Kimilee Bryant

Dear Kimilee,

I don't know if I can say this to you since you are an Operatic Singer and I don't want you to get offended by my vociferous vindication for perusing your sight, but I must say you are one sexy opera singer. I didn't realize, stereotypes ruling my thoughts, that there was such physical beauty in your line of work.

As for me, your sight has brought a quiver to my lip, a twitch to my neck and a small tear to my eye. Don't worry. It is nothing you had anything to do with, nor is there anything for you to do. It just makes me think back to my ill-faded music career. I just want to scream to the heavens, "By God, Hath you no mercy?" Well, I want to scream that for a different reason, now back to my story.

It all started in the fourth grade when I, a budding musical prodigy, entered the music class to choose my weapon. Trombones, clarinets, oboes and triangles galore. Vexed by the magnitude of my decision, I was frozen stiff in time. This was going to decide my fate with the ladies from the fourth grade on. Well, I spotted my arc de triumph in the form of a clarinet. I was aghast to see that the instrument that I coveted, the instrument I was born to play, the clarinet, was not called a trumpet. In fact, there was nothing trumped about it. "I doth protest," I exclaimed to the teacher to no avail. Forever stuck with the stinking trumpet, I pushed on determined to be the Dizziest Gillespie who ever French kissed the brass horn. Unfortunately for the next six months I lived a lie. I lived a Milli Vinilli style farce until the day it came crashing down upon my well-groomed head. I faked it at the recital. I didn't play, I couldn't! I never regained the zest, the zeal or the inspiration that was naturally bestowed upon me by the clarinet and when it came time to perform I could only go through the motions.

Don't worry Kimilee, my stick-to-itiveness kicked in and I wasn't going to give up on my music career so quickly. Fast-forward to the eighth grade and my next date with destiny. We had been working all year for the recital at the mall, the crème de la crème of venues in Pennsylvania. We practiced and practiced and I even had the black pants, white shirt and red bow tie laid out in preparation. I practiced "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" so many times that I could say it backwards and forwards. I could break it down into anagram form. I could equate each letter in the lyrics with a star in the sky. I still have swinging visions and chariot dreams, but all I can remember is "Swing low sweet chariot, coming forth to carry me home." Anyway, my friends and I were playing a little "grab ass" when we were supposed to be rehearsing. The teacher, singled us three out and we had to sing solo, a cappella and by ourselves. Needless to say my rendition of the verse melted the other children's skin. I put several young girls into psychotherapy when I hit the "sweet" and I caused Danny, the "slow" kid, to foam at the mouth. Unfortunately, the story ends there. It was general music from then on in.

So what I am saying Kimilee is, you, the people who pushed through the boundaries, are an inspiration and hero to the people like me, who failed miserably at an early age. Not too mention you’re pretty hot. Good luck on all of your future endeavors and if you could, hit a high note for me.

Thanks

Orpheous Roy

www.kimileebryant.com