Part 4 - Goodbye, Michiru, Goodbye
Standing at the entrance of the concert hall, dressed in a newly pressed black tuxedo and freshly washed hair, smelling and looking like a million bucks, I patiently wait for her. For another Michiru. What would this one look like? What a coincidence. Maybe she's a pork chop. That's why Elsa was so adamant on my going out with her. Why, if that's the case, I'll pay her back just yet. She probably has a porky nose. A face full of pimples, more dotted than the night sky. Short and stout, too, just like a little piggy. And a pink twirling tail to boot! I couldn't help but let a laugh escape my lips as I stitch this picture of my soon-to-be date together.
"You must be Haruka," a gentle voice croon. I spin around, almost violently, as though caught red-handed in a sinful act.
"Ye-yes, I-I am," I stammer, off-balance and in awe. Before me, stands a girl with the most angelic face, bordered by curly blond hair, so golden and fine that it is reminiscent of cotton candy in the summertime. Her eggshell-white dress fits her form perfectly and flows like gentle waves in the direction of her movements. The skirt hugs her waist and dangles just below her knees, accentuating her smooth skin and dainty feet. She is a doll, she is perfect. Who would've thought that Elsa, the tomboy, would have such a lovely cousin. One of them must have been adopted, I conclude.
"Hi, I'm Michiru. Elsa's told me a lot about you," she says shyly with downcast lashes. She holds out her hand to me, and taking it, I plant a gentle kiss on its soft surface.
"Shall we?" I breathe, trying to catch hold of my breath while trying to sound courteous. I offer her my arm and charmed, she puts her hand softly upon it. Then into the concert we glide.
As the crowd is slowly ushered into the lush auditorium, a flash of aqua catches my attention. Could it be? I strain my neck to see above the sea of heads. Right, left, behind. No sight of her. Maybe I am just seeing things.
"Is something wrong?" the Michiru by my side inquires in her melodic voice.
"Huh? No, I thought I saw—never mind, it was nothing," I assure her. Haruka, Haruka, what's gotten into you? Snap out of it! Forget about the old Michiru, just concentrate on the new one. She's everything you could ever hope for in a girl. What you saw was just a figment of your own imagination. Could it be guilt? No, no! The past doesn't matter anymore. What matters is now, this Michiru beside me. You can't always let yourself get stuck in the past. Elsa's right. It's time to move on, completely. No more looking back now. As we take our seats, I smile at Michiru and she reciprocates, her face glowing like that of the full moon against a black night. She opens the programme and her fingers slide down the page.
"Oh! I love this song," she says with enthusiasm. I look at where her finger is pointing. Moonlight Sonata.
"It's such a sad song," I muse, half to myself, my eyes glued to the page.
"Yes, heartbreaking." Her eyes glaze over with thought.
"If you'd like, I could play it for you whenever you want."
"You know how to play the piano?" She looks at me with twinkling eyes. I nod. "I don't think I'll be able to let you go after this." She blushes.
Then the lights start to dim. Slowly, mimicking the softening of the lights, she gradually lays her precious head on my shoulder. Forgetting about everything else, but ourselves and the music, we allow ourselves to be taken away by the melodies of Chopin, the beauty of Tchaikovsky and the passion of Beethoven.
When the music finally concludes, that feeling of floating on air does not, however. Feeling lighter than a feather, we glide towards the entrance. Taking Michiru's hand in mine, we talk of the music in a continuous stream with amusement and appreciation, unable to disconnect our eyes from each other. Once again, the aqua hair streams past my peripheral vision. Hurriedly and broken this time. A mental picture of a young Michiru flashes across my mind. Before I could find out who the hair belonged to, it is dashed into darkness in the elusive night. It is no use. There are too many people around. I must be hallucinating again. Squeezing Michiru's hand tighter as we edge ourselves into the world without music, I bring myself back to harsh reality.
"I'll walk you home," I propose, and turn down the street. Feeling that the air has cooled, I take off my jacket and wrap it gently around her delicate frame. No regrets this time, no looking back, I think to myself confidently as I intertwine my fingers with hers. Even the faraway screech of tires and the shouts of panic that slashed the rhythm of the night could not oblige me to look back. This is it. I could finally let go of her, let go of my past. I sigh mentally, releasing all the weight in my heart into the air to be swallowed up by the secret of the night. This will be the last time. Goodbye, Michiru, wherever you are. Good luck and goodbye.
Back, in front of the entrance of the concert hall, a large group of people are gathered around a tragic scene. Voices are mingled and mixed with cries and questions, hushed and subdued by horror and shock, silenced and suppressed by humanity and respect.
"What happened?"
"Who is she?"
"How did she get hit?"
"She just ran out onto the street! I couldn't brake in time!"
"Someone call an ambulance!"
"Is there a doctor around here?"
Legs sprawled in an awkward angle; blood gleaming sinisterly against the sharp night, framing, like a coffin, her fragile body; her bright aqua-coloured hair, toned down by the jealousy of night, splayed outward on the ground with a few strands slashed across her marble face; a young girl in a long white dress lay motionless, her life draining out of her.
Drip, drip, drip. Tick, tick, tick.
Then the scream of a violin silences the night forever.
To be continued