CORNER OF THE SKY: Pippin. PIPPIN: Minerva I don’t AF, or Pippin, and this is just . . . her song, you know?
It was another meeting, sadly. They had a tendency to be boring, I thought. An unreal, pretty blonde stepped through the door, almost shyly. Like we were going to toss rotten tomatoes at her.
That was only once!
She walked calmly across the room, to stand behind the often empty Mod Seat.
The clock ticked away until it read exactly 13:50.
We all looked at each other, expecting the usual training fights, writing, coloring and odd things to occur.
I was just fishing in my pocket for some bubble soap and I saw a few of the younger girls, who had accounts in FF but likely just hung out in the Fan Art section, take out coloring books, when Minerva cleared her throat.
“I have something to say.” She said in a scientifically concrete voice. I groped for my mp3 instead, and started playing a song.
“Everything has its season, everything has its time. Show me a reason, and I’ll soon show you a rhyme. Cats fit on the windowsill, children fit in the snow. Why do I feel that I don’t in anywhere I go?”
The high male voice began to play before she started, but half way through she came in with a high alto. Many grinned, and when the mods walked in, their faces shone with “not again”.
I whooped, as if it was a break in a rock song at a comeback concert.
She looked like she wanted to laugh. “Rivers belong where they can ramble, eagles belong where they can fly. I’ve got to be where my spirit can run free! Got to find my corner . . . Of the sky!”
She needed a deep breath after the long note, and Minerva was forced to actually look at us. All eyes were trained on her, something she was used to, showing many emotions she was used to: shock, confusion and awe, yet, one she wasn’t used to: growing respect. No one had ever showed that for Minerva. She was almost touched.
“Every man has his daydreams, every man has his goal. People like the way dreams have of sticking to the soul.
“Thunder clouds have their lightening; nightingales have their song, and don’t you see I want my life to be something more than long?”
She seemed to be looking everyone in the eyes, her own blue eyes swimming with pleading tears.
“Rivers belong where they can ramble! Eagles belong where they can fly! I want to be where my spirit can run free; got to find my corner . . . Of the sky!”
Nobody was resisting her, now that they saw that she had a legitimate query. That she was voicing in song, ergo arguably not a good thing, but a formal song nonetheless.
Now, as I know the song, everything was about to go down hill for the child genius about now.
“So many men seem destined to settle for something small, but I won’t rest until I know I’ve had it all,” she sung, then realized what she said as more-or-less inappropriate for what she needed.
“So don’t ask where I’m going, just listen when I’m gone and far away you’ll here me singing softly to the dawn!” Half way through, she made a slashing motion, and I considered switching to Respect by Aretha Franklin, but saw the light for her. I let her keep going.
“Rivers belong where they can ramble, eagles belong where they can fly. I want to be where my spirit can run free. Got to find my corner . . .”
Everyone knew what was coming, but they didn’t expect it to be so pleading, yet confident, as though she was actually saying ‘please, please, please: I know you’ll say yes!’
“Of the sky!”
After her forte note succumbed to pianissimo, someone started a slow clap.
Sadly, it did not catch on.
But, she did smile to the admins nervously, and they seemed to negotiate. They nodded and, in unison, they all said:
“No more Minerva is a bitch stories.”
There was rejoicing, and there was booing.
Then, people threw half completed stories into the garbage. Ah, well, I would rather her French blonde sing an English song than read a SueStory anyway.