Brimming to the Top

Story by Andrew Wi

| SPRING 2021 ISSUE | PROSE

7 Years Ago

“My name is Sylvia Reso and I will be playing ‘Amazing Grace,’ dedicated to my younger brother Felix Reso,” Sylvia said, her voice echoing through the auditorium. She flicked both her wrists while holding two mallets in each hand as a half-note rang. Then, she moved her arms faster and faster while hitting the keys of the marimba. The music seemed to run across the auditorium, swirling around the marble columns which held the balcony, curling onto each velvet seat, and lastly, whispering into the ears of the judges who were watching her. Felix enjoyed it, bobbing his head to the beat and tapping his finger along with the music. Soon, though, the music came to a stop. He opened his eyes and glanced around, only to find his sister in a silken black dress with threads of silver that formed twinkling stars. She asked him, “Well, what’d you think?” 

He smiled and replied, “You were amazing!” 

Now

Felix sighed, remembering the marimba contest where he’d watched Sylvia play “Amazing Grace.” He also remembered her every feature, from her light cream complexion to her twinkling chocolate eyes, her midnight black hair, and her light laugh. Along with these were the images of her serene face and his parents’ tears. In miserable times, their tears seemed to spill almost forever. He glanced at his marimba, or rather, Sylvia’s. The last remnant of her. Felix observed the rosewood keys that she so dearly loved, the gold-tinted resonators at the bottom, and the mallets that Sylvia had collected over time. He let out a sorrowful breath, thinking of the time when he was seven and Sylvia taught him how to play Green Scales and Eight-Four-Two-One. He wanted to stay in his room forever, away from reality. 

“Come down for dinner, Felix,” his mom shouted. 

He looked at the table, which had kimchi and galbi and white rice. Sylvia’s favorite meal. He stared at his parents, both a bit frailer than usual and somewhat gaunt, too. They were barely holding it together, but Felix could tell they were trying their best. The three of them ate in silence before Felix returned to the solace of his room and simply fell asleep. 

He dreamed of the painful memory that often came to him in his sleep. He walked on a tiled floor past walls lined with doors. When he reached the door at the end of the hallway, it said Sylvia Reso. He opened the door and saw two women, both wearing hairnets and white shirts along with turquoise gloves. They both had sad smiles as they looked at him. His gaze slowly drifted to the white bed with a girl lying down on it. She reached out for him and he drew closer as she whispered in his ear, “Stay strong, my dear brother. This is not the end. I’ll always be with you, whether in your heart, in your memories, or in the midst of playing.” Felix woke up from his dream in a cold sweat as he thought about that hospital dream that had occurred so often since Sylvia… since Sylvia—he had to accept it now—since she’d died. 

The next morning, Felix walked to the table and ate breakfast with his parents. He had made a decision the previous night, and he was ready to say it. He took a deep breath and said to his mom and dad, 

“I want to compete in the Universal Marimba Competition.” 

His parents stared at him as though he was an alien from Mars before his dad finally said, 

“I’m sorry, but what? I thought I heard…” 

Felix sighed and repeated himself. “I want to compete in the Universal Marimba Competition.” 

His mom looked shocked and slowly said, “The one Syl—” she paused as if the name was like a sharp needle, stabbing her, “—she did?” 

Felix replied, “Yes, that one.” 

His mom fell back in her chair, seeming bewildered as his dad locked eyes with her. He paused for a few seconds before saying, 

“Okay… We’ll sign you up.” 

Felix looked up and gave a half-smile, the nearest thing to a smile after Sylvia’s tragedy.

One Month Later

Felix’s mother smiled for the first time in months before she said, “You’ll do great.” She hugged him and sent him to go backstage. 

When he arrived, a few others were there. He recognized one of them—his sister’s friend, Lyla Cond. She waved and asked, 

“How’ve you been, Felix?” 

He returned her wave then replied, “Good, you?” 

Lyla chuckled and said, “I’ve been good as well. What are you performing? I’m performing ‘Für Elise.’” 

“I’m doing ‘Amazing Grace.’”

Lyla looked surprised as her voice lowered to a whisper. “You mean her song?” Felix nodded and Lyla was silent before finally saying, “You’re one brave person, Felix.” Then, she left him puzzled and went on stage, where she played better than Felix expected her to. Next, Felix stepped on stage. 

“My name is Felix Reso and I will be playing ‘Amazing Grace,’ dedicated to my older sister Sylvia Reso.” The judges appeared to be caught off guard. They paused for a moment, probably processing that he was the younger brother of the winner of the 2027 competition and that he was playing the same song she did, dedicated to her. Plus, they came to realize that the song was dedicated to a person who was no longer living. Felix paid no attention, though; he had been practicing for this all month and he wouldn’t lose. In fact, he refused to lose. 

He started by playing three notes simultaneously—the same ones that Sylvia had started with—as he flicked his wrists. Then, he played on and on. He began to feel a bit nervous as he neared the part he had struggled to memorize. Then, he thought about Sylvia’s rendition of it and fell into a trance. He glanced at his hands a few times to make sure the rhythm and notes were right before simply playing from the heart. He played out the joy he had felt when he had heard it for the first time; he played out the gratefulness he felt for his sister, who had taught him everything she knew. He played out all of his happy memories with Sylvia, and he even played out the sadness of her loss, the anger at the world for taking her away. And lastly, he played out the hope of her last promise and his determination to win for her. Yes, this wasn’t for him; it was for her. Those words he had said—“dedicated to my older sister Sylvia Reso”—those words were full of truth, brimming to the top with truth. Truth that he would express through his music. He played and played as he thought of her, and soon the music came to an end, and surprisingly, so did his sorrow. He had somehow found a way to lose it.