mouth twitching. I dismissed it.  

“Okay. Gotcha.” I continued rummaging through the worn, dilapidated music until I found the perfect pair of eighth notes: straight in the right places, round in the places that shouldn’t be straight, and dark as the Alaskan night.

“Perfect,” I smiled, showing her the notes. She cocked an eyebrow at me, then went back to working on another aspect of her box. I pulled out my scissors and held the sheet music in front of my face. I scrunched up my eyes and squinted at the notes, ready to separate them from their home on the staff. I brought my scissors close to the paper. Waiting. Waiting…

Snip. The blades came down, sharp as a carving knife, and cut through that old paper with the ease of a mother lioness ripping out the throat of an approaching hyena. Snip-snip-snip!

…After five minutes of meticulously cutting the couple of less-than-a-millimeter-in-total-length eighth notes, I put down my scissors and victoriously looked up at my friend. “Marlie, look! I cut out your eight notes for you!”

I was so overjoyed that I was not able to watch when the perfect eight notes fell off my finger and onto the floor, which was, in fact, dirtier and littered with more scraps than the dirt ground at the end of a Fourth of July party. I, however, noticed soon enough. ”Oh no! I dropped the notes!” I immediately dropped to my knees in search of the little notes. They would not and could not escape my hold. I would not let them. “Marlie, help me find them!”

So, Marlie, being the good friend that she is, got down on her hands and knees and searched with me on that art room floor for those deviously deceiving eighth notes. “Woo-hoo!” I exclaimed when I found them. I picked them up delicately and set them on the tabletop in a place where there was no chance of a stray wind coming through the closed window and blowing them off and onto the floor of doom again, where they would surely be lost forever.

“It’s lovely, Catherine,” Marlie said. Was she hiding a smile? “Now, why don’t you cut out another one?”

“I…uh…How many do you need?” I gasped, appalled.

“Oh, several,” she amended, a serious look of serious falsehood on her face and in her eyes.

“I—I,” I stuttered.

“Catherine,” she choked out—she was laughing now—“ you just cut out a music note. You spent five minutes cutting out  a music note!”

“So?” I asked, confused. I was trying to help her and she was laughing at me! “What have you been doing while I’ve been cutting out your music note? Hmm?”

She laughed again. “I’ve been drawing some.”

I couldn’t speak.

“You—you what?” Okay, maybe I could speak. A little.

“I drew them,” she chuckled. “God, Cat, you’re so blonde…”

“Well, you know what?” I was on the defensive. “You…uh…gah!”

Marlie laughed and Ms. White walked over, undoubtedly suspicious as to whether or not I was having a paroxysm. “Girls, what’s the problem?”

Marlie just kept laughing.

“Ms. White,” I began, shooting a threatening glare at Marlie, which she promptly ignored. “I just spent five minutes cutting out that stupid music note and…and…Marlie’s laughing at me!”

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” Sarcasm! Oh, the nerve of that woman…

I sighed. “No problem. I’ll just…I’ll just…grrr.”

Ms. White walked away, but I could tell (oh, boy, could I tell) that she was laughing her head off.

I sat back down in my seat, grumbling the whole time. “Stupid note. Gah, I can’t believe…Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“Uh, Cat, are you alright?”

“Ugh. Yeah, I’m fine. I just can’t believe I did that.”

“Well, we all have our moments,” she said, sympathy (humor/sarcasm/patronization) dripping from her tongue. “Some, more than others…”

“Hey!”

She laughed. “Here, if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep it.” She got up and grabbed the roll of tape off the counter, then pulled out her agenda and taped the little, insultingly-perfect note on the front page. “There.” She nodded once approvingly, sat back down and scribbled something next to the little note—a note of her own. I peeked over her shoulder and read it:

“’Dedicated to Catherine’s hard labor and, of course, one of those “stupid blonde moments” everyone has…

 

“ …We really appreciate you, Cat, even if you’re blonde. Art class-2007.’ Gosh, I still can’t believe I actually cut that stupid thing out,” I said, setting down the frame and turning to face Marlie, who was shaking the small bed with her incessant laughter.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you did. It gives us something to talk about.”

“Ha-ha, yeah, I guess.”

“Well, look on the bright side, Cat: I’m pretty sure no one has ever cut out a pair of notes quite as perfect as the one you cut out.”

I thought about that for a moment, then said: “You’re right. That’s the prettiest, most positively perfect pair of eighth notes in the whole history of the world.”

 “Yeah, whatever, Cat.” She shook her head at my over-dramatization of the—in my opinion—supreme, god-like notes from hell.  I looked away from her and from the framed atrocity, but not before noticing the humor that was dancing, unconcealed, in her eyes.  

 


Submitted: January 07, 2009

© Copyright 2021 Catherine . All rights reserved.

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Comments

Alovi Luna

*laughs butt off and falls to floor* HAHAHAHAHHAHA IT WAS WONDERFUL I LOOOOOVE THE LAST PARAGRAGH!! fantastic thinking about that day makes me laugh haha silly kitty!!

Fri, January 9th, 2009 12:02am

Author
Reply

MUAHAHAHA!!!! haha. I'm SOOOO frickin' happy you like it!! Haha. My star...XD I'm glad you like the last paragraph. It was your time to shine:) haha.

Meow. :)

Thu, January 8th, 2009 4:41pm

annemarie

Sounds like something I would do so you are not alone in your blondness. :D

Sat, January 10th, 2009 11:08pm

Author
Reply

Lol. Thanks. I'm glad.

Thanks for reading:) And thanks for becoming a fan.

Sat, January 10th, 2009 8:57pm

Bodici22

HIGH FIVE FOR BEING BLONDE!!

Seriously, all I can say is:
Rolling. On. Floor. Laughing.

Sun, February 1st, 2009 1:47am

Author
Reply

haha. Thanks. My friend's never going to let me live this one down.

Sun, February 1st, 2009 9:13am

goodreads387

nice. we all have our blonde moments. funny.... (Looks in mirror at own blond hair n sighs.) some more than others. isnt it gr8 2 b blonde??

Mon, March 2nd, 2009 7:13pm

Author
Reply

haha. yeah, blonde moments come a little more naturally when you're...uh...blonde. *guilty face* lol.

Thanks for reading!

Mon, March 2nd, 2009 3:00pm

writerkc

I loved this story! It felt so incredibly natural and it was so funny! I may not be blonde, but I've done similar things that make my friends question whether I'm sane or not.

And I'd like to thank you so much for using correct formatting and everything. I absolutely detest reading anything that isn't formatted right.

Also, this is the first story I've read on here where I have actually laughed out loud. I loved it!

Wed, July 22nd, 2009 1:49am

Author
Reply

Thank you! Ah, yeah, I know what you mean about formatting and such...Well, I'm glad I could help you...uh...not detest. hahaha. :) I'm glad I could make you laugh! =D

Thanks for reading and commenting! :)

Tue, July 21st, 2009 7:02pm

aria aiedail

omg, nice one!! I have had moments like that, i understand....

Thu, July 30th, 2009 1:17am

Author
Reply

haha, thanks! It was awful...but strangely hilarious. haha.

Thanks for reading and commenting:)

Wed, July 29th, 2009 8:25pm

Itania

*gives cookie*
Cookie for Catherine
it's okay. even if you are the blonde one, that seems more like something i would do.

Wed, August 19th, 2009 7:38pm

Author
Reply

*gobbles cookie* haha, thanks. Yeah, us blondes and blond not-blondes have to stick together! heehee. Thanks for reading and for the cookie! :)

Wed, August 19th, 2009 5:26pm

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