Disequilibrium

Part 1: Freshman Year - Scene 6

Casper doesn't show up at the stairwell for two more days.

It's not like I was expecting him or anything. The stairwell's a pretty crappy place to eat lunch, after all. But I know for a fact that it has nothing to do with what Winston told me since at times, he'd give a wave in the halls or offer a polite hello at the door of the English room. His friends have taken notice though, which cause double the amount of glares from time to time.

I don't really understand it since I've done nothing wrong. I haven't even made a move yet; it's Casper that's playing the game. So in reality, they should be glaring at him, not me. I don't even know why the hell I'm still dormant. It's only a matter of time until he grows bored and moves away. Would it be a week from now? A month? Maybe three days?

Good things come to those who wait. That's what Dad says. You can't rush life, Holden. Trust me. So I sit patiently on the stairs, staring out the window while my stomach growls against the hunger. I think about summer soon approaching, the essay I haven't even started, and what he's possibly doing at this exact moment. Maybe eating, maybe laughing, maybe not thinking about me.

Holy fuck, it's too goddamn silent.

I stand up quickly; black dots with golden halos speck my line of vision. I pause for a moment to let the blood settle before going down the stairs, but it doesn't stop the feeling of needles pinching the soles of my feet.

I walk through the halls at a leisurely pace, avoiding the cafeteria where most kids are. There are a few students idling aimlessly in the halls but none of them look my way, acting like I don't exist at all.

Should I be pleased?

There's only one place I can go during lunch besides the stairwell, which is the music room. I'll find the place empty if I'm lucky and I'll be able to play at my own solitude and speed. I rarely get chances like these, after all, so I might as well take it if it's there. Use your time wisely. That's another thing Dad says.

The music room is dark by the time I reach it. I rest my hand on the doorknob, about to push it open until someone calls, "Hey, kid!"

I ignore it.

"Hey! What are you doing over there? The lights are off for a reason."

I turn to the teacher who's walking over. He's a pudgy man with a balding head and sweat hiding under the folds of his skin. His face is red as hell even though it doesn't look like he's been running.

"I was just going in to practice, sir."

His eyebrows fold together. "Practice what?"

"The piano."

"I've never seen you in band—"

"I'll be signing up next year. My family hasn't gotten a grand piano yet—we're looking around—so I decided to practice on the one here. Making use of what I've got, you know?"

The man stares for a moment before he leans backward, looking content. "Huh. It's nice to see a student taking initiative. Well, don't go fooling around in there, and leave the place just the way you found it. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

The corners of his lips pull up slightly by my comment, but before I can fully see it, he walks past with brisk steps. The guy's dumb as hell; he should've known who I was just by looking at my clothes. Nonetheless, I push the door open and flip on the lights, the fine polish of the grand piano gleaming in response.

It's the second piano I've ever played in my life. The first was at the theatre where Dad used to work as a janitor. He'd take me with him sometimes when there was nobody around to look after me, and I'd watch the pianist play on, and on, and on. When the show was over and everybody left, I'd sit at the bench and also play on, and on, and on.