Third Riff: Part One
[Begin Memory Theater]
... There's a lake out in the forest in the middle of the night, with cabins dimly lit by teenage girls, twelve to fifteen, all flipping through the usual Teen magazines, ogling every pretty little thing that winds up on the page. Emille, 8th grade, 14, stood by the camp lake with a case in her hand. She was always tomboyish, even as a child, and her teenage years were no different. She opened the case, revealing the well cared for violin she took with her. The cello was really too big to bring, but she couldn't stand not having an instrument on her. The cluttering of the hollow, wooden instrument against her hands was soft, almost inaudible. The bow took to her hand comfortably, precisely between her fingers. She positioned the violin against her chin, then set the bowstrings against the strings of the instrument... And began to play.
Emille had played since before she could remember. Having two music enthusiasts for parents, her mother a concert-level violinist and pianist, her father a conductor and a would-be composer, pushed her along to become even better than those who trained her. A prodigy of just about anything with strings or keys, she lived and breathed music. It was her life and love.
The soft, soothing tones filled the night air, each note perfectly on pitch. The tune is utterly unrecognizable... One she had been working on for the past month. Her body moves slowly with the music, her entire being at one with the rhythm. It's a beautiful, heartfelt tune, one that seems produced by someone far more wise, experienced, and hurt than Emille.
She would have an audience. Aria, an Indian girl who was bunkmates with Emille, happened to lose interest in the "fun" of the cabin, and sought Emille out. She was a gorgeous girl for her age; her hair was long, silky, rarely pulled back so that it could freely cascade over her shoulders. She was an early bloomer, showing the figure of womanhood well before the majority of those in her grade. She sat on a nearby cropping of rocks, out of view of Emille, taking in the song. As it wrapped up, she spoke out.
"Did you write that?"
Emille spun around, caught in the act of sneaking out... Only to find her friend simply smiling, enjoying herself. Emille managed an awkward smile, embarrassed that someone other than her own self had heard the song.
"... Yeah. Doesn't have a name or anything."
"Could I hear it from the beginning?" Aria asked that quite innocently. She was wrapped up and enamored by the song, and her eagerness to hear it again showed with just a twinge of excitement in her eyes.
Emille paused, not really sure what to do... So? She starts the song again, not speaking any further. She was bad with words as a kid, so she expressed herself in other ways... such as music, of course. For that long moment, Aria sat in silence as she watched Emille play. In the middle of the song, Aria rises, and walks up to Emille, who promptly stops playing. Emille stares for a moment as Aria stands in silence, not two feet away.
"Erm... Did you like it?"
"I want you to kiss me."
That stunned Emille. Not that a girl wanted to kiss her; she developed an attraction for women at least a few years ago, so the sexuality confusion was narrowly avoided. No, what really stunned her was that Aria, of all people, was the one offering this. They were pretty decent friends throughout the summer vacation, but never affectionate or too close. Emille didn't respond with anything that resembled any form of language, merely emitting out a short string of stutters that trails off into silence. Aria makes the first move, though, to break the awkwardness, and moves into plant a kiss on Emille's lips.
Neither of them really kissed anyone before that night. Aria was generally disallowed to date, and Emille never gave herself time to develop any sort of romantic interest before then. For both of them, it was a dramatically different experience from the norm.
The kiss lasted for what seemed like an eternity. The usual symptoms of a first kiss came over the both of them: quivering knees, a "warm and fuzzy" feeling all over their body, and brief shock followed by awkward smiling.
"So, uh..." Emille stuttered, trying to fight back the burning in her cheeks, "... what was that for?"
There wasn't a verbal answer to that. After another short pause, they kissed again, trying to recreate that feeling of the first one. As it turns out, the second time was about as good as the first.
The violin was put away. The waning moon was gently covered by a thin mist of clouds, its light further muffled by the surrounding forest.
--
The rest of the memory plays out in flashes of the entire summer trip. Upon arriving back home in Chicago, she arrived alone.
[End Memory Theater]
... I... don't wanna be here anymore. Please tell me this's the worst of it...
[ooc: Part 1 thrown in nice and early.]