Final Writing: Oh, Windy (Fiction)

Nabhila Irsaad / 180410150035

I couldn’t see anything in here, in my cardboard, but I knew a group of girls, around twelve or thirteen years old, were carrying me to somewhere.

“Watch out!” said someone to one who grabbed my left side. I couldn’t see them, but I think it was unfair, how they carried me. I felt like my left side was about to touch the floor.

After a minute of struggle, they carried me into a room that was noisy with girls’ voice. Only girls’ voice. And it seemed that they didn’t find any blank tables, because they put me on the floor. Two girls with excitement opened my cardboard and slowly got me out of it. They put me on the cold floor. Just… ew. Gina must have forgotten to bring my stand. Are they going to play me on the filthy floor?

Okay, there were about six girls in front of me. Two were standing, the rest were sitting in front of me. They all wore long white hijab and white-blue uniform, they must be Gina’s classmates. Oh, now I knew that I was in Gina’s school. Insan Kamil Islamic Junior School. Yep, I read that a lot on Gina’s notebook covers.

“Meike.” Said the girl who looked attentively at me, then she laughed. “Such a weird name for a brand.” Nobody ever thought about my name in such a way. She took my cardboard and looked for the cable. “Where’s the cable?”

“Gina, let us borrow your keyboard please! Thanks…” said the girl with red glasses, then she laughed because there was no Gina there.

“Yeah, Gina, wherever you are.” Added the other girl. Gina was a sweet and generous girl, hence in the name of my owner, I permit y’all.

After turning me on, the girls were pressing my keys randomly and they were happy. They tried every single button available on my body. It was delightful to be the center of the girls’ attention and happiness, one of them tried my drum sounds, the other tried my melodies, the other tried my other musical instrument until the most funny button—the instant tuning control on my left side that made every sound sounded like broken music or even a music wave of dangdut. Oh, if only they could hear me laughing.

But there was one girl who played some of my keys on the same octave, playing some pieces of songs gravely, but without any mistakes. Among the noisy makers, she made her own world with my keys. She got my attention as a musical instrument.

“How did you do that? It’s that song, right?” it seemed that the girl with the rose broach listened to the song she played.

“Cool, Windy! Play it again!” added the other girl happily with too many bracelets on her wrist.

Suddenly the bell rang and like obedient troops, the girls left their places and took their seats, except Windy—she played a new piece of song for a moment, then turned me off and left.

I bet she would come back.

The second bell rang—the lunch break. I could see the girls were ready with their lunch boxes on their tables, and some of them went to the cafeteria. But like what I said before, Windy came to me—with her lunch and her netbook.

Windy turned me on casually, it was as if she had owned me for a year. Then she played me based on the song tutorial played on her netbook and got the girls who listened to it excited.

“That’s amazing, Windy!”

“Whoaa, our pianist!”

“That was awesome! Have you had any piano lessons before?” Gina came and sat in front of her, observing how Windy got the perfect tones of every song she played.

“Never. Awesome, right?” Windy replied.

“Hey, how if she become the pianist to accompany our choir?”

So, the girls had put their trust on Windy, and that was what made me stay for a night—at least that was what they said—in Windy’s house. It seemed that I had to get used to live without my stand, because they put me on the floor. Didn’t they have any table or something to make me stand tall and graceful, away from the cold floor, like Gina’s family did to me?

Windy spent about an hour to play whatever she liked without the choir song which was the obligatory, then she turned me off and went downstairs, talking to her parents. She wanted a keyboard like me. She said she could play keyboard and she wanted to have her own.

“I can play it! You have heard me playing, haven’t you?” I could hear she said that.

After receiving some bad news, she went upstairs again and turned me off angrily, and went to her bedroom and cried on her bed. Poor Windy. Gina had never such an obsession towards me. Poor me, then?

The next day, afterschool, Windy came to me with a happy face. She put down her bag and without changing her uniform first, she turned me on and play whatever she liked. Yiruma, Japanese songs, Indonesian songs… yeah, mostly were Japanese songs, most of which were Ikimono Gakari’s, if you ever heard of them.

“You are mine now!” she said, then hugged me. Then she took a shower and comfort herself before putting her fingers on my keys.

So, Gina had given up on me, huh? At least I like to say it that way instead of the fact that she had SOLD me to this girl, which meant I had to spend my whole life lying down on the cold floor with no grace at all.

I’m just kidding, I like it here.

I like the way Windy, my new owner, treated me like her best friend. She didn’t say anything to me to convey her feelings (of course, she wasn’t crazy), she just let her fingers do it for her, and the whole world would know it.

She also knew how to make a relationship with musical instruments. Once I saw playing her new guitar and it made me jealous for a second, until I realized that I didn’t have to worry because I knew I will be her all-time favorite.

She played from one song to another, then fell in love with it and she made her own way to play the song to express her current emotion. Gina never made such an impression of exploring her music, she only played what the instructor told her to play.

By the way, Windy’s style of playing had been more neatly after she joined keyboard course for about one year and piano course for a few months. Then she decided to stop for the reason I never knew and then she became a middle school student.

One day, she came to me with a smiling face and flowers in her heart. I thought she would sit in front of me and play some songs, but apparently her phone was more interesting. She looked happy with what she read then changed her white-grey uniform into karategi. Then she left.

A few months had been so lonely for me, and I began to look dusty. She practice her karate movements in front of the mirror like crazy and sometimes told her sister, Amy, about one guy whose name I heard over and over.

“He was SO annoying that he had no time except to make fun of me or to pick me!” she said, contrasting with her happy facial expression.

Hello, Windy, didn’t you miss pouring your heart on me?

A few months went by without she touching any of my keys. Now almost all of my body were dusty, and she didn’t bother to clean me. She was just being so cruel to cover me with the pink shawl I knew she hated forever. If only I could play her favorite song by my own, I would do that. But it would only scare her and the possibility was she would dump me.

But one afternoon, she came with a broken heart and for the first time after the lonely few months, she opened the pink shawl which had covered me, and played Taylor Swift’s Back to December, and it was December. She played that over and over and over until she couldn’t play it anymore because she apparently cried!

And it was the last time she touched me.

Word count: 1412

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