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Chapter Three: Music to My Ears

Chapter Three

Music to My Ears

 

Tsukuda Kiyomi’s Point of View

 

            I leaned against the railing that stood before the window. It was currently pouring outside as the atmosphere in the school compound was damp as the myriad of students began rushing in the entrances from all the various corners of the school.

            “Tsk,” I grunted before I heard some stranger behind me say something I completely forgot.

            “Oh, my gosh! Today’s the day of the pep rally! The Samezuka boys will be coming!” she squealed with delight.

            I deadpanned for me personally, not in a direct reaction to the stranger student. I stood up from the railing, free from its ‘chain,’ before I walked back to class, my backpack hanging loosely against my shoulders. The pack was light, as it was the first week of a new quarter of the school year.

            I slid the sliding door of my classroom before dropping my bag to lean against the inner side of the metal leg of the desk. I slumped in my desk, an arm clutching under my chest, while the other was massaging my temple.

            Ding. Ding.

            The bell rung, signaling the half-day of classes and the other half of festivity and pep rallies to increase whatever little ‘spirit’ remained within me.

Matsuoka Rin’s Point of View

 

            My hands were in the pockets of my black sport slacks, striped with three bands of white. I wore the white tee underneath my Samezuka swim team sports jacket. I stared out the window of one of the twenty buses that held the Samezuka students who all were to attend the Takahashi pep rally and festival. It was one of the few events in which the two sister schools collaborated together to create such an event. Of course, it made sense. These two schools were large compared to other private schools in Japan.

            The ear-buds that stretched from my mp3 player were glued to both my ears as I listened to the somber music that always made me think so deeply about life . . . Its origins . . . and life in general. Would I ever get over the loss of my closest friend? Would I . . . ever find love?

Little do you know

How I’m breaking while you fall asleep

Little do you know

I’m still haunted by the memories

Little do you know

I’m trying to pick myself up piece by piece

 

            Katsuo . . . Why does the memories of you still haunt me? Why can’t I find the missing puzzle piece to complete myself after that tragic loss?