The Quiet Echoes

Heavy rain poured over the city and formed a curtain of gray misty haze. The glowing white eyes of car headlights and street lamps penetrated the foggy curtain caused by the downpour. Droplets pelted down onto the wet concrete pavement and created a serene pitter-patter of white noise that was occasionally broken by the whir of a car driving through the water-clogged roads. 

A burst of cold mist washed over my face when I stepped outside. I could feel the piercing needles of icy cold water stab against my cheeks and the cascades of rain soak into my clothes before I could even open an umbrella over my head. The thudding of raindrops onto the umbrella was only amplified into melancholic beats around my head. The vibrations of each beat resonated down the shaft into my fingertips and reminded me of each minor note of a musical score or the adagio of a tragic song.

Undoubtedly, the musical sheets in my canvas bag felt the same somber tunes written on their surfaces. The water that had already started to swallow up the roads and paths around me would eventually make its way through my canvas bag. The music would succumb to the watery downfall like the city that lay before my eyes. The ink will become blurry, unclear and unfocused. The paper will become wilted and formless, and unable to retain its former strength. Could this be the sign I was looking for? To take a step back from music?

Emergency lights flashed as I continued to walk. Reflective signs were placed on roads and paths to redirect traffic and pedestrians onto an alternate route. ‘Of course, I have to take a detour today,’ I thought to myself. The rain only grew heavier and a cold dampness seeped into my shoes. Each step squeezed out a bucket load of water around my feet, only for it to be reabsorbed into socks with every alternate step. I was sure the universe was against me. The walk home seemed endless. However, once I turned around a corner, despite all other stores and restaurants being closed, a warm light radiated from the windows of a nearby building.

Droplets of rain bounced off a red ceramic roof that jutted out of the front of the building. Streams of water cascaded down the orange-gray brick walls. Four stubby round bushes were planted in large square pots in the front, which were heavy enough to withstand the heavy wind. A waist-high chalkboard was flattened against the ground, the writing on it washed away by the aggressive weather. The windows were glistening in the rain, with curtains inside opened to let out the warm yellow lights. Inside, tables were draped with white clothes with dining utensils placed on top. Menus were positioned on each table and held upright with a salt and pepper shaker.

I stood under the shelter with my umbrella aloft, wondering why I bothered to use it in the first place. My clothes clung tightly against my skin and I left an embarrassing puddle where I stood. A faint song resonated from within the building. It was like the gentle ripples in the puddles after a storm. The delicate notes were like the tears of a goddess breaking the surface of a serene pond. Perhaps the day was not so bad? I opened the door. The smell of pastries and coffee filled my nose and I could feel my tension ease as the melody of Yimura’s River Flows in You drifted through the air.