Finished.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," he said. Was he looking at me? Was he fidgeting with his fingers? I didn't know because my eyes were glued to the ground. My bangs poked the whites of my eyes, but I didn't bother to brush the strands away. At least now I had an excuse for red eyes. I gripped the straps of my backpack tighter to fight the quiver crawling up my throat.
I nodded, "Yeah, I know." The airy words did not ring in the quietness nor did their echoes bounce off the hardwood floor; they were dull and monotonous, like the drum beating the emptiness my ribcage embraced.
"So..." His voice wavered. I felt his gaze, but then again, I liked to make up things so he probably wasn't looking at me. The wall perhaps, or the new hideous painting of our school mascot. I remained quiet, waiting for him to finish if he decided to finish at all. We left class early with the excuse of early dismissal almost an hour ago, yet here we were, in the gym, alone, him slumping against the mat placed against the wall, and me sitting on a pile of them. What was there to say really? He was moving; I was not. "I'll miss you" seemed too embarrassing to say; "Have a safe trip" was too generic, and if I were to be honest, I didn't want to bid him a safe journey. My thoughts were childish and stupid and far too clingy.
The screaming and hallooing of other students running, skipping, some simply walking to their busses bursted through the gym. Time was up. Still I waited for his words, but they never came.
"Bye," I waved, glancing up swiftly to catch his eyes. They were bright. My heart sunk.
I brushed past him with a light nod;I didn't wait for his reply; I didn't turn back; I didn't smile. He was leaving tomorrow, yet he showed no sign of sadness. Maybe I had turned my feelings into a one-man show. Outside, rows of yellow school buses lined side by side, each overflowing with loud nonsensical babbling of teenagers. Any other time I would shake my heads and sigh at the tragedy that was the future of our generation, but not today. Today I envied them. Envied their high spirits. Envied their laughter. A few heads turned to stare at me with quirked eyebrows, and I realized I had laughed out loud. I covered my mouth in mortification and embarrassment. Yes, I laughed, not at them, not with them, but at myself. I was being stupid, very very stupid; and perhaps, just perhaps, I was the drama queen I always wanted to avoid.
"Good luck! You can do it!" He lightly punched my arm from behind, a smirk plastered on his face. Was he not bothered by the fact that today was his last day?
I shakily held the violin to my shoulder, clipped it between my chin and collar bone. My left hand fingers glided across the strings gently finding the right position. My right arm lifted to place the bow, already I can feel my muscles spazzing. Halfway through the playing test, my bow begun to bounce visibly on the string. Shhh, I told myself, calm down, relax. The D was flat; the C sharp; I winced and cringed but all I could think of was the boy sitting behind me. I finished and let out a long held breath.
"Good job," once again, he patted my shoulders-- but boys will always be boys-- before hitting me square in my back with a piece of cloth wrapped in who knows what. I turned to hiss at him and his friend. Soon enough, I felt a ticklish jab at my side. I jerked and covered my waist.
"What?!" I whispered harshly though no real harshness could be detected. My voice was soft, and I was sure I was smiling. He shrugged mischievously and smiled back, but didn't say anything.
"Uh, sir," a student in the viola section raised his hand, "I have to leave now."
The conductor grunted his approval.
"Yo buddy! I can't see you off today, so how about a goodbye hug?" He called out right in front of the door.
The chair behind me shifted, and I felt the heavy footsteps grow lighter until the two friends stood face to face. Even across the room I could see the smiles adorning their faces. They clasped hands and swung the other hand across each other's shoulders in a tight hug. After they separated and his friend gone did I realized the sourness in my nose and the sting in my eyes. I coughed and blinked away the tears. I would not cry over a mere boy.
The gym shook with the pounding footsteps of eager students ready to go home, to fling off their shoes, and to flop onto their beds, homework forgotten in the crumpled backpack left at the living room couch.
"You sure?" My friend asked. She pointed to the opposite direction, the direction where I should be heading, where I knew I wanted to go.
"Nah, I think I'm just gonna ride the bus today." I grinned her a goodbye and walked. I didn't look back, nor did my steps faltered. I let myself be pushed by the swarm of students; my mind was a blank canvas, an empty mass void of emotions. Good, thinking will only bring hurt. Goodbye was left unsaid--a story incomplete with no proper ending. I thought that was what I wanted, to be left to blend in with the fabrication of my mind, to be forever suspended in my memories.
***
"He's coming back to visit, soon," my friend informs me nonchalantly in a small cafe. My eyes flash a look of surprise before I put on a mask of indifference.
"That's cool."
Five years have passed. Five years since I stored away that unfinished chapter in the deep drawer hidden by new fancies and time. Am I to dig it up and put a period to it now?
I nodded, "Yeah, I know." The airy words did not ring in the quietness nor did their echoes bounce off the hardwood floor; they were dull and monotonous, like the drum beating the emptiness my ribcage embraced.
"So..." His voice wavered. I felt his gaze, but then again, I liked to make up things so he probably wasn't looking at me. The wall perhaps, or the new hideous painting of our school mascot. I remained quiet, waiting for him to finish if he decided to finish at all. We left class early with the excuse of early dismissal almost an hour ago, yet here we were, in the gym, alone, him slumping against the mat placed against the wall, and me sitting on a pile of them. What was there to say really? He was moving; I was not. "I'll miss you" seemed too embarrassing to say; "Have a safe trip" was too generic, and if I were to be honest, I didn't want to bid him a safe journey. My thoughts were childish and stupid and far too clingy.
The screaming and hallooing of other students running, skipping, some simply walking to their busses bursted through the gym. Time was up. Still I waited for his words, but they never came.
"Bye," I waved, glancing up swiftly to catch his eyes. They were bright. My heart sunk.
I brushed past him with a light nod;I didn't wait for his reply; I didn't turn back; I didn't smile. He was leaving tomorrow, yet he showed no sign of sadness. Maybe I had turned my feelings into a one-man show. Outside, rows of yellow school buses lined side by side, each overflowing with loud nonsensical babbling of teenagers. Any other time I would shake my heads and sigh at the tragedy that was the future of our generation, but not today. Today I envied them. Envied their high spirits. Envied their laughter. A few heads turned to stare at me with quirked eyebrows, and I realized I had laughed out loud. I covered my mouth in mortification and embarrassment. Yes, I laughed, not at them, not with them, but at myself. I was being stupid, very very stupid; and perhaps, just perhaps, I was the drama queen I always wanted to avoid.
"Good luck! You can do it!" He lightly punched my arm from behind, a smirk plastered on his face. Was he not bothered by the fact that today was his last day?
I shakily held the violin to my shoulder, clipped it between my chin and collar bone. My left hand fingers glided across the strings gently finding the right position. My right arm lifted to place the bow, already I can feel my muscles spazzing. Halfway through the playing test, my bow begun to bounce visibly on the string. Shhh, I told myself, calm down, relax. The D was flat; the C sharp; I winced and cringed but all I could think of was the boy sitting behind me. I finished and let out a long held breath.
"Good job," once again, he patted my shoulders-- but boys will always be boys-- before hitting me square in my back with a piece of cloth wrapped in who knows what. I turned to hiss at him and his friend. Soon enough, I felt a ticklish jab at my side. I jerked and covered my waist.
"What?!" I whispered harshly though no real harshness could be detected. My voice was soft, and I was sure I was smiling. He shrugged mischievously and smiled back, but didn't say anything.
"Uh, sir," a student in the viola section raised his hand, "I have to leave now."
The conductor grunted his approval.
"Yo buddy! I can't see you off today, so how about a goodbye hug?" He called out right in front of the door.
The chair behind me shifted, and I felt the heavy footsteps grow lighter until the two friends stood face to face. Even across the room I could see the smiles adorning their faces. They clasped hands and swung the other hand across each other's shoulders in a tight hug. After they separated and his friend gone did I realized the sourness in my nose and the sting in my eyes. I coughed and blinked away the tears. I would not cry over a mere boy.
The gym shook with the pounding footsteps of eager students ready to go home, to fling off their shoes, and to flop onto their beds, homework forgotten in the crumpled backpack left at the living room couch.
"You sure?" My friend asked. She pointed to the opposite direction, the direction where I should be heading, where I knew I wanted to go.
"Nah, I think I'm just gonna ride the bus today." I grinned her a goodbye and walked. I didn't look back, nor did my steps faltered. I let myself be pushed by the swarm of students; my mind was a blank canvas, an empty mass void of emotions. Good, thinking will only bring hurt. Goodbye was left unsaid--a story incomplete with no proper ending. I thought that was what I wanted, to be left to blend in with the fabrication of my mind, to be forever suspended in my memories.
***
"He's coming back to visit, soon," my friend informs me nonchalantly in a small cafe. My eyes flash a look of surprise before I put on a mask of indifference.
"That's cool."
Five years have passed. Five years since I stored away that unfinished chapter in the deep drawer hidden by new fancies and time. Am I to dig it up and put a period to it now?