The Way It Was Before

two

The band room, also known as HQ as coined by Clover, was an old room situated at the back of the school. It must've been some sort of storage area because of the number of junk that had been piled on one side of the room before it had been refurbished in their group's own style. Some of the windows were covered with cardboard and thick blankets to reduce the noise. Makeshift chairs were scattered around the area, and on the chalkboard were crude drawings and the band's name: Poetic Skyline.

Only two people were present when Clover and I got there. Nate and Clint. Nate was the drummer and the big guy of the group, while Clint was the lanky, spiky-haired bassist. Both of them seemed amicable, but I still felt intimidated. I stayed behind Clover as she did the introductions.

"Guys, meet Autumn. She's my sister. Hope you don't mind her joining us from now on."

That 'from now on' got my stomach churning.

"It's cool. Welcome to the madhouse," Nate said, nodding from behind the drum kit.

I smiled in response, but that wasn't enough for Clover. She turned her head to me and flashed me a say-something look. It reminded me of Mom who always forced me to interact with our relatives at get-togethers.

I quickly said the words hi, thank you before I could choke on them. Clover laughed, patting me on the shoulder.

"She usually speaks a few more words than this. Just give her time."

Clint wagged his finger between us. "Gotta be honest, it's hard to believe you two are sisters. You look way different from each other."

Clover and I exchanged knowing glances and amused smiles. We got that comment a lot, and we wouldn't try to refute it. She was tall and blonde, while I was tiny and redheaded. Our only similarity was our green eyes. It was always fun to see people's faces twist in surprise every time we revealed that we were sisters.

Afterward, the three of them started to tune their instruments while I went to sit on a worn-out couch on the other side of the room. I fished out my book, determined to get to the ending. At the same time, though, I read the words slowly because I didn't want it to end and lose another companion. It was a struggle.

However, my reading got distracted again when Clover and the boys started playing songs and screaming at each other. I couldn't imagine the scenes well with all the noise bouncing on the walls of the room, so I put the book away and got up to peek through the window. There was nothing but trees and rusty chain-link fences outside.

A repurposed shelf caught the corner of my eye, and I walked over to it to inspect. Sitting on it were some textbooks with pages so brown and worn that I didn't dare touch them, as well as one black binder that was, thankfully, from this century.

With my curiosity igniting with the need for something to do, I flicked through the pages of that binder. It was full of music sheets—all of them were handwritten with a ballpoint pen. I couldn't read musical notes, so I only imagined what they sounded like. It must be fun to be able to read the language of music.

I had become preoccupied with it that I didn't notice two new people had entered the room.

"What are you doing?" a rumbling voice said behind me.

I jumped in surprise and snapped my head toward him. The first thing I noticed were his black eyes staring down at me. They had wrinkles underneath them as if he hadn't slept for days. Next was his bedhead black hair that covered his knitted eyebrows. He was tall and pale and looked weak yet imposing in some way. There was something familiar about him, but I was too shocked to place it.

"Don't touch my things," he pronounced with an icy bite.

I lowered my head and stepped away from the shelf, my heart beating twice as fast as normal. "Sorry, I-I was just looking. I won't do it again," I stammered before I scurried back to the couch. I felt his gaze on me. I didn't turn back.

"Oh, yeah. That's Autumn, my sister," I heard Clover say aloud, making me look up. "Autumn, meet Rose and Michael." She didn't bother to hide her crazy smile while saying his name.

Rose skipped her way to me and held my hands tightly. She had bob hair and the most artistic clothing style I'd ever seen someone sporting at school. She was almost as short as I was, too.

"Autumn! What a pretty name. Oh my gosh, my horoscope said I'd be making new connections this week, and here you are! It's so nice to meet you," she said in a high-pitched tone. Clover hadn't been kidding when she said that Rose was a real sweetheart. "I love your style. So cozy! We should totally shop together sometime. I know a place that sells cute sweaters."

Her eager friendliness was enchanting, and my protective shell began to crumble away. However, it was also too new and fast that I didn't know how to react. I could only manage a smile and a clumsy, "Okay..."

"Great! Looking forward to it." Rose gave my hands one last squeeze before releasing them. "Would it be okay to get your number? So I can text you whenever we can hang out."

"Whoa! One step at a time, Rosie. You might scare her away." Clover laughed.

I always thought that it was the opposite—that I scared people away. I had heard several whispers about me being mean because I was quiet and unsmiling. The truth is—I just didn't have anything to say. Or when I did have something to say, I was scared of being ignored or interrupted in the middle of talking. It had happened several times in school, even at home with my mom, and I would always feel like a fool. So, I just let everyone else do the talking. I learned how to smile, though.

Rose and I exchanged numbers. I was happy to have a new person added to my contacts. See, the only numbers I had on my phone were my Mom's, Clover's, a few emergency numbers, and a pizza delivery service that I had no courage to call.

The group went back to playing their songs and talking over the noise. I only sat there, watching. From time to time, I couldn't help but glance at Michael. He didn't speak much and only threw in quick smiles and short comments when his friends called for his attention.

And as he sat there on his stool, busy fixing the strings of his acoustic guitar, with the afternoon sunlight shining on him through the gap between the curtains, the image of his figure slowly etched itself into my memory.

He's a never-fading postcard in my head.