Chapter 3

I met David for the first time on an early summer afternoon, a time when New York was still chilly enough to be in spring, but the sunlight had begun to bring the shivering warmth of a summer day. The sun lies sideways on the schoolyard, shining in thin streaks on the red brick floor.

Every step I took was like stepping on soft rays of light, making me feel like I was walking in a pale yellow painting.

I held the violin in my arms. The strings had just been changed this morning so it still had a new plastic smell, unpleasant but pleasant. My right finger is still a bit shaky from the more than two-hour session. The afternoon was quiet, only the sound of the wind blowing through the green trees in the yard, the sound of melaleuca leaves gently shaking each other like the innocent chatter of distant children.

The music room is located at the end of building K, where I visit every day as a survival habit. Every song I play is like breathing. I don't want people to hear me speak, but I want them to hear my music.

I pushed my hair aside, feeling a little ticklish as the sweat hadn't dried completely. The sleeves of the shirt stick to the skin, cold because of the air conditioning in the gym, but stepping out into the sunlight makes the body immediately warm.

I thought I would go straight home, to Liam, to his laughter, to a noisy dinner, to the guitar waiting on the shelf.

But at that moment, amidst the familiar sounds of the schoolyard, the sound of balls bouncing on the floor, the sound of sandals dragging, the buzzing of conversations, the sound of birds chirping outside in the trees, suddenly another sound entered my ears.

Very far, very light, very different.

Water sound.

I stopped.

The sound of the violin for two hours straight made my mind as tense as a wire, but just the slightest appearance of that sound made everything inside me sag.

I turned around and looked around, no one was paying attention.

The sound of water splashing. Not big nor small.

I instinctively turned into the opposite hallway, like a music listener running after the sound of a guitar falling from somewhere, not knowing why, just knowing I had to find it.

I passed a few rows of classrooms with the lights turned off. The last light of the day filtered through the long, narrow window, shining in faint lines onto the tile floor. Each step made a crunching sound, echoing into the cold space.

I went to the school's swimming pool, a place I rarely, almost never visited.

Through the large transparent glass, I see:

A boy was swimming in deep blue water, white lights falling from the ceiling made the water shimmer like crystal. When he emerged from the water, his black hair was soaked tight against his head, and  the water slid down his face and neck, glistening like beads falling off his feet.

The body is agile, sturdy, solid but not ostentatious. Beautiful in a natural way, without any effort.

I forgot how to breathe, not because he was so beautiful.

But because the scene is beautiful.

Like a slow motion movie.

He swam a few laps then stopped to rest, his hands resting on the edge of the pool, his eyes facing forward. He breathed evenly, but deeply, as if his body and mind were following the rhythm of the water.

When he turned around, his eyes were clear and bright, meeting my eyes through the glass. I was startled as if I was touched by an over-stretched string.

I was about to turn around and walk away when his voice penetrated the glass wall and echoed clearly:

"Are you watching me swim?"

I opened my eyes wide, my lips slightly parted. Don't know what to say.

He burst out laughing. That smile was not loud, not wide-mouthed, just a very slight curl of the lips, but it made the water behind it sparkle more.

"If you want, come closer. If you stand that far away, you won't be able to see clearly."

I felt my ears get hot. The skin on his face was as red as a peach that had just fallen from a branch. I stood still, unable to move.

When the pool cleared up and he was the only one left, I turned around to leave. I had taken three steps when a deep, warm voice rang out behind me:

"What's your name?"

I stopped, too briefly, too quickly, but I couldn't resist. I turned my head:  "...Lily Miller."

He stepped closer, towel draped over his shoulder. Steam still flowed down his arms and palms. Standing so close that I could clearly see the water on his eyelashes. He said:

"I'm David Windson."

I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

For some reason, the space between us became extremely silent but not uncomfortable at all. There was only the sound of water dripping from his hair to the floor. Then he looked down at the lake, his voice lowered:

"Do you believe in the flow of water?"

I blinked.

"...What do you mean?"

His eyes became more distant:

"Water has its memory. Who it meets, what it retains, and then carries it with it for a long time. The same goes for youth."

That sentence fell on me gently but stayed deep.

Before leaving, he brought a towel to dry his hair, then raised his voice as if to say the obvious:

"I'm swimming at 4pm tomorrow. If you want to watch more, come."

"...I'm not free."

David raised his eyebrows and smiled a vague smile, as thin as water waves:

"I know. But you'll come."

Coming home from school, my shoulders were so light it felt like I was carrying the sun. I returned home but my chest was still shaking.

Liam looked up from the laptop screen and frowned:

"What's wrong with you laughing so stupidly?"

I don't answer.

At night, when I put the violin on the shelf, I heard in my head the sound of falling water, the sound of swimming across the lake, the sound of someone's breath echoing in the vast space.

I don't know when, I stood in front of the window watching my shadow cast on the wall in the pale yellow light.

Then suddenly burst out laughing, softly but unable to hide it.

I know I will come.

And I know...

That was the first time my heart moved with the rhythm of the water.

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