Mephisto Waltz

by Bridgett Kay Specht

  I was able to fill in the rest of the story. Summer probably saw me on the first day- the new girl with her nose buried in a book of old poetry- and decided I would need her friendship. I didn't mind. In fact, I was fonder of Summer because of the revelation. It showed the kindness behind her flighty facade.

  Clara stopped speaking, and looked outside at the rain again. Her expression had become dark, so I steered the conversation toward more cheerful topics. I asked Clara if she had found the art book she’d been looking for, and her eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she discussed it.

  She flipped to a page and pushed the book toward me. It was a drawing of a fantasy setting, with a girl, eyes closed, sitting under a crescent moon. Despite the fact that it was a black-and-white drawing, the image seemed to almost shimmer. The trees in the background, the girl's hair, and her dress all had airy sense of movement.

  "I love this artist. I love how she makes everything seem so light and ethereal. I hope to be able to do that, some day."

  "You're an artist, too." I wasn’t surprised at all by the revelation.

  "I hope to be. I love art and photography. I think my love of art is what got me through the difficult times my freshman year."

  She took the book back and looked at mine. "Robespierre?"

  "The French Revolution," I said. "I love History."

  "There’s a new movie on DVD, about the French revolution. It’s gotten good reviews. I’ve wanted to see it forever.” Clara said.

  “We should rent it, then.” I said. “Come over to my house, tomorrow. I should be done with my piano lesson at 11:00.”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  Chapter 2

  Pictures

  Temperance

  The next morning, I sat at the piano, and for the first time since Mark died, I didn’t feel out of place. All of my petty thoughts were gone and all I thought of was the music. I felt it flow though my body as I slowly rocked to the rhythm, let it flow out of my fingers which still moved with agility, and felt it reverberate through the metal and wood, where it vibrated pleasantly. I was so completely absorbed in the feel and the sound that I gasped and almost fell off the bench when Mr. Boscov, my new piano teacher, tapped my shoulder.

  "I think that's enough for me to get a general idea of your level," he said with a serious voice, but a pleased look in his eye.

  I could feel myself blush. "That's one of my favorite pieces."

  "It's one of mine, as well," He said. "You are a very technical pianist. Chopin's Etudes suit you."

  I smiled at the compliment, but he frowned. "You play a little too technically. You play like quite a talented child with the brains to learn and the patience to practice, but you lack depth and maturity."

  He ruffled through a notebook for a moment, and then placed some sheet music in front of me. "Are you up for a challenge?"

  I cringed, "on our first day?"

  He laughed and shook his head. "You like to play it safe, don't you? In that case, I should definitely shake things up." He pointed at the title, which read Mephisto Waltz no.1, Franz Liszt.

  "It's all about Madness and seduction. It's a very challenging piece, even for the most advanced pianists."

  I laughed. "There's no way I can play this. I don't know anything about madness or seduction."

  "Your Aunt told me you were 16. I thought that's all there was at your age."

  I shrugged.

  "Play," he commanded.

  I muddled my way through the first few bars before he stopped me.

  "Take the tempo a bit faster, and be more aggressive. Like this," he demonstrated.

  I tried again, but I felt like I was just banging my way through the notes; they refused to find any fluidity. After some more fumbling I got frustrated. "Maybe I should just stick to the Chopin."

  "It isn't as bad as all that. Perhaps we should ask your friend what she thinks."

  I spun around and was very surprised to see Clara sitting on the couch behind me. She was sitting with her feet curled underneath her, as though she’d been settled there for quite a while.

  "When did you come in?" I wondered, bewildered.

  "When you were banging on the keys, earlier," Mr. Boscov answered.

  I laughed. "I did warn you."

  "You should be able to play this, as long as you keep practicing, and try for a little of the madness we discussed," he said.

  "I prefer temperance," I murmured.

  "Temperance is what I teach," he said. "Tell me, is relying too heavily on logic less excessive than relying too heavily on passion? The latter leads to madness, certainly, but the former leads to the death of the soul. You don't want to let the soul die before it's been born- musically speaking of course."

  His words were, in themselves, passionate, but his demeanor was far from serious. His eyes sparkled, and he laughed heartily.

  "I'll see you Wednesday. Muddle through this, somehow." He turned then to Clara. "It was good to meet you, my dear. You girls enjoy yourselves; that’s the purpose of youth."

  Clara laughed as he left. "He's a very interesting person."

  "That's an understatement." I replied, laughing along with her. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, in any case. I'd much rather you heard me play the Chopin piece, earlier. The man's insane if he ever expects me to play Mephisto Waltz."

  She shook her head, her eyes twinkling with the same bemusement she usually reserved for Summer, and said, "Could you play the Chopin for me?"

  I turned to the piano again, without replying, and began to play. I let myself become absorbed in the music once again, and soon I forgot that Clara was listening. I thought of nothing but the notes I played, which blended together, becoming streaks of dancing color in the bright morning light.

  When I finished, there was no response, only awkward silence. I turned to Clara and saw her sitting with her eyes closed.

  "Um, I'm sorry if that was boring..." I stammered awkwardly.

  Clara opened her eyes, and I could see they weren’t dull with sleep, but were sparkling excitedly. "It wasn't at all boring. Your piano teacher was full of it. That was really beautiful- filled with emotion."

  I tried not to smile too widely. "Thank you, but I still can't play that Liszt." I made a face.

  "You are too self-deprecating," Clara said. She turned and opened her purse, pulling a DVD out. "I brought the movie, in any case."

  She looked around the living room with a confused look and it took me a second to realize why. Then I laughed. "We don't have a TV in the living room. We can watch upstairs in the game-room."

  #

  The game-room was as spacious, but less formal than the living room. It had a folded futon, several old but comfortable chairs, and an entertainment center filled with different game systems, DVDs, and some knick-knacks which mother didn't like well enough to put downstairs. The room had a very lived-in feel to it, even though none of us had been in it much since we’d moved. Clara and I quickly made ourselves comfortable, set the DVD to play, and soon I was wrapped up in a world of politics, intrigue, and gruesome beheadings.

  After we had watched the first hour, we decided to take a break for lunch. While I rummaged through the fridge for soda, Clara walked around the kitchen, admiring some of the art on the walls. When I turned from the fridge to give her the soda, I saw she had stopped in front of a collage of family photos.

  "When was this one taken?" she asked, pointing to a picture of Mark and me standing in front of our Christmas tree, dressed like a pair of porcelain dolls and posing with new bicycles.

  "That was taken when I was seven. That was the year we got out first 'grown-up' bikes," I responded. Nostalgia swept over me, and the tenderness I felt at the memory almost brought tears to my eyes.

  "Your hair was so curly there... you are the one with long hair, right?"

  I nodded. "Mother used to make me sleep on curlers every night before a holiday. I have since rebelled against that practice."

  Clara
smiled appreciatively. "Who's this, then?" she pointed at Mark. "He could be your twin."

  "That's because he is my twin." I said. "His name is Mark."

  "Where is he now? Does he go to school somewhere else?"

  "He died at the beginning of the summer." I said, resigning myself to the questions I knew would follow. I felt comfortable enough with Clara to allow them to follow.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. She looked up from the picture, her eyes wide with surprise and sympathy. "It must be a really difficult subject. I'm sorry I brought it up."

  "It's difficult," I admitted, "but people here will find out eventually. I don't mind telling you first."

  "Do you mind if I ask how he died?"

  I shook my head. "It's ok. He committed suicide. He hung himself. He was severely depressed for a long time." I looked at his picture, smiling so happily up at me, and touched it tenderly.

  "I might have told people about him before now, but with suicide, people tend to judge."

  "They just don't understand. Depression is a sickness, just like any other. She took her soda from me, which I had almost forgotten, then turned back to the photo. "If he had died from any other illness, people would be more sympathetic."

  I nodded. "If I hear one more person call suicide 'selfish,' I may slap them. The will to survive is one of the strongest and most basic instincts a person has. When it goes away, the pain that person must be in is something I can't even comprehend."

  "I can understand why someone who is grieving might say suicide is selfish. They might not understand how someone could put them through such grief. Most people, though, just blame the victim of suicide out of ignorance." She said the word with contempt in her voice.

  "I haven't decided whether or not ignorance is something I should excuse in people," I said. "I suppose one can't help being ignorant, but it can be very hurtful."

  "Willful ignorance can be helped. Willful ignorance is a choice."

  "A choice usually made out of fear."

  We started to walk out of the dining room and up the stairs.

  "Shouldn't people fight to overcome their fears?" Clara asked.

  "I don't know; fear can be scary..." I countered.

  And just like that, the conversation took a turn to lighter topics. I was glad, not only to have finally confided in someone about Mark, but also that Clara had understood so well. We made a pretense of watching the movie, but for the rest of the afternoon we talked about our likes and dislikes, and a lot of silly, random topics as well. Clara had a way of asking questions which made me feel at ease to answer, and an ironic sense of humor that, when couple with her free and easy laugh, lacked the bite of sarcasm.

  When we finished watching, she asked, "what did you think of the movie?"

  "It was wonderful,” I said enthusiastically. "It was so melodramatic."

  "It's nice to be able to suspend reality with a bit of melodrama for a while, especially considering the way that this semester has going."

  "It's going badly so soon?" I asked. "Are your classes too hard?"

  "Well, I did take on a little too much, but I can handle that. What I can't handle is the fact that David Andersen is in my Latin class, and Amber Cooper has been voted as president of the art club. Amber's turning the other art club members against me by spreading nasty rumors, and I think I might have to quit."

  "Don't let her keep you from doing what you want," I said.

  "You sound like Summer," Clara replied. "She told me that if David or Amber gave me any trouble, I should just 'kick their butts.'"

  I laughed. "You wouldn't have to do it yourself, if you don't want. Any of us would be glad to do it for you- especially Chad."

  "Yes, Chad can't stand to see a maiden in distress." Clara rolled her eyes.

  "He would fight for you purely out of the goodness of his heart, of course," I teased.

  "Who says chivalry is dead?" she laughed. "But, really, I rely on the others too often. I need to learn to take care of myself."

  Clara had gotten up to put the disk back in the box, when my mother came in.

  "I hope you girls have been having fun. Clara, we're about to start dinner, and you're welcome to stay, if you like."

  "Thanks for the offer, but my mom expects me to come home, soon. I'll see you at school, Miranda."

  "Thanks for coming over." I said.

  "Come back anytime." My mother added. She seemed to have taken a liking to Clara, or perhaps was just happy that I had made a friend at school. I was glad I hadn't mentioned names when I told her about the gay girl at school.

  #

  On Monday morning, when I walked into my Latin class, I could immediately tell something was amiss. Clara and Jason, who were both in the class along with Chad and me, were standing at their desks, staring at each other with very cold expressions. Neither of them said a word, but tension hung heavily in the air. I was hesitant to approach them, even though my seat was behind Jason's and next to Clara's, but Chad burst into the room and said loudly;

  "What the hell is going on with you two? Summer told me you had some kind of fight last night."

  "It wasn't a fight," Jason said, turning away from Clara and sitting down. "Plus, it's none of your business."

  "Is that true?" Chad asked Clara.

  "Frankly, I'm shocked that you think I would get into a fight on the Lord's day," she replied with a wry smile.

  Chad didn't let the matter go, however. I saw him trying to get Clara's attention throughout class which, combined with the tension still lingering between Clara and Jason, made it very difficult to concentrate on my translation. I wasn't the only one who noticed that something was amiss. I saw David look over at our group from time to time with a satisfied look on his face. When class was finally over, Jason jumped up and left quickly while Chad, Clara and I were still gathering our things. While we were doing so, David approached me.

  "Hi," he said pleasantly. "I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to introduce myself before. I'm David. Your name is Miranda, am I right?"

  "Yes," I said, trying to stay polite, yet reserved, after Clara's warnings about him.

  "Your friends have probably been telling you terrible things about me," he guessed. "Don't let them scare you, though. I'm not the bad guy."

  "Yes you are." Chad said.

  "There are two sides to every story." David said. "I could tell you a lot of things about Clara, and her family, which might make things seem a little different."

  Clara, who had been steadfastly ignoring David up to this point, looked up. Her eyes were panic-stricken.

  "There's no way I'm going to sit here and let you badmouth Clara." Chad said menacingly.

  "You plan on stopping me?" David seemed amused at this, and with good reason. He was at least a head taller than Chad, and seemed very fit. It wouldn't be a fair fight. "If Miranda wants to know, it's her choice, isn't it?" He turned to me. "So, how about it?"

  David stared at me with his dark, piercing eyes, and I suddenly felt extremely aware of our difference in height as he towered above me. I stood as tall as I could, though, and refused to be intimidated. "I don't listen to gossip," I said.

  "You’re an ice queen, aren’t you? You and Clara should get along very well. She's totally frigid." He winked at Clara, who looked furious, but said nothing.

  Chad, however, looked ready to say quite a lot. His face was bright red, and I thought he may start shouting at any moment, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a very pretty girl, with curly auburn hair, who leaned in though the open door and said, "Are you coming? We're going to be late for Math."

  David looked up and smiled at the girl. "I'm just saying 'hi' to the new girl."

  "You must be Miranda!" The girl came up to me and shook me warmly by the hand. "I'm Amber."

  "Amber Cooper?" I asked, remembering Clara's story.

  "Yes!" she said brighly, seeming delighted that I knew her name and not at all worried about what the others might have said about her. "I
hope you like it here, so far."

  "It's... different," was all I could manage.

  "It must be stressful, moving to a new school, but I'm sure you'll grow to like it. Everyone here is so friendly," she said. Then she turned and addressed Clara.

  "Clara, I've been meaning to talk to you," she said with a sweet smile on her glossy lips. "A few of us in the art club were talking about the regional art competition, and even though your work is really good, the others don't think it would be appropriate for someone like you to represent the school. I mean, everyone knows what kind of girl you are, and though I don't have a problem with it personally, the others don't think it would put the school in the best light. It would totally go against the values we stand for. I hope you understand," she said.

  She grabbed David’s hand and turned to go, leaving Clara, Chad and me in stunned silence.

  #

  At lunch, Jason sat with the rest of us as usual, though he and Clara sat as far apart as possible. The rest of us tried to ignore the tension, and Chad assisted us in this by giving a very animated and embellished account of our encounter with David and Amber.

  "I'm going to have a little talk with those two." Summer said menacingly after Chad finished.

  "Don't bother." Clara said. "No amount of 'talking' or threatening is going to change them."

  "I could just scare Amber a little bit, for my own amusement." Summer said.

  Clara smiled wryly. "That would only make things worse."

  "Then there's really only one thing to do," I said. “Enter the art competition, and kick her butt."

  "Hear- hear!" Chad seconded.

  "It's not that simple." Clara said. "The artwork has to be approved by the president of the art club before it is submitted, and Amber is the president."