Give Me Light (Re-Written version) #ThePicassoAwards #walkbyfaith

Chapter 19

It hardly seemed possible to me that the competition was over. Well, almost over. The judges were still deciding the winners, which, from the muffled snippets of the arguments that reached us from time to time, seemed to be a very difficult responsibility. And of course, there was the final song to be given by the winner and the runner-up, whoever they should prove to be. I could scarcely hide my nervousness, and Mr. Smith kept gently pecking at my face, to distract me. 

A little rustle came from the judges' table, and I sat straighter, trying to prepare myself for whatever was to come. 

"I see. All right; return to your place. My judges," said the superintendent to the audience, "seem to be having slight difficulty in determining the winner. It's so close, they're calling it a tie, and, as we need a tiebreaker, we are going to ask the contendants in question to give us another number, and a vote will be cast among the judges."

I held my breath, wondering who were the ones who had come so close.

"Anita Pembrook, step forward." He paused for what seemed a minute, at least, but what, really, couldn't have been more than a  few seconds, before he went on, a smile in his voice. "Nicoletta Daniels and Brigitta Longridge, step right up beside Anita."

So, it was a tie, and now we had to break it? I felt my heart sinking at the thought of fighting Anita, and I almost made up my mind to hold back, for her. But no, she wouldn't like that. I had to play fair and put up the best fight I could.

Anita sang, once more, in her sweet, unwavering voice, this time an old folk song which I had always loved. It was, "Swanee River", one of Foster's most beloved pieces. It seemed to me that no one could have sung it better than she did, at that moment, with so much of the emotion of the song in her voice. And I began to feel that I never would be able to win against her, and, somehow, it didn't seem to bother me as it had, before.

Brigitta whispered in my ear as she finished, "Tchaikovsky, Sunset."

I only nodded, beginning to feel that, whatever happened today, I could be happy, if I only had Brigitta with me, always. Still, I must play fair, or Anita would never forgive me. So, I sang, putting as much soul into the music as I could. 

Back in our places, I praised Anita. "You're sure to win."

"Not so sure as you are," she contradicted me. "You were simply lovely!" 

I didn't have time to reply, as I heard the judges turning in their votes. There was a moment of tense silence, then, "The winners are: Nicoletta Daniels and Brigitta Longridge in first place, and the runner-up is: Anita Pembrook. Congratulations, girls! Would you please step over here?"

Brigitta practically pushed me in front of her, for I could hardly walk from shock. Surely this was a dream. How could I be one of the winners? How could I beat out Anita? But, if it was a dream, it surely was the most real of any dream I had ever had. 

The prizes were given, and the announcement made for the concluding song, given by the winner and runner-up. "Which of you girls is going up?" he asked Brigitta.

"Nicky is," Brigitta said firmly and decidedly.

"Oh, you go," I protested.

"Brigitta has made up her mind."

"Go on, Nicky; I want you to."

So, allowing Anita to lead me, I returned for that last time to the front of the stage. The piece, chosen weeks beforehand, had been practiced by one and all, in those useful club meetings. We knew it by heart, and it seemed no effort whatsoever to me, to sing it now, and it seemed only a moment before we were returning to our places, and it was all over. There seemed to be nothing more wanting in the way of contentment, but for the longing to be in Mother's arms.