[bilis]
by tuuli_chan
~music~
She was just finishing the dishes when she heard the music.
She stopped, the dishcloth still in her hands, and listened. It wasn't the first time she'd heard this, the distant, almost ethereal music somewhere in the back of her head, as if she didn't really hear it with her ears, but with some part of her mind. She had found that, like with dim light that is easiest seen when looking a little past its source, this sound too became more focused, easier to hear, when she didn't try too much. She listened to other things (the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall, the quiet humming of the refrigerator) and it worked, once again. The sound grew clearer, almost itching in her brain, and she put the dishcloth away and started wiping the dish table clean in slow, round movements.
At times she had wondered if she was going crazy. She remembered the first time she'd heard the music, and then, somehow, imagined it had come from Hikaru's room. Curious, she had went to check what he was listening to (first go, now traditional Japanese flute music? Her son was really changing) but coming to his room, she had found the boy fast asleep by his unfinished homework, and not a sign of the source of the music in the now quiet room. She had given him a gentle whack on his head, told him to at least try to be a little more diligent, and returned to her cooking, confused.
Now, she was still confused, and, at times, if she thought about it too much, a little worried, but... if she was honest, every day she was secretly waiting to hear the music again. She hadn't asked Hikaru about it, hadn't mentioned it to her husband or her friends. Not so much because she would have been afraid of what they'd say (laugh at her, or think she was weird), but because she had come to enjoy the music, the calm, soothing melody that washed over her, through her, and made the simple chores of her everyday life not quite so mundane. It was her secret, a tiny piece of wonder reserved just for her. She didn't really want to know where it came from, not to ruin the mystery of this music which carried her thoughts into other times and places, while her body remained where it was, washing the laundry or wiping the dust or cooking the dinner.
It wasn't that she had been discontent with her life. She did enjoy cooking, and keeping the house tidy was a matter of course (and of some pride, too.) She had a beautiful home, a hard-working husband, and, well, if not in all regards a fine son, at least one she loved very dearly. She had a good life, a life most of her childhood friends had aimed for. (An ordinary life, but a good one.) No, she couldn't say she had been discontent.
She ceased the wiping, closed her eyes, and, leaning against the dish table, let the music wipe her away. She was soaring somewhere high with it, timeless, bodiless, immaterial, until the melody finally came to an end and she slowly returned to herself. With a certain calmness the music always left her, she went on cleaning the kitchen.
Upstairs, sitting in a corner of Hikaru's room, Fujiwara no Sai softly lowered his flute to his lap, still gazing out of the window at the high blue sky.
~music~
She was just finishing the dishes when she heard the music.
She stopped, the dishcloth still in her hands, and listened. It wasn't the first time she'd heard this, the distant, almost ethereal music somewhere in the back of her head, as if she didn't really hear it with her ears, but with some part of her mind. She had found that, like with dim light that is easiest seen when looking a little past its source, this sound too became more focused, easier to hear, when she didn't try too much. She listened to other things (the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall, the quiet humming of the refrigerator) and it worked, once again. The sound grew clearer, almost itching in her brain, and she put the dishcloth away and started wiping the dish table clean in slow, round movements.
At times she had wondered if she was going crazy. She remembered the first time she'd heard the music, and then, somehow, imagined it had come from Hikaru's room. Curious, she had went to check what he was listening to (first go, now traditional Japanese flute music? Her son was really changing) but coming to his room, she had found the boy fast asleep by his unfinished homework, and not a sign of the source of the music in the now quiet room. She had given him a gentle whack on his head, told him to at least try to be a little more diligent, and returned to her cooking, confused.
Now, she was still confused, and, at times, if she thought about it too much, a little worried, but... if she was honest, every day she was secretly waiting to hear the music again. She hadn't asked Hikaru about it, hadn't mentioned it to her husband or her friends. Not so much because she would have been afraid of what they'd say (laugh at her, or think she was weird), but because she had come to enjoy the music, the calm, soothing melody that washed over her, through her, and made the simple chores of her everyday life not quite so mundane. It was her secret, a tiny piece of wonder reserved just for her. She didn't really want to know where it came from, not to ruin the mystery of this music which carried her thoughts into other times and places, while her body remained where it was, washing the laundry or wiping the dust or cooking the dinner.
It wasn't that she had been discontent with her life. She did enjoy cooking, and keeping the house tidy was a matter of course (and of some pride, too.) She had a beautiful home, a hard-working husband, and, well, if not in all regards a fine son, at least one she loved very dearly. She had a good life, a life most of her childhood friends had aimed for. (An ordinary life, but a good one.) No, she couldn't say she had been discontent.
She ceased the wiping, closed her eyes, and, leaning against the dish table, let the music wipe her away. She was soaring somewhere high with it, timeless, bodiless, immaterial, until the melody finally came to an end and she slowly returned to herself. With a certain calmness the music always left her, she went on cleaning the kitchen.
Upstairs, sitting in a corner of Hikaru's room, Fujiwara no Sai softly lowered his flute to his lap, still gazing out of the window at the high blue sky.