I first met Emily Rowe one afternoon when I was practicing the piano in my living room. I was 10 years old, and Scraps was curled up by feet as my fingers glided along the keys. Music poured out with every stroke, and I lost myself in the somber tones of my currently untitled song. Then, I heard someone loudly knocking at the door. Scraps immediately jumped up and ran to the door barking the whole time. "Victor, answer the door before that dog's yapping gives me a headache!", my mother yelled from upstairs. I sighed.

"Quiet, Scraps", I muttered as I opened the door. Standing on my front porch was a young girl around my age. She had long brown hair that tumbled down her face in waves. Her big, brown eyes stared up at me and she smiled.

"Is this the Van Dort house?", she asked.

"Yes", I replied. "Are you looking for someone?"

"I'm looking for Victor. Victor Van Dort."

"That's me. What can I do for you?"

She took a deep breath. "Well, I've decided that I want to learn to play piano, but the town's piano teacher refuses to teach a girl. He says that it's not proper for a girl to know how to play. I'm determined to learn though, and once I put my mind to something, I do it. I've heard that you're his best student, and I wanted to know if you could teach me."

I grinned, "I'd be delighted to."

I decided right then and there that I liked this girl. She was unlike any girl that I had known. While other girls like Victoria Everglot demurely did as they were told, Emily boldly marched to the beat of her own drum. Every week she would come over for lessons and she learned quick. Within 6 months she could already play compositions that I hadn't been able to play until I'd been taking lessons for a year.

We soon became inseparable. When we didn't have lessons I'd often go over to her house with Scraps trailing along behind me. Her family was well off, and their house had large windows and a magnificent balcony outside her bedroom. It was just her and her father, Mr. Rowe, that lived there. I remember asking her once, when I was 14 and she was 12, why her mother didn't live with them.

"Well, she died when I was six. My father says that she's in heaven, but I know that she's too restless to stay in one spot, so she can't be there." she replied.

"If she's not in heaven, then where is she?" I asked.

"Why isn't it obvious? She must be reincarnated. It's just like a story my father once read to me about the Buddhists. When they die, they come back as another person, or an animal. When I was crying at her funeral, a blue butterfly landed right next to my hand, and I just knew it was her."

"Does she visit you often?" I inquired.

"Every now and then. Whenever I need her the most."

I think that it was at that moment when I realized that I had fallen in love with her.