Kanna-sama: We were working on description in English 101 for our personal narrative. That is a good enough explanation for the first paragraph. What’s more, I am eagerly awaiting snowfall.

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IV: Voice

It had been an accident, hearing that melodic voice drifting from the chorus room. He had completed his detention and was waiting for the after school buses. Recalling that he had left his iPod in his locker – his own true, constant companion that could give him the music he needed – he languidly walked down the halls to where his locker was. The school was quiet and outside it was dark, enchanting snowflakes drifting through the early darkness. The lights were dim in the corridor, giving the place an even more ethereal view to it. It was hard to believe that he hated school so much in the day when it looked like this.

He had gotten to his locker, deftly twisting his right wrist right, twice left, and then right again to open it, and had been moving down a different hallway to get to the front of the school where the buses would be waiting. He unwounded his earphones and just as he put one in, he heard a soft, lovely voice rise up in the quiet of the school. He frowned, glancing down at his iPod in some confusion, and then realized that no such sound could come from it, as he recalled turning his iPod off on a rock song.

Removing the earphone, he followed the voice spinning out a soft song and came to stand in front of the chorus room. The buses wouldn’t be there for some time, so he was unbothered by being late to catch them. He settled against the wall across from the closed doors and tucked his iPod in the pockets of his baggy jeans and slid down to the ground, listening to the song. He couldn’t understand the words – he assumed they were in a different language – but it didn’t matter. It was the voice that he was fixed on, so light and feminine. There was a piano playing, too. He wondered if there were two different people in there or the one girl was playing the piano and singing at the same time?

Ten minutes later, it all finished and it was silent. He waited to see if it would start again and checked his phone. The buses would be arriving by then. He rose to his feet, noticing that as he did the light went off in the room. Before he was given a chance to duck into hiding, a girl came out and paused as the door swung shut behind her, appearing a bit stunned to find that she had a silent audience outside the room. He had never seen her before, with her loosely curled red hair that was pinned unceremoniously into a bun atop her head. Curls fell out, brushing against her fair cheeks, the tops speckled with freckles.

For a moment, they stared at each other. He was a generally sociable person, but for once, he had nothing to say. There was nothing he could find to say. He simply stared across at her, unable to speak or do anything. She seemed to rouse herself from the ice that had frozen them and smiled, a slow, shy, but kind smile that surprisingly warmed him.

She pointed to an earphone hanging out of his pocket. “You could find better music on that.” She smiled at him again and then hurried down the hall, her white boots tapping on the hard floor. Blankly, he looked down at the earphone and scowled. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t have, that her singing was more beautiful and pleasurable than anything he had on his iPod. She had stunned him, though, taking his voice away without meaning to. He had been left with the only alternative of listening to her. He doubted she would find anything particularly interesting in his voice, anyway.

He knew he was not like her; at least, not in the eyes of those at school. (He didn’t really care either way.) He was a cross between a jock and the bad-boy type. He skateboarded, even smoked pot with his friends from time to time, and was good at any sport when it came to gym. He would talk to anyone and everyone, with no thought of the consequences. If his reputation was ruined, it hardly mattered to him. This girl, though, he was sure would be out of his league if he ever considered dating her. He didn’t want to corrupt her, though, because he could tell she was better than him. He wanted to listen to her sing.

The next day, he stayed after school and sat across the chorus room and listened to her sing. The chorus teacher had apparently given her use of the room after the last class ended. Sometimes she would stop singing and simply play piano music. Sometimes it was the other way around. There were times when it was completely silent. He supposed he should have left in those times in case she came out, but she never did. Frankly, he didn’t care much if she saw him here.

As it happened, she did. She looked even more surprised than she had yesterday. This time, she eyed him leaning against the wall with his fashionably baggy clothing and careless attitude. She was analyzing him, but whatever conclusion she came up with was beyond him. She said nothing to him that day. She smiled again, though, in a bright and welcoming way. He allowed himself a tiny smile in return. He had promised himself he would not corrupt her, that she was better than the other girls he had been with and that he would admire her from afar. She began to walk and when he did not follow, she paused and looked back in question.

No words were needed from then on.

She never heard him speak, nor did they exchange names. He searched for her futilely in the crowds during the day. His bright-eyed soprano was never to be seen, no matter how many places he checked, no matter how many times he skipped class to hang outside a different classroom every day to find her; it was becoming glaringly apparent that she did not take classes during the day. And yet, she would sing in the chorus room every day after school. Even if it made no sense, he didn’t mind so long as he could see her.

He walked a few steps behind her every time she came out of the chorus room. If he did not come immediately, she would stop and wait for him, sending an inquiring look that asked, “Are you coming?” From what he knew, she didn’t take a bus, but drove her own car. He was beginning to believe that she didn’t go to his school at all, which made no sense. If she went to another school, surely she would have sung in her own chorus room?

He was secretly glad she didn’t.

He looked forward to those two hours when he sat or laid on the floor, listening to her sing. He looked forward to the spark of joy that lit up her eyes when she saw him outside the room. Most of all, he cherished her smiles that had turned from politely welcoming to something else that was meant ideally for him.

Weeks after this had passed, there came a day when he woke up with a dread on his heart. He could not figure it out, because he always woke in an amiable mood. During classes that day, he said little and kept looking nervously at the clock for no apparent reason. He was edgy all day and he began to think that something had happened to his beloved songbird.

As soon as 2:30 hit in the afternoon, he sprung away from his friends and classmates that called after him, confused, and hastened to the chorus room. He waited until the halls were emptied, when he should have heard her voice, but there was nothing. He felt nauseous, as if he had been on a long car ride and was getting car sick. He hesitantly moved towards the doors and tried to open them, but they were locked. He peered in, but the room was dark.

He stayed until 4:40, five minutes before the buses would arrive. She never came and he never heard her voice. He left then, to stand outside and sullenly stare into the darkness. Kids were shouting at each other raucously, throwing snowballs or sliding on the ice on the sidewalk. All he could think about was how she hadn’t been there. He thought back to yesterday when he watched her leave. He had walked with her up until the sidewalk and then she went across the bus lane to the parking lot. She had paused outside her door, as she always had since walking with him, and waved, flashing her innocent, beautiful smile. He had waved in return, giving his small smile in return.

Fretfully, he began to think that something had happened to her on the way home or perhaps someone had broken in and killed her. The dramatic, worrisome thoughts whirled around in his head. He didn’t even know her name! He could check the newspapers, at least, see if her name was in the obituaries, but he didn’t know her name! Panic was beginning to set in and he feared that he would faint. He hoped the buses would come soon so he could cower against the window and try not to make himself sick.

He went for the next two days, hoping she might show up, but she never did. The chorus teacher, however, did and seemed to know whom he was waiting for. She gave her head a shake at him, frowning as she said, “I don’t think she’s coming back, boy.” He grasped onto the word ‘think.’ That was a clear indication that she was not dead, then. “She got in a car accident. She’s new here, so of course she doesn’t know much about how to deal with the snow and ice.” The older woman clucked her tongue disapprovingly. His eyes narrowed and he had a wild thought of strangling her for criticizing his pale-haired soprano. “I can give you the hospital and room if you want to see her. She’s not going to last for much longer...” The teacher never gave him her name, only the information she promised. It didn’t matter to him anyway. He needed to see her once more, even if it were to be a last time.

He took the city bus as far as he could and walked the rest of the way. His hair was sprinkled with white. He went straight to the elevator and to the floor where he suspected the room might be. There was a floor nurse there, who frowned at him when he entered. He felt strange, not knowing her name, so he mumbled that he was here to see a friend and gave the room number instead. She slowly nodded and followed him to the room. The nurse made him pause by the window to look in so that he knew how bad it was.

She was on an incubator, with tubes stuck in her flesh. She looked incredibly frail. He knew then that she wouldn’t leave that hospital bed until she died. His heart sunk and he felt, for the first time in his life, that the world was closing in on him and everyone had abandoned him. He moved sluggishly into the room and she opened her eyes, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. And then, despite her predicament, she offered her same, familiar smile and it soothed him for a moment. He weakly returned the smile, but wanted to cry.

Her hand reached out to his and he took it, muttering thickly, “I love you.” She continued to smile at him and he knew that she felt the same, that she had known all along how he felt, as well.

“She can’t talk,” the nurse said from the doorway in a soft, apologetic voice. “She used to be a singer, I heard.” He said nothing to this, gazing down at the soft, chocolate coloured eyes that had twinkled at him for the past weeks and had set a fire in him. There was nothing but her and her voice left in him now.

“I would take your place if I could,” he added. Her smile turned troubled and she shook her head, as if to say that she would never have allowed him that. He had been able to say two sentences throughout knowing her and she had said one. It didn’t seem enough. As he sat, gazing at her, she drifted away, falling to sleep with her hand clasped in his. Once her eyes were closed, he allowed himself to weep. He had rarely cried in his life, as he usually had no reason. Now, however, in this awful strike of fate to the woman he loved, he sobbed. He did so quietly so as not to wake her. He was certain she would start crying if she saw him doing it and that was something he could not bear.

Sometime after he had stopped crying and was sitting, staring listlessly across the room while caressing her hand, she woke again and shook his hand gently. He jerked his attention back to her and she reached up, brushing her fingers over his lips, mouthing the words, ‘Beautiful voice.’ As soon as she had, the nurse came in and said, “Visiting hours are over.”

He gave the nurse his cell number to tell him if anything happened. He couldn’t bring himself to say, ‘If she died.’ In return, the nurse gave him her name. He kept it locked away, so no one else but those who knew her would know it.

The next day, he was informed of her death as soon as he woke up through his voicemail. He didn’t go to school that day. He spent his day silently crying in his pillow. His family left him alone; he skipped often enough that it was not uncommon that he did so now. Once he had exhausted himself of the tears and the tiny moans of agony, he turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling, rubbing his thumb over his index finger repeatedly, remembering the feverish warmth of her hand in his last night.

It was only noon when he got out of bed and got suitably dressed. He pressed a cold rag over his eyes to make the redness go away so it would not be apparently that he had been crying. After getting a ride from him stepmother – who cast him a peculiar look for actually wanting to go to school – he went to the chorus room. It was unlocked and the teacher’s last class of the day had ended. She looked up at him and said nothing of the girl’s death, though he was sure she knew of it. Instead, he said, “I want to learn to sing.”

She smiled at him, in the same kind manner that his songbird had. “That would be fine.”

IV: Finis

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Kanna-sama: (sigh) How sad; how beautiful. I’m not sure what my original thought for this one was. After giving it a title, I left it for months and then got inspiration suddenly to write it. I decided this was the most tragic ending it could come to...