Saturday, 4 April 2015


A Chinese girl was holding a musical instrument in her hands. It was a clarinet. She was wearing a checkered skirt, black tights and a white blouse. The late summer day was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the darkness and the intensity of her hair. The girl was standing on the pavement, waiting for a car to pick her up and take her home.

“It’s awful”, he said.

She felt sick in her mouth, and she didn’t know what to say. Back in the day, he told her that it was always worth it, dating a girl who can play a musical instrument.

“Why?” she asked, her English frail and funny-sounding in those days.

“Because if you break up with her, it is always your fault”.

Today, he accused her and said she was the one to blame. And she barely said a word, which made him so angry and so red in the face.

“Goodbye”, she said.

There was a band playing behind her back. She listened up. The singer was mumbling too much, and it was difficult to make out the words. The band was doing some folk-rock covers, and as far as she could tell, they had no imagination and not much skill. Well, perhaps she could help them. Unpack her clarinet and join in.

She turned around, and it was him. His face, again, telling her how beautiful she was and how they should all play together. She thought she did not want that, and turned back facing the road. 

The car was late. And in the meantime, she remained standing still, this beautiful Chinese girl with a musical instrument.