"Well, your doctor says that since you've been under a lot of stress lately, and you haven't been eating, it's not surprising you collapsed. You need to rest, and if you still feel bad on Monday, I'll take you to the doctor." She turned to Summer and I, "I'm sorry to break up the party, but it'd be best if Clara got some sleep, now."
"I'm sorry," Clara added.
"Don't apologize for getting sick," I teased mildly.
"Call me when you feel better," Summer added.
"I will," Clara said.
I gave Clara one last smile before reluctantly following Summer from the room.
#
I spent most of Sunday checking for messages on my phone for updates from Clara, but she didn't call or text all day. I called Summer that night, but didn’t have news, either.
On Monday, Clara didn't show up at school, but she sent Summer a text saying that she was still bedridden. The school was alive with excitement over the school dance on Friday. Quite a few people approached Jason and Chad to inquire about Brad's health and confirm that Candy Mountain was going to be able to play. Jason reassured everyone that Brad, in fact, did not have meningitis, but only a common flu, and should be well in time for the dance. As glad as I was that Brad was going to be okay, the mention of meningitis made me worry that Clara had something more serious than fatigue after all. This thought invited all sorts of scenarios to my mind, each ending in Clara's woefully tragic death. I realized I was being silly, and that most likely, Clara would be well in a day or so, but the day still dragged by, miserably.
When my last class was finally over, I was putting my books into my bag when Chad came up to me with a determined look on his face.
"You are going to Clara's house," he demanded.
"I am? I thought Clara needed quiet, so she could rest."
Chad handed me a folder. "That's all the work Clara missed today, and some notes I took for her in history. You now have the perfect excuse to go see her."
I took the folder, confused. "Why do you want me to go? Don't you want to see her?"
"Stop being dense, Miranda. She wants to see you, or rather, she needs to see you. Please don't look so shocked, because I know you know how she feels, and you can see what it's doing to her. She feels guilty for liking you so much, and it's tearing her apart. You can see it too- I know you can- but you just sit there, and do nothing." He stopped and took a deep breath, restraining his anger. "You can be there for her in a way that I can't. Just take the stupid homework and talk to her."
I looked down at the folder, and back up at Chad, bewildered.
"I owe you an apology, Chad."
"You don't owe me anything."
"But I do. I thought you were such a clown. I thought you were driven by hormones, but you genuinely care for her. I misjudged you, and I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I am a clown, actually, but I really care for her. I have cared for her for a long time. Just... go."
"Thank you," I said, and left.
#
It was too far to walk to Clara's house from school, and when I got home Mother was out running errands, so I took my own car. I tried to ignore the feelings of guilt I had for driving the beautiful car on my own. I tried to banish the memories that surfaced, as I drove, of our sixteenth birthday party, and the surprise and delight on Mark's face when we were presented with the keys. I tried, instead, to think of Clara, and what in the world I could say to her that would help her. When I arrived at her house, I'd thought of nothing.
Clara's mother answered the door, and when I explained that I'd brought Clara's schoolwork, she let me in at once. She said that Clara was feeling better, and would most likely be back in school the next day, and gestured kindly for me to go upstairs.
I climbed the narrow staircase to Clara's attic slowly, looking at the pictures on the walls. Most of the pictures were of Clara and Giselle. The most prominent showed Clara and Giselle as little girls, wearing matching dresses and standing on a huge, manicured lawn in front of a large colonial manor.
There was also a large framed picture of Clara's mother in a beautiful, white romantic tutu and a veil, en pointe. The caption read "Myrta, Queen of the Willis, Giselle 19--"
Clara’s mother looked astonishingly like Clara in the photo, and seeing the mournful expression on her face, partially concealed by the white burial shroud, made my blood run cold. I ignored the feeling, went quickly to Clara's door, and knocked.
"Come in, Mom, the door's open," Clara’s voice called from within.
I opened the door slightly and peeked in. "It's not your mom, it's only me. Are you feeling up to visitors?"
"Oh, yes, come in," was the reply.
I stepped into the room and saw Clara still in bed, though she was dressed and sitting up with a volume of Shakespeare's sonnets open on her lap.
"I'm sorry, but I'm here to give you more homework," I said teasingly.
"I don't mind. This isn't homework, anyway. I was simply trying to figure out love. Shakespeare isn't helping me at all."
"Perhaps you should try Petrarch, instead," I suggested.
"Perhaps," she conceded. She closed the book and rubbed her eyes. "What do my compassionate teachers have in store for me?" she asked, holding out her hand.
I handed her the folder, then took the chair from its place beside her table and drew it beside the bed.
"This doesn't look too bad. I'm glad I only missed one day. I'll have to thank Chad for taking the time to copy his history notes for me."
"Chad is a nice guy," I said. "He thinks-" I stopped, unable to figure out how to broach the subject of my visit.
"He thinks what?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with unconcerned curiosity. I screwed my courage and continued.
"Chad thinks your illness was caused by more than common stress. He believes that you're feeling guilty about something, and that you're letting those feelings affect your health," I said as gently as I could.
Clara went pale for a moment, and I worried that she might fall ill again, but she quickly composed herself.
"I shouldn't be surprised at Chad's theory," she said. "He's seen the same thing happen to me before, after I kissed Amber, and after I broke up with David. I hardly ate for weeks after that happened, and I was almost hospitalized before I realized that it wasn't going to change anything that happened, or make me a better person. I had been afraid to face who I was, and I went along with what other people expected me to be. Because of that, a lot of people were hurt, myself included. I've tried to be careful, lately, to take care of myself, and to avoid the cowardice and selfishness that got me in trouble before. You can see how well that's worked out for me," she said sadly, gesturing to herself prone in bed.
"You don't deserve what you're putting yourself through now, and you didn't deserve what you put yourself through back then," I replied. "What few, small mistakes you made, you made because you were young, and just coming to terms with who you were. You learned from what happened, so you can move on with a clear conscience. That's a lot more than anyone can say for David or Amber, who just keep repeating the same awful patterns."
"But I'm so close to repeating the same patterns, myself," she said frantically. "Only this time, I'm repeating them with you."
I reached out and put my hand over her thin, cold one. "I told you before that you could trust me. You don't have to worry about repeating any of the awful things you've been through with me. I promise."
"You don't understand, though. On Friday, on Jason's porch, I almost kissed you."
"On Friday, I almost kissed you," I countered.
Clara paused, and then she smiled a small, a timid smile. "I thought that perhaps- just perhaps- that might have been the case, but I didn't allow myself that hope. After misreading Amber so badly, I try to err on the side of caution. Plus, everything that Jason had been telling me, about not pushing anything you don't want on you, kept going through my head."
"So, that was what your fight was about?" I asked.
<
br /> Clara nodded. "He found out that I liked you from Summer, and called me. He told me that you weren't gay, and that if I tried to act on my feelings, it would end up like it had with Amber. At first, I resented his intrusion into my personal life, but when Amber and David started to bully me again, I realized that if I pursued you, they might target you, too. I told Jason that he’d won, Friday."
I withdrew my hand, which had been holding hers this whole time, and clenched my hands into fists. "Jason was using your insecurities to manipulate you, so that he could have his chance with me," I said furiously.
Clara surprised me by falling into a fit of laughter. "I'm sorry," she gasped, "but I've never seen you get so angry. For a moment, you reminded me of Summer. It seems you are both frightening when you lose your tempers."
I relaxed a bit. "I hope I'm able to scare Jason as effectively when I confront him about this."
Clara relaxed as well and smiled brightly. "I'm so glad you moved here, and I was able to meet you. I can say things to you that I've never been able to say to anyone else. You're the first person I've been able to talk to so openly and unguardedly, and when I'm with you I feel-" she stopped, as if she couldn't find the words for how she felt, then she blushed and continued more tentatively. "I would like for there to be more between us. Do you feel the same?"
"Oh! Clara, how I wish I could give you my answer right now! Please understand, but I need some time to work everything out." I hated the words as soon as they were out of my mouth, but I had to be truthful to her.
"I do understand," Clara said. "If I'd been able to take the time to work out my feelings two years ago, I'd be a happier person today. Don't let me push you into accepting anything you aren't ready for, or that you don't want."
"Thank you for understanding. I promise you that I will answer soon."
Chapter 5
Illumination
The Tower
On Wednesday afternoon I sat again at the piano with Mr. Boscov, having my most frustrating lesson yet. Clara was back in school, and seemed to be happier, but I was no closer to being able to give her an answer than I had been on Monday. I'd been going through the pros and cons of attempting a relationship with Clara, but I'd arrived at a stalemate. I was unable to concentrate properly on my lesson. I first fumbled sloppily through the new exercises Mr. Boscov had given me to learn, and then I struggled to focus as I played the new music he'd assigned to me- a Ravel piece.
Nevertheless, Mr. Boscov nodded encouragingly and said, "not bad, Miranda, not bad at all. I'd like you, though, to be able to let the notes fall where they may, instead of trying to force the cadence. In an impressionist piece like this, you need to let the music be entirely in the present."
His words hit too close to the present frustration I felt, and I let out a strangled sob, letting my head fall into my hands and forgetting the music.
"You weren't playing badly," Mr Boscov said, sounding astonished at my reaction.
"I'm not crying because you corrected me," I said through my tears. I took a deep breath to steady myself before I continued. "I just have some issues I'm trying to deal with right now. I'm sorry for letting them interfere with the lesson."
"Don't apologize," Mr. Boscov said kindly. “Music is an art. You can't avoid bringing your personal feelings into your lessons. You simply need to learn how to channel those feelings into your art, instead of letting your feelings overwhelm you."
I smiled and nodded. Encouraged by my responsiveness, he continued, "would it help to talk about it?"
"I can't talk to anyone about it. No one I know would understand," I said bitterly.
"That is very teenaged of you," Mr. Boscov remarked. "Have you tried talking to your parents? Sometimes, they can surprise you."
"I already know my parents' opinion on the subject," I replied.
"Are you in trouble for something you've done?" he guessed.
"No, I’m not in trouble yet. I'm trying to make a decision. I want to do something. It's something some people believe is wrong, but others say isn't wrong at all. Even so, if there's a chance what I want to do is wrong, shouldn’t I refrain, to be on the safe side?"
"It's hard to say, Miranda; you're being very vague," he said. "I'm sure that whatever you're considering can't be so bad it would shock someone who's been around as long as I have been. Besides, you seem like a good girl. Why don't you ask my advice directly?"
I didn't answer right away, but rather played a line of the music with my right hand absentmindedly, stopped, and said, "I'm not ready to tell anyone yet."
Mr. Boscov didn't insist, to my relief, but instead looked thoughtful for a few moments. Then he said, "I would normally say to be on the safe side and follow your parents' wishes, but you already know you should, yet are still tormented by this decision. That leads me to think that this isn't a normal matter of breaking parental rules. Tell me, if you refrain from doing this thing, will anyone be hurt?"
"Not physically, but two people will suffer. There is a danger that one of these two people will suffer ill-health as a result of their emotional suffering."
"That sounds quite serious. Will anyone suffer if you do act?"
"My family will suffer, and I don't want that to happen. We've been through enough this past year," I said.
"Can you put this off?"
"No. It's kinder for everyone involved if I decide quickly."
"Well, Miranda, I'm stumped. If people will suffer if you do act, and people will suffer if you do not act, all you can do is follow your own heart. Be true to yourself. Are you certain you don't wish to confide in me further? Your vagueness has reduced me to clichés."
I managed a weak laugh at this. His words were cliché, but they made sense to me. I decided to, when I had the opportunity, examine my motivations more closely.
"Have you finished crying? If so, I'd like to hear the first section of Mephisto Waltz I've assigned you.
I dried my tears, took out the music, and began to play. I got about halfway through the piece before he stopped me.
"You are improving, Miranda, but you are muddying the rhythm. I want you to make me feel that this is a dance."
I played the same melody, but this time, as a boogie-woogie in a swing rhythm. Mr. Boscov laughed loudly and said, "that's more the idea, Miranda, but if you do that again, I will hit your hands with a ruler, like my teacher used to do to me."
#
That evening, after dinner, I tried to do my homework, and failed. I was supposed to read a chapter in history, but I could not concentrate. I stared at the words on the page, and chanted them in my mind, but their meaning slipped away from me. I was as distracted as I had been during my piano lesson, and I knew I'd never get any work finished until I had made my decision about Clara. I stood and began to pace my room, but I could not focus. I lay down on the bed and tried to relax before I considered the matter, but I was too fatigued, and my eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep.
I shook myself awake and got off the bed. On a whim, I bolted downstairs.
"Mother, I'll be back in a little bit. I'm going for a walk," I said as I passed her on the way to the front door.
"Take your phone with you," she replied.
I checked my pockets and, on finding them empty, bolted back upstairs, took the phone off the charger, and went back downstairs.
When I got outside, the cool evening air hit my face and woke me completely, and my senses sharpened at once. A large, orange gibbous moon was rising, and I turned my footsteps toward it and made my way to the beach.
When I got there, the moon had fully risen and was dulling from bright orange to pale silver. The dark grey sea and the light grey sand reflected its pale light, and I sat basking in it, letting my anxieties quiet themselves. I gently turned my thoughts to Clara again, and briefly entertained how pleasant it would be to take a moonlit walk with Clara by my side.
"Is that wrong of me?" I asked myself. "Are my feeling for her selfish? Are my feelings for her
dirty, or viceful?"
The very idea was ridiculous. I wanted Clara’s happiness as much as I wanted my own. I was being so careful- trying to consider everyone's feelings, and not allowing myself to succumb to temptation- that I was certain what I felt was nothing like vice.
I sighed and smiled to myself, and resolved to requite Clara’s feelings. In that moment, my heart seemed much lighter. I felt a rush of courage, and a strange determination to make myself worthy of Clara’s affection. It was obvious to me now that my feelings for Clara were not wrong at all. They illuminated and elevated my heart, and I felt comforted by them, in spite of my fears.
But, I knew, when I acted on my feelings, it would cause my family pain. What could I possibly say to them, to make them understand? Mr. Boscov had told me to be true to myself, and I knew that even if I'd never met Clara, I'd have had to tell my parents certain, uncomfortable things about myself eventually. I was not a late bloomer, and I was not an overgrown child. I was a young woman, and I had never been interested in boys before because I never would be interested. I would have to tell my family at some point, and that would inevitably cause problems. I didn't want to bring more problems to my family while we were still grieving for Mark. I was almost tempted to keep all of this a secret from my parents until some more time had passed, and their grief wasn't quite so raw.
However, I needed to give Clara my honest reply as soon as possible, and this would force me to reveal everything to my parents soon. I would not insult Clara by hiding our relationship, or by asking her to keep secrets for me. I could never feel ashamed of her, or make her feel I was ashamed. Telling my parents would be difficult, but I had, as my assets, an assurance of how right my feelings were, the strength that my knowledge of Clara's feelings gave me, and an aunt I knew would hear my explanation of the situation and try to understand how I felt, whether she ended up supporting my decision or not. I decided that after I told Clara my decision, I would go to Aunt Elizabeth and let her advise me how best to approach my parents.
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