They're Playing Our Song

Clarinet Sonata No.2 in E Flat

It had been a week. Nora had been back from La Union for one week, and nothing from Leo.

Did he misunderstand the numbers she wrote? Did he not see her note? Did he back out of helping her? Was La Union a dead spot for signal? Was he really planning on letting their relationship go to waste?

Thank god I'm not a writer. Nora sighed and rubbed her closed eyes before she killed the engine of her car.

It had been a week. Seven full days, and he hadn't called. Seven days, and she was still thinking about him. She should get the hint by now, he wasn't interested, but damn it. Hope had blossomed in her chest and remained firmly planted there like a weed she couldn't pull out.

She supposed that she deserved this, tempting the universe the way she did. Maybe that night wasn't as amazing as she'd built it up in her head to be. Or maybe, it was just supposed to be that one night.

Life had to go on, and Nora along with it, confirming her theory that destiny was, in fact, for losers.

And yet, she couldn't quite get the tune of Clair de Lune out of her head. When she closed her eyes, she could see was Leo's bright green eyes, staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd laid eyes on.

Patay. You've got it bad. Nora shook her head and snapped out of it. That night with Leo was a fluke, a trick of the moonlight. She didn't even know why she left him her number. She said no expectations, she said no hope. But she'd given in to possibility...the possibility of a possibility, really, and now she was paying the price. Ugh.

Nora took a deep inhale of the city air and slowly released it. What a difference a change in location made. While it was just as hot and humid in Quezon City, there was no sea breeze to combat the heat, just swirling hot air. The sounds of the waves and water were replaced by the roar of a tricycle or jeepney, the loud blast of speakers replaced by a neighbor playing karaoke at top volume.

Nora usually loved the noise of the city. It reminded her of one of her favorite piano concertos, Ravel's Piano Concerto in G. It started with a crack of the whip, and the entire city was off, moving and breathing and shuffling people from one place to the other. The piano flowed and fought through the sound of the city with the most beautiful glissandos. Nora always pictured a woman in red heels rushing through the city on the way to meet someone. A little optimistic, for a place like QC, but optimism never hurt anyone, except when you were expecting a certain boy to call you back.

She pulled up to CLSM's parking lot and cut off Ravel mid-concerto. A soothing sense of home washed over her at the sight of the school's exterior, like it was welcoming her in with open arms.

"At least you're still here," Nora sighed, and walked toward the building.

The Timog/Scout area of Quezon City had changed a lot in the last ten years. Homes were being replaced by low rise buildings, low rise buildings replaced with towering condominums. The area still held some of its townie charm, though, and the school looked like an attempt to keep that charm alive. It was built in the seventies by a national artist, made of big blocky shapes in cream concrete and red brick. The two story building was on the tip of a triangular lot, with an odd collection of windows—casement windows from the sixties, glass block windows for the hallways, and huge arched windows made up the walls of the small performance hall where they had their recitals. Surrounding everything was a garden, creating a separation from the concrete jungle outside.

It was a small oasis, and to some, a sanctuary. To Nora, it was home.

She was about to walk up the steps when she heard noise of another kind. A soft melody played on a clarinet, clear as the morning and almost like it was singing. Nora followed the direction of the sound to find her intern standing in the balcony on the side of the entrance stairs, practicing under the shade.