The Sound of Snow

Chapter Six: "Something to Write Home About"

Afterwards, his days saw the same routine as always for about a year. Although he never thought he enjoyed his monotone life, he'd soon miss it when something drastic did finally kindle from the dark...

By early July the kid was already feeling the ripeness of his tween years. Today the twelve-year-old skated out towards the rural train station on the edge of the rice fields. The dirt sidewalk coming from the city limit sign turned to gravel and he kicked up his board, treading towards the station beside the tracks: a simple patch of cement under a pavilion that sheltered a few benches and exactly four bike stands.

Fiddling with the sucker in his mouth, he stepped up on the platform, meandering through the sparse crowd around the benches and toward the other side where a sidewalk appeared again that would eventually lead to the back alleys of his neighborhood. The Boy was lucky enough to thieve the cash out of a wallet someone dropped at the hardware store earlier and, his collection bag happily full to the brim, wanted to get home before the rattling thunderclouds decided to burst. As he wove through the chattering of voices and the pulsing breath of the wind on concrete a sound soothing and nostalgic grasped his ears.

He stopped in his tracks, eyes falling on the musician sitting at the public piano against the wall. (Yes, of all things they chose an upright piano to fill the extra space of this crowded station.) Although the girl's back was to him, that long lavender hair was unmistakable. His feet moved him closer to the piano despite his stomach on the verge of a cartwheel. Like The Boy, she was petite for her age, about the same height as him too, feet dangling from the tall bench. He dared to creep to the side just a bit to see her face bent to her hands as her song picked up a trotting melody.

The girl's name was Ria Ryuuji, as everyone knew. Her angelic features and flawless manners were the gossip of all the local mothers. Many conjectured how this desolate town had acquired such a gem, since her family was renowned and wealthy. But The Boy knew more about her than most. Fate had put her in his class at school. Truth be told she had transferred to his school last summer to stay with her aunt and uncle every school year while her parents were busy traveling, doing whatever big-city work rich people do.

The Boy listened to her play, probably not knowing how odd he looked watching intently. She was by no means an expert musician, but he relished the sounds anyway. When her song had finished, a couple people from the benches clapped and she glanced back with a bashful and humble smile and small bow. Then her eyes the color of fresh lime fell on him, his insides going numb as her freckled cheeks flashed him a friendly grin and asked if he was waiting for a turn to play. When she stood to make room for him he finally found a voice.

"U-Uh no, thanks!" He waved her to sit down again, "I can't. I mean, I don't know how."

Oh, and the most important thing to remember about this gal, was that, like most boys in his class, The Boy had quite the developing crush.

"You don't?" she frowned. "Sit here. I'll teach you."

He tried to refuse but she moved to the other end of the bench and patted the seat next to her. Tentatively he obliged, sitting on the very edge as far from her skirt draped over the seat as he possibly could.

She started by telling him the names of the black and white keys, then going on to explain more theory like octaves, flat and sharps, and some general melodies. He tried to grasp the lesson. But paying attention and acting appropriately is always difficult when you're thinking too hard on how to pay attention and act appropriately. The Boy lost track of time, copying her hand movements as she talked. Still his chords rang out curt and harsh with none of her tuneful flow.

"You're holding your fingers too stiff and flat." Ryuuji-san reached for his hand. "Arch your palm like this. Imagine you're holding a bubble between your hand and the keys. If you flatten your hand it'll pop."