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Kellen Lambert - Short Story - Taylor

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Title

Kellen Lambert - Short Story - Taylor

Description

Keep the Bluebird in Your Heart

Abstract

The sun warmed wood of the wraparound deck was welcoming to the pudgy toes of six year old Trinity Grant. The weathered hands of her grandfather, Walker Grant, picked clear, sharp notes on his heirloom banjo. The banjo was his great, great grandfather’s. This man had spent his hard earned money from seventy-plus hours on the range for the money to purchase the banjo so he could have a couple hours of enjoyment making music with his family.
Trinity sat in amazement and wonder at the way her grandfather produced the beautiful music from a block of wood and five steel strings. Her hands mimicked the precise movements of her grandfather even though she had no instrument of her own to strum. Walker Grant noticed his granddaughters intense concentration. “ Do you want to try?” He moved the instrument to the side and motioned Trinity to sit on his lap. He placed the banjo in her lap, tightening her tiny hands around the neck and strings. She joyously took to strumming the five strings, trying as hard as she could to make the same beautiful sound as her grandfather had. In that moment, she knew she wanted to play music for the rest of her life.
Twelve years later, Trinity Grant had graduated from the small town high school of Ashland, Nebraska. As a young woman, she now had to decide what she was going to make of her life. Even though her grandfather Walker had passed away three years before, he had instilled in Trinity a love of music that was her most valued memory of her grandfather, along with the old mahogany wood banjo, complete with the memories held in it. Walker Grant had always told Trinity that she could be one of the greats of Nashville, playing on the Grand Ole Opry, and she believed him. However, she had always been shy and quiet. The thought of playing and singing in front of all the Opry fans made her feel nauseous. She could however write the hits for the biggest stars in Nashville. That was a great idea.So one fine spring day, car loaded down, Chris LeDoux tape blaring, Trinity Grant pulled away from her hometown, where she had spent her whole life, and headed towards the unknown. Towards Nashville, Tennessee.
One fifteen hour drive later, Trinity was marveling at the lights and scenery of the country music capitol of the world. She pulled into a motel she could afford for the night, holding her guitar and banjo cases close to her heart. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow, dreaming of the sounds of fiddle, steel, and banjo.
As the sun rose over the skyline, Trinity was already up and ready to meet the day. All the offices of the top record producers and song companies are located in downtown Nashville, so Trinity made a day of it. In one immaculate office, then another, and yet another, she played and was passed up. By 1 o’clock, she decided to make one more stop. She sang her best original compositions for the slight man behind the polished oak desk. His shiny brass name tag read Mr. Jones. He spoke up. “ Your songs have promise,” she perked up. “ But, we have no need for your songs. There’s no artists that are looking for songs like yours. Now if you wanted to be a singer…”
“No, I’m sorry sir, thank you for your time.” Trinity turned and left, feeling dejected.
She trudged through the streets, a large weight on her shoulders. She knew she wasn’t going to give up, but she did need a job if she was going to live in Nashville. She headed back to the first studio she had visited, where they were hiring back up singers and instrumentalists. No matter what happened, she knew how to pick the strings and make the music flow. After a quick audition, she was hired. Trinity took her advance and went to rent an apartment a block from the studio. All she could do now was continue to write songs and hope she got the chance to show them off.So one fine spring day, car loaded down, Chris LeDoux tape blaring, Trinity Grant pulled away from her hometown, where she had spent her whole life, and headed towards the unknown. Towards Nashville, Tennessee.
One fifteen hour drive later, Trinity was marveling at the lights and scenery of the country music capitol of the world. She pulled into a motel she could afford for the night, holding her guitar and banjo cases close to her heart. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow, dreaming of the sounds of fiddle, steel, and banjo.
As the sun rose over the skyline, Trinity was already up and ready to meet the day. All the offices of the top record producers and song companies are located in downtown Nashville, so Trinity made a day of it. In one immaculate office, then another, and yet another, she played and was passed up. By 1 o’clock, she decided to make one more stop. She sang her best original compositions for the slight man behind the polished oak desk. His shiny brass name tag read Mr. Jones. He spoke up. “ Your songs have promise,” she perked up. “ But, we have no need for your songs. There’s no artists that are looking for songs like yours. Now if you wanted to be a singer…”
“No, I’m sorry sir, thank you for your time.” Trinity turned and left, feeling dejected.
She trudged through the streets, a large weight on her shoulders. She knew she wasn’t going to give up, but she did need a job if she was going to live in Nashville. She headed back to the first studio she had visited, where they were hiring back up singers and instrumentalists. No matter what happened, she knew how to pick the strings and make the music flow. After a quick audition, she was hired. Trinity took her advance and went to rent an apartment a block from the studio. All she could do now was continue to write songs and hope she got the chance to show them off. This continued on for three months. Trinity played back up guitar or banjo for Nashville’s top stars, all the while trying get a contract to be a songwriter. Leaving the studio one night at 10 o’ clock, she spied a bulletin board upon which was hung an advertisement for a writer’s night at the Bluebird Café. Trinity knew some of the biggest stars in country music had gotten their start at the Bluebird Café, including Garth Brooks. She remembered her grandfather encouraging her to pick and sing, and how he always saw her as a big star, and she knew, scared or not, that she was going to sing in that showcase.
Saturday night, guitar in hand, building her courage, Trinity Grant stepped through the doors of the famous Bluebird Café. She was slated seventh. She tried to sip some water so she didn’t clam up. She saw all the faces, all the singers. There was the guitarist in Miranda Lambert’s band. And there was the writer of George Strait’s latest number one. Trinity was intimidated. To get up in front of all these people and sing her song, if they didn’t like it, they could laugh her out of Nashville.
Finally, it was time. She headed up the steps to the stage praying she didn’t trip. She couldn’t look out at the huge crowd all staring at her. She strummed the first chord and began.
The audience sat in rapt attention at the angelic voice pouring out of the small girl. We’re had she come from? Why had no one signed her yet? All the studio executives were preparing their spiels to snag this unheard talent up.
Trinity Grant let out the last note and stepped back. The audience let out a round of thunderous applause. She smiled and backed down the steps, knocking into a broad shouldered man.
“Young lady,” he thundered.” You are going to be a star.”
Trinity smiled, thinking of her Grandfather. He was right.

Youth(s) First Name and Initial of Last Name

Kellen Lambert

Age Division

14

Category

Short Story

County

Taylor