Some nights when there are no boys around and
my friends are nowhere to be found, I wander. Ohtori does not have many
lights, but I like its dark, vast halls. The shadows conceal me, leaving
me free to think my private thoughts out privately. I love the openness
of the buildings; the atmosphere swirls with delicious night air. It is
fresh and cool, making my stomach tingle as if something exciting were
about to happen.
On those nights, when I roam, I hear that small,
precise tune of a piano. Its song hypnotizes me and I often find myself
standing in the school's music corridor. There are many rooms and studios
there, housing instruments and sheets of music itching to become existing
and to please the ear. Their owners dream of being masters of their forms,
or being able to pass their next lesson. During the day, dozens of hopefuls
sing their songs, all meshing into one continuous din of clashing sounds
at night; when they rest, the air becomes still and silent...save for one
lone piano.
Amidst all these rooms I automatically lean against
the wall that hides its mystery player. Perfect notes fly easily from the
open door; they hint of nostalgia and desire. I imagine slender fingers
racing, gliding over bone white ivory keys, but never the face. Over and
over, the song stops and starts over. Measures and phrases are repeated
endlessly. They have no flaws, but to him, the music is stagnant and dull.
It lacks. I know he spends the night hours digging deeper through the music
and past the notes, turning every measure over methodically like a stone.
He looks for the meaning and the secrets that will put him at ease and
let him play the way he wants. But he knows the answer doesn't lie in the
music; he only does not want to admit it.
Of all the times I stand there and listen to his
futile search, I have never entered the room to aid him. I do not want
him to know of my presence and that I feel his silent disappointment. It
is not because I am selfish. I was alone and he had promised that I wouldn't
be. The humiliation that would come with the exposure of our so called
"genius" talent was unbearable. I was determined that I would never fall
into the same situation again after that night. He failed me then and lost
my faith in him.
When I hear the defeated clamp of the closing
of the piano, I hide. It will always be out into the hours of night where
no one but he and I are still awake with the stars. There is nothing for
him to do but go back home. When I hear his soft footsteps fade away, I
walk into the studio. The bench will still be warm, and the keys still
aching to be played. And slowly, a choppy song will fill the room, without
finesse and skill. I still remember how to play, even though I vowed so
many years ago against it. I don't know why I do it; maybe it is my hope
that he'll be able to hear it in the morning and be a step closer to his
futile dream. Or maybe I'm just as stupid and naïve as the little
girl who placed her trust in his hands completely.
Sometimes, we don't understand the things we do.
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Written by the Circuit Beavers,
Andy and Sparkling Mello
Shades of Blue:
http://www.oocities.org/toyko/bridge/2937
Shoujo Kakumei Utena and all its characters belongs
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all that jazz…
Please, nobody sue us. There's only so much money
you can find under couch seats.