there is a young woman who sometimes sits at the back of the music classrooms. she sits and listens with her eyes closed and at the end of the period, when everyone is putting their instruments away, she disappears, as silent as a cat. she whistles the tunes under her breath. i saw her for the first time during my piano class, and then i began to see her around campus more often. when i started taking theatre, i saw her at shows, always watching, never speaking, whistling softly all the time. once, after a disappointing rehearsal, i approached her.
‘hello,’ i said to her ‘are you alright?’. she didn’t reply, instead she looked at me with eyes like two rusted silver coins. the next day, as i was walking across the stage whistling a tune of my own, i felt a hand grab my arm.
‘you shouldn’t whistle onstage,’ she told me, her eyes fixed on a point just to the left of my head. ‘it’s bad luck’