The Day The Music Died

Chapter Four - 'And a voice that came from you and me'

I didn't go to the beach the next day or the day after: half because I was scared to, half because I wanted to. I spent my mornings sprawled upside down on my bed, enjoying the rebellion of relaxing with my feet on the pillow, scrolling through the news. The state passed a new law increasing sentences for musical convictions.

Mom took me out to celebrate with croissants and coffee. I still hadn't mastered the art of eating croissants without getting crumbs over my shirt. Then the GGG outpost in LA came over to interview Mom in the afternoon, so I stayed out of their way. Mr. Fields was there, sitting on the kitchen counter, scrolling through his skinscreen. He told me that Ash sent his regards. Somehow, I doubted that those were his words.

But the beach beckoned. The next morning, I got up earlier. I was the only teenager I knew that willingly got up at such an early hour, but there was a stillness as the sun made broad finger-strokes across the sky that drew me from sleep. My feet thumped against the pavement, encouraged along by a cool sea breeze. I weaved my way around the flimsy wall separating the beach from the rest of the city. Only the remnants of a bonfire disturbed the long stretch of beach. I leaned down to pick up a piece of charcoal, watching it stain my fingers and disintegrate. I ran across the uneven sand to graze my hands through the waves. There was something intoxicating about the early, ocean air.

A figure darted into the water a bit farther in. I tensed. His head surfaced before diving under again: Lark. Of course, some part of me figured, or rather hoped, he might be there. But.

He sang to me. Unabashedly. Song wasn't unfamiliar to him and I knew what that meant. These were unspoken lines in the sand when it came to my mom and my relationships. All my friends were Quiets. It's just how things were. We don't fraternize with the enemy; because when we do, we condone the death, the epidemic. Lark was a Loud. He had to be. I watched another wave crash over him.

But it didn't deter me as it usually did. He was the first Loud I'd met who wasn't shouting at me behind barricades. The first one to see me before he saw my mom. Besides, I was determined to not let him shake my tradition. The ocean belonged to no one.

I settled for a tepid wave of my hand, which of course he couldn't see: he was underwater. I snorted at myself. It felt like everyone else could seamlessly interact with each other and I was stuck in one of those half floors, empty spaces, a missed calculation by the architect. Every motion I made was stilted, halted between stories.

When Lark surfaced again, his dark hair was matted to his head, a grey wetsuit clung to his broad frame, a board under one arm. He grinned at me. "Back again, are you?" He rolled back his shoulders, "I can't blame you...I've been told I'm irresistible."

I crossed my arms. I wasn't quite sure how to respond. The sensation wasn't new to me.

"Awfully quiet this morning little lamb." Aside from my annoyance at the nickname, I noticed that it was an unusual observation. Being quiet in this world wasn't usually anything worth observing.

"Hmm." He stepped closer to me. I could feel the salt, his heat.

I inched away.

"What do you hear?" he challenged, setting his board down gently behind him.

For some reason I obliged, closing my eyes. I could hear the wind, the crash of nearby waves, the seagulls, storefronts opening up, his breaths, and my heart beating.

"The ingredients for daybreak," I responded dryly. I opened my eyes. He stared at me intently. I was relieved that he already knew my secret. I had a feeling those eyes would have found out anyway.

"We don't do that enough, you know?" His voice was oddly serious.

"What?"

"Listen." He looked up at the clouds. "We so rarely take time to actually listen these days."