"We couldn't tell them apart at all when Miranda put her hair up under Mark's hat, so no-one noticed they'd switched until she was in the dentist's chair, about to get her teeth pulled. Fortunately, the dentist did notice."
Summer and Clara laughed, and I noticed that Clara looked a lot better than she had the past week. There was color in her cheeks again, and her eyes were no longer shadowed by dark circles, but rather sparkled with laughter. This observation brought me a good deal of relief, so I straightened and entered the room.
"Mark promised me his desserts for a month if I went to the dentist for him," I said.
Summer and Clara turned and smiled hello, and Mother came and put her arm around me, leading me to the table.
"I'm sorry, I didn't notice you were here," she said. "How was your lesson?"
"Terrible. I'm not making any progress at all, and Mr. Boscov says that he's going to assign a new song at our lesson on Wednesday. I can only imagine what sort of horror he has in store for me, this time," I replied.
Mother smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure you will improve. You just need to get used to the way Mr. Boscov teaches. Sit down, and I'll make us all some lunch."
I sat across from Summer and Clara while Mother busied herself with lunch.
"Your music sounded amazing from in here," Summer said, sounding a bit awed.
I covered my embarrassment at the compliment by saying, "thank you, but I'm surprised you could hear me at all over all of the giggling."
"When you play, people can't help but listen," Clara said, blushing.
“You’re really sweet, Clara,” I blurted, but as soon as I did, I felt my face grow warm, as well. I stood up quickly and said, "I'm going to get a Coke. Would you like anything?"
"A Coke sounds nice, thank you," Clara said.
"Summer, would you like something to drink?"
Summer was leaning back in her chair and examining me with a quizzical expression. Then she sat up and said, "A Coke is fine, thanks."
I ignored Summer's strange look and went to the fridge. When I had finished getting the sodas and filling glasses with ice, and my mother had finished putting together a quick lunch, the whole party settled down at the table again. Clara was in a particularly effervescent mood, and her keen eyes sparkled with an unusual energy.
"I can't imagine Miranda being mistaken for a boy," Clara commented.
"Well, Miranda and Mark were little more than toddlers when they pulled the dentist stunt. Just a couple of years later, it was easier to tell them apart," Mother laughed again, and it seemed to me like a bittersweet laugh, full of fondness and regret. Clara seemed to notice the sadness behind her laugh, and let the subject drop.
"I'm glad you're feeling so much better today," Summer commented approvingly, looking at Clara's now-empty plate. "You were beginning to look like a walking skeleton."
"That's not true," Clara said indignantly. "Skeletons can't walk."
I laughed, "unless, of course, it's some sort of undead skeleton."
Clara rolled her eyes back and moaned, "brains."
I squealed and jumped behind Summer. "Help me, Summer. Save me from Zombie-Clara."
"Miranda, please don't scream in the house," Mother said, exasperatedly.
"Sorry, Mother," I said abashedly, and sat at the table again.
"I don't know anyone else who calls their mom 'Mother,'” Summer said.
"It's cute," Clara added, "It's very like Miranda to do that."
"She's done that since she was seven years old, and decided that 'Mother' was a more grown-up thing to say than 'Mommy," Mother said, smiling indulgently. "She also insisted on calling her aunt 'Elizabeth,' even though everyone else calls her Lizzy."
"'Elizabeth' suits her better," I sniffed. I didn't like how the conversation kept focusing on my embarrassing childhood stories, and was glad when lunch was over and Summer and Clara dragged me out to the movies, which had been their original purpose for visiting.
#
There was only one theater in town. It was an historic theater which had been recently restored, and only had a few screens. Fortunately, one was currently showing Innocence Symphony. The movie helped to elevate my mood and take my mind off of my problems. When the movie was over, though, Clara seemed to have become somewhat fatigued again. She yawned and lagged behind Summer and I as we walked out of the theater, and sat outside on a bench to rest when Summer and I went to the restroom.
I had washed my hands and was about to go outside again when Summer stepped in front of the bathroom door, cutting me off.
"Okay, what's going on with you and Clara," she demanded.
""What do you mean?" I asked, attempting to appear nonchalant.
"What was with all of the flirting at lunch?"
"We weren't flirting," I said. "Friends tease each other. It's completely normal behavior."
"Yes, but combine the teasing with all of the compliments, the blushing, and the eyelash fluttering, and that equals flirting," Summer insisted.
"I don't think-" I started, but Summer cut me off.
"I know that you are still pretty naive about that sort of thing, but Clara isn't. She takes it very seriously. I care about both of you, and I don't like it when people play with my friends' feelings. You need to back off."
I wanted to deny what Summer said, but I couldn't honestly do so. Summer's rebuke was well-deserved, because I was indeed flirting with Clara while suspecting how she felt for me, and at the same time not knowing if I could requite those feelings. I sighed and nodded as my response.
"Good, we understand each other," she said, smiling. "Now we can have fun."
She slung her arm around my neck, almost choking me in the process, and dragged me outside.
Clara was waiting outside, a few feet away from the door. Her back was to us and her hands were clenched into fists. I went to stand beside her, but she didn't look at me. Instead, she was standing statue-still, as though in shock. I followed her gaze and there, in front of the ticket counter, was the reason she was about to cry.
Clara's sister, Giselle, was standing in line with her arm around David's waist. She seemed oblivious to being watched, but David turned around and caught Clara's eye. He smiled, winked, and kissed Giselle on the cheek, never taking his eyes off Clara. Clara went completely white.
"I'm going to murder David," Summer announced calmly, and began to walk towards him.
Clara, though, reached out and grabbed Summer's arm. "No, don't cause a scene. That's what he wants," she said, though her voice quivered. "I have to go home and tell Mom."
"You won't have to tell anyone if David is dead," Summer reasoned.
"You will just make Giselle mad. If she gets mad enough at me, she'll keep seeing him just to spite me. I have to let Mom know."
Clara spun on her heel and marched out into the parking lot and towards Summer's car. Summer shot me a worried look, and the two of us scrambled to follow. We got to the car, piled in, and Summer drove us to Clara's house in silence.
Clara's house was Victorian, like mine, though considerably smaller, and it seemed it was in the process of being restored. Clara plowed through the wrought-iron gate and ran up the walkway while Summer and I lingered behind, not wanting to interfere in her personal talk with her mother, yet not wanting to leave Clara alone. We stood awkwardly on the porch while we waited for Clara. After what seemed like ages, Clara came outside again, her eyes red from crying.
"Mom said she would talk to Giselle, and forbid her from seeing David, but that won't do much good. Apparently, Giselle has to 'make her own mistakes,' as if she hasn't made enough," Clara said disdainfully before crumbling into a wicker chair.
"Well, it's all anyone can do, short of locking the girl in a convent," Summer said glumly, sitting in the other chair. "Have you told Giselle what David did to you?"
"Yes. She thinks it was my fault, for being 'weird,'" Clara sighed.
A shudder ran through Clara’s thin frame, and it was clear tha
t she was struggling to hold back tears, so I knelt next to her chair and said, "you can cry; we don't mind if you do. You don't have to hold back."
"I cry too much," Clara said. "I'm so weak. No one else I know cries as often."
"That's not true," I said. "I cried just last night."
"Why?" she whispered thickly.
"I had a dream about Mark," I said. "I felt better, once I let it out."
Clara let out a muffled sob, putting her head in her hands. She sat and wept a few moments before Summer came over and put her arms around her. Clara wept with almost the same abandon I'd had the previous night, though she kept murmuring about it being "stupid" between sobs.
When Clara’s sobs subsided, and she insisted that she felt better, we ordered a pizza and stayed outside on the porch, eating and listening to Summer propose varied gruesome punishments for David. We sat outside and talked until the sun went down and it began to grow dark. Then Summer, still worried about Clara, decided we should stay over. After I called my mother for permission, we went inside and climbed the narrow stairway to Clara's room.
Clara had a large attic bedroom. It was a comfortable room with a slanted ceiling and a clear skylight on the high end, over the bed, through which you could see the sky perfectly. There was a small brass day-bed with a purple and white patchwork quilt, a small round table with a straight-backed chair next to it, and a dresser on the other end of the bed, cluttered with objects and stuffed with clothes until the drawers wouldn't close properly. On the narrow end of the room, there was a small round window over a desk, which had a laptop computer and was crammed with stacks of books. Various paintings, some of which bore Clara's unique style, were pinned to the walls, and in the corner was an easel displaying Clara's latest, unfinished work. I wanted to compliment the painting, but I remembered what Summer had told me at the theater, so I remained silent. Instead, I sat on the straight-backed chair while Clara sat on the bed while Summer looked through the books on Clara's desk.
Summer gave a sudden little laugh and cried out, "Clara is a fortune-teller!"
"Excuse me?" Clara replied, boggling.
"You have a deck of tarot cards," Summer said, holding up a deck of cards and a booklet that said, "Le Tarot Baroque."
"Oh, those- I've never used them. I just liked the artwork on the cards," Clara said dismissively.
Summer's face lit up. "In that case, I will be the fortune-teller." She went to the dresser and rummaged around, finding a long white scarf and several scented candles. She put the scarf on her head like a veil, then took the candles and arranged them on the little table, so that the table was illuminated when the lights were turned out.
"Let me sit there," she said, shoving me out of the straight-backed chair and onto the bed. "Now, I am Madame de Beaumont, and I am here to tell you the future," she said in a terrible French accent.
Clara and I, going along with the game, gazed at "Madame de Beaumont" with overly-dramatized awe and wonder, and reverently placed ourselves directly across the table from her.
"Who will be first to have their path revealed?" she asked.
Clara and I pointed at each other.
"Cowards! Do not insult the great Madame de Boucoup."
"I thought you were Madame de Beaumont," I said, laughing.
"Silence! For that, you shall be first."
Summer dropped the facade and flipped through the booklet, "so, how do you do this?"
"Some psychic," Clara laughed.
Summer ignored her and continued to flip through the booklet. "The cross thingy looks too complicated... ok, here we go."
She shuffled the deck and placed it in front of me. "Cut the cards, if you dare."
I did so, and then she lay out a row of three cards, face down, with a fourth one directly above them.
"The first card represents the past," she said, reading the booklet. She flipped the first card over dramatically, "the fool!"
The card featured a harlequin, half blindfolded, and about to leap off of a cliff while a tiny cherub tried to tug him backward by the pants. We fell into fits of laughter.
"Yes, that's definitely me," I said after I'd caught my breath.
"'The beginning of a journey- innocence,' that does sound like you, Miranda," Summer said. Then she turned the next card. "This card represents the present. It's 'the tower.’ Sudden change, destruction- your comforting beliefs crumble around you."
"The card looks scary," Clara added, looking at the picture of this ornate, white tower, struck by lightning and, indeed, crumbling away.
"Just keep going," I sighed.
"Okay, the future is the three of wands. 'You await an outcome. Patience is required.'"
"That's an extremely boring future," Clara remarked.
"I'd rather have boring than scary," I said firmly.
"The last card is the final outcome, or lesson to be learned," Summer continued, and turned over the card on top, "temperance."
"Miranda's already perfectly temperate," Clara remarked again. "I'm afraid you're a terrible fortune-teller, Summer."
"We'll see, oh, ye of little faith," Summer said, smirking. "You're next."
Clara and I switched places, so that Clara was sitting directly across from Summer, and as Clara sat down a patch of moonlight broke through the clouds above and shone through the skylight, casting it's ghostly shade on Clara's skin. Clara looked up at the moon through the skylight and her breath caught.
"Pay attention," Summer said, though her facade was only half-hearted now. Clara cut the cards, and Summer dealt them as she did before.
"The past is the 5 of swords. 'You have attained victory, but at a price too high- devastation.'"
"Okay, that actually sounds pretty accurate," Clara admitted glumly. I gave her a weak smile, which she returned, but Summer cleared her throat and I looked guiltily away.
"Thank you. The present is the Queen of Wands. Wow, Miranda, this girl looks exactly like you."
The card pictured a willowy girl with long, blonde hair gazing sagely forward, holding a wand and surrounded by golden cherubs.
"I look like a fairy godmother?" I asked sarcastically.
"No, but she looks like you. She has the same green eyes, and long blonde hair," Summer persisted.
"What does the card mean?" Clara asked.
"A trusted friend or wise councilor- good advice," Summer replied.
"That sounds like Miranda, too," Clara whispered.
"Maybe I'm getting better at this," Summer's voice was lower, as well. She was no longer play-acting, but looked at the cards with and intense expression.
"The future card is 'the devil- enslavement by an evil force."
"The way things are going now, that seems likely to happen," Clara said, and shivered.
"We wouldn't let that happen," I said. "Really, this is a silly game and we're starting to take it far too seriously. We should do something else."
"There's only one card left," Clara argued. "Let's finish."
Summer turned the last card. My blood ran cold when I saw the image on the card. A young, blond man smiled serenely as he swung by his neck from a rope. I closed my eyes and turned away, feeling ill.
"The Hanged Man," Summer said, "is the final outcome."
Clara didn't reply. In fact, she'd gone so still that she no longer seemed to be breathing. Her eyes seemed blank in the candlelight. Then she shut her eyes and gave a weak laugh.
"You're right, Miranda, this is a stupid game."
She stood up to turn on the lights, and in the sudden, bright light I saw that her eyes were strangely glassy, and there was a sheen of sweat on her brow, though the room felt perfectly cool.
"Are you okay, Clara?" I asked.
"I just need to get some water," she said, and walked shakily to the door. She put her hand on the doorknob and leaned against it, as if bracing herself, then crumbled to the floor.
"Clara!" Summer and I cried simultaneously as we rushed to her side. I reached her firs
t, and tried to help her up. She didn't respond, however, and merely sat limply in my arms, her hair sticking to her brow.
"I'm going to go get her mom," Summer said, and rushed downstairs.
I took a piece of paper from under her bed and used it to fan her face, willing her to awaken. She sighed at bit as the cool air hit her face, but she didn't stir. Soon, Clara's mother rushed into the room and reached for her daughter, so I moved away to let her take over.
Summer was behind Clara's mother with a glass of water, and I saw Giselle stand curiously in the doorway, watching the scene in the room but neither moving to help nor saying anything. Clara's mother took the water from Summer, ignoring all else, dipped a handkerchief into the water, and began mopping Clara's face.
"Come on, sweetie, wake up," she said urgently.
When the cold water was applied, Clara groaned and began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened them.
"What happened?" she asked groggily.
"You gave us a scare, that's all," she said as she helped Clara into the bed and propped her feet up. "Summer, did you see her eat much, earlier?"
"She ate a lot today. She had 2 slices of pizza, and sandwiches at Miranda's house," Summer replied. "But she hasn't eaten much at school this week."
I was puzzled that Clara's mother would ask Summer if Clara had eaten, since Clara was conscious and able to speak for herself, but I said nothing. Instead, I fetched another glass of water for Clara while her mother phoned the family physician. Giselle was in the room when I returned, sitting at the table while Summer glared daggers at her. I handed the water to Clara, which she accepted with a weak smile, as Clara's mother hung up the phone.
Mephisto Waltz Page 9
