May 8th

Chapter 3

That afternoon, when the school bus dropped me home, I climbed the stairs to my room with exhaustion derived from emotional highs and plummeting lows. I dropped my backpack on the floor near the door, kicked my shoes off on my way to flop down heavily on my bed. After a few moments of self-pity, I rolled over to find a box sitting on the nightstand. It was a music box and my heart stopped and rushed at the sight of it and what it could mean.

I looked around the empty room before gingerly picking it up for closer inspection. It held a rich, glossy wood frame with a glass window showing the inner workings of a bumpy cylinder with a wall of tines hovering near it.

I turned the brass key to wind the mechanism before righting it and setting it evenly on my lap.

The brass plate next to the winding key read:

Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini~Rachmaninoff.

I watched the movement of the tines with fascination. The music box tinkled a beautifully, melancholy piece. I spent my afternoon winding and rewinding the box, over and over again, as I lay on my purple bedspread and dreamed of a ballroom of mice dancing and swirling in all their finery.

When Aunt Renee bellowed up the stairs for me to help with dinner, I kissed the wood of the box, slid it under my pillow, and ran down the stairs.

That night, knowing that he was indeed real, and knowing that he cared, I spoke more confidently to Edward. I whispered from my heart, trusting the darkness to gather all my childish secrets and keep them until his return.

~o0o~

The next day as I exited the bus, it was to the school-wide knowledge that Jessica was no longer my friend and would not be friends with anyone who was nice to me. I didn't have friends to begin with, so the snub was nothing more to me than a quiet day without the incessant droning of Jessica Stanley.

I sat alone at lunch and read Runaway Ralph while I ate. When I threw my trash away, I made my way to the library. Mrs. Cope had recommended Beverly Cleary and Barbara Parks to me. I love Junie B. Jones. She was like an alter ego, chaotic and loud to my quiet calculation.

"Well, hello sweetheart. What brings you in here? Shouldn't you be out on the playground with Third Grade?" Mrs. Cope asked as she peered over the high counter.

"Hi, Mrs. Cope, I thought I'd come here today, instead," I said, shrugging.

"You're not sick are you?" Mrs. Cope asked with motherly concern.

Eager to divert Mrs. Cope's worry, I countered, "No, I heard a piece of music by—um—Rach-mani-ov and I wanted to see if you had it in the listening center." As I spoke, I disentangled my handwritten note on the music box tune from my backpack.

Mrs. Copes eyes lit up, "Oh that is wonderful. Do you play an instrument, Bella?"

"No ma'am," I mumbled after Mrs. Cope's retreating form.

I followed her to the listening center and watched as she searched through cassette tapes until she came to the one she was looking for.

"Here it is. It's a collection of Rachmaninov, but track three is the piece you want. It thrills me that you are interested in classical music, Bella. It nourishes the soul." Mrs. Cope patted my shoulder before rounding on two older boys shooting a paper football over a stack of books.

I sat down at the carousel and popped in the cassette, putting on the headphones after adjusting them twice to fit my small head. I carefully fast forwarded to track three and closed my eyes as the vibrant echo of piano began in my ear. When the music swelled with strings, such longing washed over me that I had to stop the music and wait for it to pass.

I longed for my parents, for my sunny, former life, and always for Edward. When I felt under control again, I finished the song, rewound it, and played it again and again. It was so beautiful, wistful, but at the end, there was hope built on the ruins of haunting memories and lost dreams. I fell deeply in love with the tune and welcomed it into the very depths of me.

It was that very day when I started writing down my thoughts for Edward with the idea that somehow, someday I would be allowed to read them to him.

As the bell rang to return to class, I finished my first journal entry as Rachmaninov's Rhapsody swelled around me.

A tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my inner world.

"It's time to head off to class, dear," Mrs. Cope said with gentle concern as she handed me a Kleenex.

I reached up and touched my face, damp with tears.

I reddened, taking the tissue with thanks.

She patted my shoulder with a gentle squeeze as I rushed to gather my belongings and make it to class before the second bell.

I waved to her, once more standing sentinel behind the high desk, as I pushed through the heavy wooden door.

Jessica found me in the hallway.

"What, too chicken to come out and face everybody?" she accused loudly.

"No, Jessica, I just found better company." I adjusted my backpack on my shoulder and walked past her. I caught Mike and Eric nudging each other. As I passed them, Mike smiled and nodded in encouragement.

~o0o~

After a few days of me not mourning the loss of Jessica's company, she decided we were friends again. No apologies were given, no guilt was laid and I found myself once again pulled into Jessica's schemes, this time directed at poor, unsuspecting Ben Cheney.

Edward did not come back that week or the week after, and May turn to June with all the diversions that summer brings.

Through the summer, I did all the things nine-year-olds do— riding bikes, swimming, drinking Kool-Aid with Bologna sandwiches. But, I rode my bike to the forest with a packed lunch. I swam in the cool river and lay on a picnic blanket for hours reading, writing, and trying to focus on where Edward or my parents were, much like I did at the cemetery.

It was a quiet, solitary, but happy summer.