Painted Rain

• Gemma Pol, Grade 10, Great Lakes College - Tuncurry Junior Campus
• Short Story
• 2013

Excellence Award in the 'Dream Big 2013' competition

I hesitantly opened my eyes. I could hear light droplets of rain staining the faded concrete outside my apartment window. Frankly, getting out of bed seemed pointless. I lived for nothing; in fact, I did not live at all. I simply just existed.
I finally forced myself to crawl out of bed and out of the door. I didn't know where I was going, but I needed to leave.
I decided to walk down my favourite lane. It was always soundless and empty, like me. I tried to remember the last time I wasn't filled with sorrow. Not since my mother passed away. I imagined her playing piano. Her fluent fingers gently brushing the keys, forming a melody so sweet and enriched with warmth.
The melody was getting louder, and I realised I wasn't imagining at all. I followed the angelic music to the abandoned creative arts hall. It shocked me that such a gloomy and colourless structure could be the home of something so magical. I peered through the door to see an elderly man at the piano. He had hair as grey as rolling storm clouds and ancient-looking skin. I delicately widened the door and it made the slightest sound. The music vanished, and the man looked up to face me. His eyes were wandering, searching even. He was blind.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
“Sorry, you don’t know me. I’m Ava. I just heard you playing and...”
He faintly laughed to himself. “I’m Noah. Why don’t you take a seat?”
I smiled, for the first time in what seems an eternity. A sustained chord captivated the emptiness in the room, in me. His fingers glided across the piano, like butterflies bouncing through thick air. I wondered how a man with such an unfortunate disability could produce something so joyous. The song faded and the room was silent again.
“Do you play Ava?” Noah croaked.
“No, but my mother once could. I used to sing with her but now that she’s gone, it doesn’t feel right.”
Noah shook his head. “Your mother is watching you, wishing for the day you start to sing again. Today is that day.”
Once again, Noah raised his hands and let his fingers roll across the keys. He made it look effortless, but I could see how free he felt when he played. My mother was an amazing pianist, but Noah, he was different. He played for an entirely different reason. He played to vanquish his impairment. Even though he was blind he cherished every moment and every song. He saw beauty in the world, even though he couldn’t see.
Something changed about me that day. Right then and there, an influx of relief empowered me. The reason I couldn’t sing disappeared and I was singing to Noah’s music before I realised I was. Noah changed my life, he made me happy again. The grass was greener, the sky was bluer and music was richer. Rain no longer stained the concrete... It painted it.