* * *
Melissa slipped out of her simple black dress. She had just returned from Joe's
funeral. There were seven people there, including the minister: Melissa, Tom, Mr.
and Mrs. Xaviersen, Joe's great-niece, and his great-nephew. It was solemn and
sad, as most funerals are. But what got Melissa crying was a violinist near the
end of the funeral. She had played a quiet yet very meaningful song, sweet and
Yes, Joe Davison had been remembered as a wonderful, talented, brilliant man.
Now, as Melissa sat, cradling Joe's Amati violin, a soft, slow snow began to
drift down from the sky. Melissa quietly began to cry, but not with such force as
before. The snow described Joe Davison. Slow, but with many hidden treasures.
Meaningful, quiet, and loved.
Melissa smiled, a smile salty from her tears. A smile for Joe.
Melissa stepped up onto the stage to receive her shiny, golden trophy. She had
won it for her amazing playing on her treasured Amati violin. All judges had
unanimously picked her over the other top-ranked, high school violinists.
"Miss Xaviersen? Would you care to make a speech? A dedication?
Melissa's mind was flooded with memories. . .
"Yes, I'd like to make a dedication," said Melissa, now 15 years old. "To Joe
Davison, a friend who passed away eight years ago. Joe introduced me to the
violin, and instructed me. He is the one who gave me this Amati violin. Joe
Davison was a wonderful man," said Melissa, her eyes glittering with tears, but
she smiled with pride.