A Season of Eden

by Jennifer Laurens

  Grabbing the music, I headed into the classroom and started passing out the sheets. I meant to make things as comfortable for him as I could. Even though I had admitted that I’d gone to his church to see him that was all I had admitted. I saw no shame in that.

  I expected a ‘hey’ at least. But I passed out the forty-three sheets of music without being stopped by him for anything. I didn’t look over, now afraid of what I might see if I did.

  I took my seat in the back row when the bell rang and finally looked at him because everyone else did, too. The room fell silent except for Chopin.

  Mr. Christian had both hands on the black music stand as if he was holding onto it for life. Or he wanted to huck it across the room. There was no jolly pleasure in his face at greeting his first morning class. Two knobs of bone protruded from the sides of his taut jaw. His eyes flitted over the body of the class.

  When his gaze lit on me, I wanted to hide. The look pierced me. He gazed back over the class. “Sit up straight please.”

  Everyone straightened without a word of complaint.

  “We’ll go through Monticelli’s piece first. You should all know the words now. His hardened look pointed right at me. “Collect the music, Eden. Please.”

  I made my way around the risers again and took back each piece of paper while he continued.

  “No music anymore, people. If you don’t know it by now, well, then, you’ll be mouthing it I suppose. Our performance is this Saturday. Even though it’s Saturday, wear your dresses and suits Friday for advertising, please.

  Show time is at seven-thirty but I would like you to come at six-thirty for warm up. Any questions?”

  “Do we have to wear the dresses?”

  “What other alternative do you suggest, Emily? We are a family-friendly choir here.”

  A group laugh broke out, easing the tension that had strung the class together in apprehension. But when my smile met his, his vanished instantly. That stung. I looked away, trying to understand what was going on.

  We practiced our two songs we were set to perform, James as intense as a lion tamer cracking a whip at a cage of lions. I’d never seen him angry and where I wouldn’t classify this display as ferocious, I sensed his raw impatience.

  I couldn’t wait for the bell to ring so I could get out of there.

  I almost made a dash for the door but thought better of it. Surely, his frustration wasn’t about me. Us. There was no us. It had to be about one of his classes. Casually, I gathered my things and walked right to him, my insides filled with frightened butterflies. When the last student had left, I stood in his line of vision.

  He stopped stacking sheet music and looked at me.

  “I left your umbrella in the office.” He didn’t react, didn’t even move. “I hope that everything is okay.”

  Setting his fingers on his hips, he jerked out a nod.

  “Yeah.”

  The door swung open. I was glad. Tears were rushing through my head and I knew they’d give my wounded heart away if he wasn’t distracted. He didn’t look at whoever entered the room, and as I blinked to try to hold the tears back, he watched. His eyes narrowed briefly, the tendons in his arms shifted when he crossed his arms over his chest.

  I started for the door, humiliated that he’d seen my eyes wet. I hadn’t cried in front of anyone since my mother had died. The bathroom was too far down the hall, but a deserted area of the parking lot was just around the corner, so I went there knowing no one would see me.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks. Infuriated that I would react this way because of something so stupid, I wept even more. Every time the music room door opened and closed, I heard laughter. Chopin. His voice. The sounds wafted through the short hall right to my heart, as if to torment me even more.

  I ditched the rest of that day. The deep red choral dress hung on the outside of my closet and I stared at it now.

  Dad opened my bedroom door dressed in his suit and tie. “You okay, princess?”

  “Fine.” I lay on my bed in my pajamas, staring at the dress. He followed my gaze. “New dress?”

  I stared at him. “Uh, yeah.”

  “I’m off. Hope you feel better.” Then he shut the door.

  Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling. My phone vibrated and I looked to see who was texting me. Brielle. It was her fiftieth text since yesterday. where r u? r u alright?

  where have u been? we need 2 talk. i have 2 tell u something.

  I had no desire to hear about Matt, so I ignored her.

  Matt had also texted me, wondering why I wasn’t at the plaza. At school. Was I in the concert Josh was talking about?

  i’ll come see u sing, he texted.

  The day dragged by and I found myself out by the cliffs, looking at the endless ocean. I didn’t wear my robe. I wanted the freezing air to singe my skin in the flimsy cami and shorts I wore to bed. I deserved the discomfort.

  Mr. Christian’s cold behavior left me feeling like I had lost something. Like I was empty, without more to take, and yet I knew that more would be gouged away still. I had felt this way when my mother died, and had stayed out on the cliff’s edge until my dad had found me and carried me back inside.

  I couldn’t think about anything but how complete I’d felt sitting in that church next to Mr. Christian. About how I’d never felt so drawn to someone before, at first because of what I saw when I looked at him. But there was so much more to him than how he looked.

  What was inside of him, what I couldn’t touch, was what I wanted.

  I don’t know how long I sat out there, but my chattering teeth finally woke me from my daze. I looked at my arms, they were blue. My nail beds looked like smoky moons on an ashen sky.

  Rising, I only spent one second feeling angry that Dad wasn’t there to carry me back inside. Besides, I shouldn’t need anyone to carry me anywhere.

  Stacey’s prattling made me furious. If I was going to stay home and wallow in grief, I didn’t want her around.

  Wallowing was private, at least for me. It had been since my mother’s death. Since I’d learned that the people around me that missed her could care less about my loss, they were too lost in their own.

  I was relieved when Stacey finally took off at noon.

  Around two-thirty, somebody banged on our front door. I hadn’t heard Camilla for hours and figured she’d gone grocery shopping or something, so I went to see who had gotten in through the gate Camilla had no doubt left open. She didn’t see security in the same light we did.

  I opened the door to Matt. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his red baseball cap askew the way he knew I liked it.

  “You okay?” His brown eyes swept me from head to toe.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Everybody’s wondering.”

  “I know. I’ve gotten a million texts.”

  “So, why didn’t you answer them?”

  “I’m not feeling very good.”

  Matt leaned in the doorway when he saw that he wasn’t going to be invited in. “So, what’s up? You barfing?

  What?”

  “I just don’t feel good.”

  “Oh. Sorry. You singing in the concert tomorrow night?”

  I saw Mr. Christian in my mind then, in his coat.

  The memory of slipping that coat around me and the comforting warmth I had felt caused me to shudder. Matt came away from the door jamb.

  “You cold?” He glanced at my chest.

  “Matt!” I folded my arms. I doubted Mr. Christian would do anything so tacky.

  He grinned and shrugged. “How about I come in and warm you up? You look good.”

  Was he really saying this? I put my hand on the door, my signal that I was not about to invite him inside. “I really just need to crash.”

  His grin dissolved. “Wait. You’re really… you and me… you really aren’t… don’t, Eden…”

  My name sounded like tin scraping pavement coming from Matt, nothing like the reverent melody with wh
ich it floated from Mr. Christian’s lips. Still, I could see he was devastated by the realization, and he wasn’t afraid to show me, now that we were alone.

  “Why?” Too much pleading was in his tone.

  “It’s just… time, I think.”

  “But we still have a half of a year of school left.”

  We were obviously using different calendars for measuring time. “You’re a great friend. Let’s not let this get in the way, ‘kay?”

  The vulnerability on his face snapped shut like a book.

  “Fine.” He started backing down the walkway, glaring at me. Then he shot back toward me with such fury on his face, I held the door with both hands, ready to slam it if necessary.

  “You’re doing this on purpose,” he hissed in my face.

  “I am not. I don’t like you that way anymore, that’s all it is.”

  “You wanted to be the first one to dump me. I should have never told you that.”

  He was so wrong, I couldn’t believe where his mind was, tangled up in insignificancies I had long forgotten. “As if I would do something that retarded.”

  “Why else would you cut me out? I told you I’d never been dumped and you had to be the first.” He stepped closer. “You hook up with somebody else?”

  “No. I wouldn’t do that.”

  He took an uneasy step back, eyes hurt. “So you really are just bored with me?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I thought you loved me.”

  My eyes widened. I had never felt anything close to love for Matt. “I just told you, you’re a great friend. I hope that will never change.”

  “I love you, Eden.”

  The selfish whine in his tone spoke volumes over his words. Like a kid not getting what he wanted for his birthday. But I wasn’t in the mood, nor did I have the strength to argue with him. “I’m sorry if this hurts you.”

  “No you’re not. You don’t care one bit. You think I can’t see it in your face?”

  That scared me. Ours had been a surface-skimming relationship, mostly for show. To think he had had moments where he’d really studied me made me feel like a disgraced lover stripped naked before the man who had just sold her out.

  “Whatever you see, it’s not what’s real.” My voice was tattered. I went to him and put my arms around him. “I mean it.”

  His body went stiff. For a minute I thought he would let me hold him until he softened, understood and accepted. But he pulled my wrists down and pushed me back, his face harder.

  “You think that’s going to help?” Then he turned and started down the walk.

  Numb, I watched with the cold air chilling my skin to blue again. His car screeched as he backed it out the drive, then it roared as he took off down Paseo del Mar.

  Chapter Eleven

  Feelings of uselessness washed over me with the strength of a tidal wave. I hadn’t felt this abandoned for years. My friends, parties and Matt’s company were always a place to escape to. Disbelief hung like a leaden shrug over my shoulders the rest of the night. I really hadn’t lost my friends and I could always find a party, but those were temporary shelters that would disappear with the ease of night vanishing into day.

  Brielle had finally given up and stopped texting me. I had no idea what she was doing but I guessed Matt figured into it somehow, and he just might go for her, feeling rejected as I knew he was. I’d never been a rebounder, but at that moment, the idea had its merits.

  Matt and I had been together for six months. For me, that was a record. Like him, I’d always been the one to end the relationship first. I’d never been dumped. He’d never been dumped. We thought things would be perfect.

  I didn’t mourn the demise of our relationship. I felt bad that I had hurt him. That was a first for me. Maybe it was the time invested. I had the brief cheesy thought that I was really growing up, having this partial epiphany.

  Had Mr. Christian ever hurt anyone? Dumped anyone?

  Been dumped? The thought that any girl could knowingly hurt him sent a hot flush of anger through me.

  Rationally, I knew he’d had his share of the same experiences we all have. But I cared enough that I didn’t want him to be hurt by anyone. And I knew I was the only one who could make sure that would never happen.

  I walked through our empty house wishing I could undo the way I felt about Mr. Christian because it would only torture me. But his face, his voice, the light inside of him, the gentle way his hands flickered over the piano keys was locked inside of me.

  I ached in that hollow place. What if he never spoke to me again?

  The day I had not seen him at school felt like a week.

  I’d never missed a guy like this. No one had ever occupied my thoughts so completely. Like his music, his image drifted endlessly in my mind, a melody I couldn’t stop hearing, even in sleep.

  Thinking of him, I went to my computer. After I hooked up my iPod, I downloaded some of the music he played for us in class. What I really wanted was to hear him sing, to listen to his creations. I closed my eyes, laid on my bed and saw him at the piano, fervently playing the keys.

  In my vision he wore his coat, blue shirt and a dark tie with his dark brown cord pants. He was so clueless about fashion, the flaw made everything else about him more appealing.

  I saw myself lying on the grass somewhere with him sitting over me, as if I was the piano. I yearned for him to explore me with that same intensity with which he touched the instrument. Sweet heat filled me. I easily imagined him kissing me. Leaning over, his body pressing mine deep into the grass as the sun warmed us both.

  Chopin’s delicate melody played in my ears. If James thought I was like any other teenaged girl, he was wrong.

  He wasn’t like any other man. I wanted him in my life. I refused to accept anything I had done was wrong. The rising swells of the music urged determination.

  I counted the hours until the concert

  •••

  The blood-red dress hung on some of the girls, and fit like a twisted glove on those more plump. On me, the gown clung nicely. But then, I’d had Stacey’s tailor do some tucking and nipping.

  I wore my hair up, with some loose curls draping down the back. I even stuck some sparkly pins in it. I didn’t want to look like I was going to prom, like some of my choir mates looked. I preferred looking as though I was ready for a date.

  Walking through the outdoor halls of school at night felt like I was in a dream of dark mists. I smelled the ocean on those mists. Rather than streaming sun, the low-lit corridors were surrounded by now-dark and empty common areas. Other choir members threaded through the halls along with me, but none were in my circle of friends, so we didn’t talk. Laughter, conversation and music seeped into the night nearly as thick as the fog beginning to reach into the area.

  I heard the usual whispers trail me after I passed some of the younger girls. I ignored them. My insides were strumming, anticipating seeing Mr. Christian.

  When Mr. Horseman had conducted, he’d dressed for concerts in a tuxedo. Images of Mr. Christian’s glowing smile and toffee-colored curls against a black and white tux whet a need in me that had been starved for a day.

  I entered the dark auditorium and looked for him. He was standing at the front of the room, his profile facing me.

  His lean frame was covered in black: sleek pants and a tight black turtleneck sweater, pushed up at the sleeves.

  The spotlight skimmed his head, lighting his brown-sugar waves and curls to an angel’s halo. My heart leapt.

  He was directing Renaissance choir through a rehearsal of one of their numbers and most of the other choral groups stood along the sides of the auditorium or sat in the seats, listening.

  I made my way to the front, drawn to sit as near him as possible, then stopped myself and slid into a row in the middle.

  I had a clear view of the muscles of his back, the way they shifted underneath the taut black fabric of his turtleneck. The long, strong curve of his spine move
d like a slim aspen in the wind as he conducted.

  The acapella harmonies of Renaissance choir rung like church bells through the room. I’d never heard anything more unified and perfect. When they finished, everyone cheered and applauded. He whispered something to them and they all laughed. I wondered if they were his favorite group, because they sounded the best.