Episode 57 — Seatbelt

I know nothing about what makes piano playing skilled or unskilled. Even so — I can tell that the sound ringing out before me right now, the melody Shion is playing, is entirely different from before.

The sound I hear from Shion in the music room is delicate and beautiful, refined. The competition performance had taken that to its absolute limit — and even after that, my impression hadn’t changed. Shion playing piano was always beautiful, always lovely. The kind of thing I could go on watching forever.

But the Shion right now is different. The tone ringing through the grey soundproofed room is delicate as ever, yet at the same time carries enormous weight — with a force that feels as though it is reaching in and gripping my heart directly. Her figure at the piano is not simply beautiful — there is something ferocious about it, something close to terrifying. Wanting to watch and not wanting to look away are not the same thing. It is not a matter of my will anymore. Shion’s playing won’t give me permission to move my eyes. Even to shift my gaze — the unbroken, surging sound won’t allow it.

As a result — I can’t even steal a glance to see what expression Shion’s mother is wearing right now.

Shion’s sound right now, her beauty — it was too beautiful, and it frightened me. I learned something in that moment: that when you are placed before a perfect ideal, the human response is awe. And even through the fear — because of the fear — the wish to know more couldn’t be stopped. Like being drawn into a pitch-dark night sea, I could only watch Shion, and nothing else.

And then the wave-like sound that had kept surging without pause grew slowly still, and Shion’s pure white fingers sank into the keys. And then Shion came straight toward me, bringing all her usual childlike sweetness, and threw her arms around me — and tears fell naturally.

To watch Shion’s sound.

The relief of having kept that promise. The reluctance at the beautiful tone having stopped. The tenderness toward the warmth of Shion’s body, her sweet scent, against mine. All those reasons dissolved into a single glittering and ran down my cheeks.

Shion, in the deepening embrace, whispered softly:

“Keep watching me. Always.”

◇◇◇

The lesson over, we climbed back up to the ground floor, and evening light was pouring through the windows. While I had been watching Shion down there in the basement, unable to think of anything else — that much time had already passed, and I couldn’t quite believe it.

“Excuse me. I should be heading home.”

I said this to Shion’s mother, who emerged from the basement a little after us. And:

“It’s already late. I’ll drive you.”

Shion’s mother said it in a tone that left no room for argument, and set off toward the entrance. Was it my imagination, or were the corners of her eyes faintly red?

“Then I’m coming too!”

Shion announced happily, gripped my hand, and followed along. Between Shion’s mother’s tone and Shion’s blithe certainty — there was not the slightest room to refuse.

“Th — thank you very much.”

I said it, and Shion’s mother gave a faint nod, then opened the front door. She waited until we were out of the house, then locked it — and at the same moment, a rattling sound started. Led by Shion, I came out in front of the house to find the garage opening automatically, and the familiar car waiting inside.

“Get in.”

Shion’s mother said it, again in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Okay!”

Shion answered cheerfully and climbed into the back seat as if it were the most natural thing in the world, still holding my hand. The passenger seat was left empty. Shion’s mother got into the driver’s seat, sat for a moment looking at that empty space — then started the engine without ceremony.

“Make sure you’re properly buckled in.”

Shion’s mother said it in a flat voice. Shion, still holding my hand, fastened her seatbelt smoothly with one hand. But I was not used to cars, and struggled — the clip refusing to catch, my hand fumbling at the gap with an embarrassing series of metallic sounds.

Then Shion, seeing my difficulty:

“I’ll do it for you.”

She said it, leaned across, took hold of my belt, and slotted it home in one motion. A small, cheap-sounding click.

Whether the force had been misjudged — the seatbelt bit into my body, constricting, and breathing became just a little difficult.

“Thanks.”

I said it, and stroked Shion’s head — there, there — to cover the breathlessness. Shion, being petted, wound her fingers back through mine with her other hand.

Shion’s mother checked in the mirror that we were settled, and pulled out.

Then, steering with one hand, she reached for the stereo. What came through was exactly the piece Shion had been playing just a little while ago.

Wrapped in the memory of pure white fingers dancing across the keys — their warmth, their texture — I let myself be carried by the distinctive rhythm and the melody, tinged with something sad. The sound of the engine, the faint noise from outside, the dazzling glare of the sunset through the windows — these were a certain amount of interference.

Even subtracting all of that — strangely, the sound coming through didn’t seem to exceed what Shion had been playing moments ago. If anything, setting partiality aside, Shion’s performance felt several orders higher.

Feeling the weight of Shion’s brilliance once again from a slight distance — Shion’s mother asked, out of nowhere:

“What have you been doing this summer, Shiko-chan?”

Caught off guard by the sudden question, I answered:

“Nothing in particular. Talking with Shion, messages back and forth, things like that.”

I was keeping the novel from Shion, so I left that part out. Then:

“So then — would you like to come and watch the lessons from tomorrow too?”

Said while looking straight ahead, driving, in an even voice.

Honestly, I’d assumed that was what Shion had in mind — but I hadn’t expected to be asked by Shion’s mother, and I sat there, too surprised to speak. As if to fill the silence, Shion’s mother then turned the question toward Shion:

“Shion — would you like Shiko-chan to come and watch your lesson every day?”
“Yes!”

In complete contrast to me, Shion nodded at an alarming speed. Then, as if to express her happiness with her whole body, she pressed herself closer. The seatbelt strained with the movement, biting harder into my body, and a small sound escaped me involuntarily. My breath caught.

“Then I’ll come and pick you up from tomorrow.”

The moment Shion’s mother said it, through the car window, a familiar landscape was coming into view.

The deep evening light was dyeing the familiar streets. The classical music on the stereo played on loop, its irregular rhythm filling the car.

“Uta-chan. Please take care of Shion.”

Shion’s mother said it — the same words as before — but this time her voice carried something different. A quality that seemed to cling, somehow. Something weighted in it.

The seatbelt, pressing hard into my body, creaked — as if in answer.