~Micky~

When I did see Andrea I kept my habit of watching her from a distance.  The first few days she seemed happy and more social.  After a few weeks she looked alone again.  Even when she was sitting at a table full of people she was obviously zoning out like she’d rather be alone.  She was still shy.  Still quiet.  Still mysterious. 

My curiosity was killing me.

As much as I wanted to talk to her again it didn’t happen.  Sometimes I’d wave from the other side of the hall and she’d give a small smile in return.  The whole first half of the year our non-friendship continued like that.  Until the turning point…

~Andrea~

I honestly believe friendship is a bond which develops gradually.  Even so, I can look back on my relationship with Micky and point to one specific afternoon as the pivotal point. 

I had seen him a few times in the halls.  You see all everyone quite regularly when the high school is only one floor and consists of roughly 400 students.  Those few times I saw him I noticed changes.  Not only had he grown taller, but he seemed a little less carefree…a little quieter.  The changes were so slight that I questioned my own judgment.  He still jostled and joked with his friends…but his smile seemed to appear less often as the year wore on.  I probably would have dismissed my thoughts if it hadn’t been for that one afternoon…

As silly and ridiculous as it sounds, I can watch the whole event like I’m watching a video recording.  I remember exactly how the lights at the end of the hall flickered as the bulb started to die, how empty and lifeless the school felt without 400 students joking, gossiping, and running through the halls.  It was like a ghost town in school form.  I can still smell the school smell of mildew from the locker rooms and burnt pizza from the café.  But nothing is as clear in my memory as the sound of the piano flowing, leaking, lapping its way into my senses.

I had stayed after school to finish a lab in Chemistry.  Most of the teachers were gone and I was waiting from six o’clock when I could catch the public bus home.  The only people I expected to see were the evening custodians.  The only sound I expected to hear was the vacuum cleaner or the broom against the tile floors.  What I did hear flooded my mind, drowned it, and left it floating in the most peaceful demise.

My logic was gone.  My inhibitions were gone.  I wanted…needed to find that source of that music.  My fingertips brushed the hard surface of the lockers, the brick of the hallway walls.  As I neared the corner the paths separated in two directions, into two halls.  The music was louder. 

I nearly kept walking straight, down the short flight of steps, out the door, away from the drugging effect of that music.  Then I heard the voice.

Deep, smooth, breath-taking.  Not necessarily what people call the ‘voice of an angel’ yet it was beautiful in its own uniqueness, in its trivial imperfection.

I stopped and listened to the words.

If I had been a third party observer I’m convinced I would have seen the sounds as ribbons of water, twisting, dancing, caressing its way around the girl standing alone in an empty hallway. 

I didn’t understand the words.  I can’t tell you what they meant…or what the chords were being played on the piano…and, still, it felt so familiar.  I didn’t know the language of the music or the language of the words.  What I felt, what I identified, what pulled me in was the universal language of emotions. 

Despair, hope, desire, pain.  Wistful, longing sadness.  Beautiful despite it all.

I found myself leaning against the wall, beside the door of the closet-sized practice room.  My hands were spread at my sides, palms pressed against the wall as if I could really feel the music there…really soak in the emotions and beauty of it. 

The voice stopped first, then the music.  The last note faded, drained away as it flowed out of the room and into the halls.  Everything was silent for several heart beats. 

I could have left then.  I could have walked away and never looked back except in memories…

But then I wouldn’t have a story to tell.

~Micky~

I ran my fingers over the piano keys.  I didn’t hear the last note.  I didn’t know I was crying until I felt the tears.  I put my hands on my legs and held my knees.  I knew that once I started I wouldn’t stop until I didn’t have tears left.  So I sat there in the piano room and cried.

I guess I wiped my eyes.  I got up to leave but I don’t remember.  What I do remember is the shock of seeing the brown-eyed girl standing beside the door. 

Andrea was leaning against the wall.  She was staring straight ahead.  When I came through the door her eyes shifted to me.  She didn’t seem surprised to see me.  For the first time I didn’t have words to say… 

For the first time…she did.

She stood up straight.

“What language were you singing in?”  She asked wistfully.

“Uhh…”  I coughed.  “Korean.”  She smiled softly.

“It was beautiful.”  We didn’t say anything for a while.  This time I was the person who felt awkward. 

“Did you write that song?”  She asked finally.  Her voice seemed far away but I couldn’t look up to see.

“Yeah.”  When I did look up she was looking in my eyes.  It felt weird.  Like I was exposed to her. 

At the time I thought she didn’t notice my eyes were red from crying.  Now, I realize she probably did.  But all she said was, “I hope you keep writing songs.”  I laughed at her even though she surprised me.

“Why?”  I managed.  She smiled.

“Because the world would miss out on something really beautiful if you stopped.”  I wasn’t feeling awkward anymore.  She had my attention.  Then she got embarrassed.  “I’ve gotta catch the bus.”  She said quickly.  I smiled because that was the way I was used to hearing her talk.  Quick and mumbled like she didn’t want anyone to actually hear.  Not the way she had been talking a few minutes before. 

Before I could say anything she was gone.

Our whole ‘conversation’ took about five minutes but I already knew it had been the turning point.  I knew we would talk again.