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01-09-01
One day Jane perched a french horn on her head and the whole school turned to look. The hat was attached with wire and ribbon and streamers hung down a foot. The art students smiled and nodded approval: "At least she's an individual! What Poise!" They spouted and gushed and gossiped and droned. "Too bad she's not looking at fashion design."
One day Jane perched a french horn on her head and it wasn't even a bad hair day. Some of her friends voiced their disapproval and the principal held assembly all day and the teachers were torn between encouraging creativity and discouraging living out of the normal viewing range.
One day Jane perched a french horn on her head but she wouldn't tell anyone why. Was it a reaction to action against her thoughts, a protest to controlling her mind? Or was Jane just tired of only wearing hats and being around people who disapprove? At least when you perch a french horn on your head it starts to get things to move.
One day Jane perched a french horn on her head and her parents were called into school. They shouted and bribed, prompted and threatened and wouldn't understand what they should. But Jane didn't cry, didn't plead, didn't beg; She only sat and smiled. When you've awakened enough to wear your instrument, nothing petty is worth your while.
One day Jane perched a french horn on her head and she didn't say much after that. She'd draw and paint and write her songs and some days she just sat. She'd denounced alcohol, drugs, sex and speech but she had pleasures they'd never take: Jane could honestly know her mind and never have to fake.