The Trumpet Boy

The halls were empty as usual this morning. Nobody ever came to school at this time of the day; nobody except me. I cast a glance towards the old, dysfunctional water fountain. Apparently, a kid got his whole shirt wet once when he tried to drink from it. Now there’s just a sign stuck to it that read “Out of Order.” The dull, motionless locks hanged ever so quietly against the blemish lockers. The only sounds that can be heard are my footsteps and the vibrating noise of the air conditioning system. As I made my way around to the music hall, a faint, distant resonance caught my attention. At first, I thought it was just the aftereffects of the concert I went to see last night, but as I approached the source of the sound, I saw a boy standing inside the classroom. When I got a closer look at him, I noticed that I have never seen him around the school before. He had a relatively lean and tall figure, but not the kind that seemed scrawny or underweight, more like a marathon runner that you would see on television. His short, ebony black hair shined under the light, evenly matched with a sharp chin line that contoured his face. Reflecting the glow was the trumpet he held within his hand. Although I only took a few lessons in music, the harmonies of notes and melodies flooded my hearing as if it was the most beautiful tune known to men. I was standing there for what seemed like hours, enjoying myself with the finest art just meters from the hall. The abrupt stop of the music almost immediately shattered my peaceful daydreaming. As I stepped back to stand clear of the way, the boy came out with his trumpet tucked under his arm. 

    “Hey… I didn’t know there was someone there.” 

    “Oh. Well yeah. Um, so you play?” 

    “Yeah, about a few times a week,” said the boy 

    “You sound great by the way.” 

    “Really? Thanks,” replied the boy shyly. 

    Just as quickly as our conversion started, it diminished just as fast as the bell rang to signal the start of first period. 

    “Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” I said as I slowly turned to walk away. 

    “Wait,” he said. “I don’t know your name yet.” 

    “It’s Leslie,” I said smiling. 

    “I’m Jake.” said the trumpet boy. 

It was hard to concentrate during the rest of the day. Thoughts of Jake kept appearing in my mind like something that has been there ever since the beginning of time. I don't know if it’s the way he talk or the way he smiles, but something about him is just very alluring to me. 

As I started my way home, I saw him again in the backfield, in the exact same position as this morning. He stood there serenely in the direction of the sun, with a trumpet placed in front of his face. I didn’t have to stop to assure what I felt because the music of the trumpet played right to my heart.