• Water

    Larc followed his old professor silently. He was overcome with a sense of nostalgia at the familiar sights and sounds that met him as he traversed the white halls or passed through the lush green courtyards of the university. When he passed students toting their heavy book bags hurriedly to their next class or stopping to chat with their friends, he gingerly touched the cast that mummified his left hand all the way up to the elbow and gave his passing peers a wistful smile.

    "My office isn't far now," his professor said, turning back to Larc and trying to ease the tension of silence.

    Larc simply nodded. He remembered well; it wasn't that long ago that he met with Professor Harper regularly, about his lessons, competitions, or recitals. It hadn't been long at all.

    As he passed a small classroom, containing only a piano, a couple of chairs, and a large window, Larc paused. It was a room he'd spent a lot of time in, in that time not so very long ago. Peering inside, he saw a young woman, probably a freshman, placing her music on the instrument. Larc lingered almost involuntarily, gazing with longing eyes at the ivory keys. Professor Harper noticed. "She's my student," he began. "You can go in and listen; she won't mind."

    The scene outside the window was one of movement and change, yet at the same time of constancy; students of all genders and heights and ethnicities sprinted or strolled across the mossy paving stones to or from their classes, with backpacks every color of the rainbow on their shoulders. A few settled alone or in cheerful circles on the grass of the courtyard, a patch of greenery standing against the white stone buildings and the lightly gray-tinted sky. The sight was the same as it had been almost every day of every semester for many years in that place.

    Larc and the professor sat down quietly on the chairs in the corner of the classroom, and the student began her piece. A flood of nostalgia washed over Larc as the first intricate notes of Ravel's Jeux D'eau sounded out of the piano. The woman's fingers danced over the keys as they ran up the scale, gracefully inducing the instrument to sing out its crystal-clear high notes in the most delicate pianissimo. The sounds were like a wonderland to Larc's ears, pulling him back into a world of music that he had missed all too sorely.

    A group of students ran into each other just outside the window, and greeted each other with smiling faces. They stood on the grass, chatting and laughing and reminiscing as the breeze blew across one and all. The clouds overhead did not seem to worry them or any of the others who had chosen to rest beside the willow tree; the gray skies only served to make the plants look even greener.

    The notes drifting to Larc's ears grew suddenly dissonant, desperate; they rushed over themselves, just as the woman's hands passed restlessly over each other as they sought to pull the franticly shifting pitches out of the instrument. Larc watched those dexterous hands with a sadness that was tinged with envy. His eyes fell from the pianist to the cast on his hand and arm. It had no get-well wishes written on it; Larc didn't want any. That cast had stripped wishing from his world. The wishes he had entertained all his life lay buried, drowned beneath the water for which Ravel had named his piece.

    The skies darkened slightly. Some of the students on the lawn began to disperse, while many of those passing sped up along their way. A few glanced at the dimming sky apprehensively, and fished into their bags for umbrellas. Others had hoods up or umbrellas already in hand, watching the heavens and waiting in nervous anticipation for the coming rain.

    The music returned to the theme, but low this time, slow and hesitant. It sounded out apprehensively, almost as though fearful of some approaching evil. Larc closed his eyes to listen to the notes rise and fall. The gentle rubato pulled him towards the music; just as he fell into the slow uneasiness of the tune, it changed, transformed into a waterfall of notes spilling downward. Breathlessly, it at last settled again, and resumed its magical, bell-like cascade of sounds, finally to alight on that last droplet of pitch. As the final note dissipated and the woman's hands stilled, Larc felt a tear drip down his cheek.

    Outside the window, the rain pattered against the panes.