The Idyllic Chaos of My So-Called Life

by Amy-Noelle Smith

  I flipped over the tiny white tag, and saw a huge number I hadn’t expected—five hundred and ninety eight dollars! I instantly thought would it be impertinent to ask for a raise before I even started the job. Probably not a good idea I decided, feeling a bit dejected.

  I stood there inspecting the guitar that I coveted when a salesman came over to me.

  “Can I help you miss?”

  “No, I was just looking, wishing really.”

  “Would you like to try it out?” he kindly offered.

  “Can I?” I asked surprised.

  “Sure, young lady. We’ll just get one of the demo models of this. It’s the Big Baby, good choice. Let’s go into the sound room, and you can try it out as long as you like. You know we do offer payment plans, if you can’t afford to pay all at one time.”

  Oh, he was good. He was reeling me in, and I didn’t have the strength to stop him. He knew once I had that guitar in my hand that I would be a goner.

  I sat in the chair in the middle of the sound room that faced toward a huge window that looked out into the store. The salesman freely placed the guitar in my hands while informing me about the guitar’s features, and as he left the room said, “Take all the time you want.” I was sure he’d hoped to force a love affair that would end with its purchase.

  I laid the guitar across my lap, nuzzling the smooth wood along the top of my thigh. I looked down and plucked each string to hear the sound. I then placed my fingers along the headstock, and moved the tuners while continuing to pluck at the individual strings until I heard the guitar come into tune. I ran my fingers along its neck and down around the sound hole and down to the bridge. The wood felt smooth and cool against my skin.

  I played a few scales to warm up my hands. They were pretty rigid from lack of practice. After my hands were feeling a bit more nimble, I began to press my insufficiently-callused fingertips firmly against the strings, and played a few chords. This guitar sounded so good compared to mine, I mused. The throbbing ache that pulsed through my fingertips made me feel more than a little dejected; it let me know I wasn’t practicing enough. I should have been able to play the chords flawlessly.

  I moved on from stroking the chords and began to play one of the songs I knew from memory. I ran my fingers delicately across the rough strings and played one of my favorite songs, “Knowing.” I’d spent many nights isolating myself learning the intricacies of this particularly pure-sounding song. I started over each time I hit a sour note. I started to wonder if I suffered from some type of music-related OCD.

  Time seemed to be suspended as the melody swirled about the room. I hadn’t noticed Will walk in the door, and couldn’t be sure how long he had been standing there watching me through the glass.

  I looked up, and his eyes met mine. I’d hoped my face hadn’t been twisted up as I played. He let out a faint smile, and put his palm to the glass, and motioned side to side. Automatically, I mirrored his actions.

  He continued to stand at the window, watching as I finished the song. I must have been singing louder than I’d realized because I could feel the tightness in my throat.

  I wondered why he wasn’t in school. How long had he been standing there? Could he hear me?

  I took the guitar and set it against the wall. I poked my head out, looking for the man who’d helped me earlier. I saw him in the front of the store, no doubt making another deft soft sale maneuver in order to secure another commission. I grabbed the guitar and started to take it to the counter.

  As I exited the room, there stood Will, looking like either a scruffed-out Hollywood star or a homeless person. Nowadays, a good-looking guy could pull off what I liked to call “homeless chic.” He looked good too. His gilded hair was tousled perfectly, and his full lips were a nearly perfect shade of pink. He stood there in tattered jeans and a white thermal shirt pushed up on his masculine forearms. He had great hands. His long slender fingers were perched in his front pockets.

  “Hi.” His eyes blazed as he spoke. “I liked that song. What is it called?” he asked softly.

  I was mesmerized by his eyes. They were the color I’d only seen in picture postcards of exotic tropical destinations.

  “It’s a song by Lucinda Williams.” My voice was thin and wispy. “It’s called Knowing.” My voice cracked.

  “Well, it’s a beautiful song, and you sounded...seductive.” His voice trailed off as if he were unsure of his word choice.

  “Um, thanks,” I muttered, stunned at his use of the word seductive. Nothing about me was, well, seductive.

  I peered intently down at my shoes so I wouldn’t be distracted by his overwhelming magnificence. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “It’s such a nice day, so I decided to cut school. We don’t get too many of these days,” he said, gesturing toward the window with his hand.

  “Yeah,” I squeaked out, still focusing on the floor. I wondered how many other people skipped today.

  “I was just in here checking out some sheet music,” he continued.

  My eyes moved back to his as I tried to focus on my next word. “Do you play an—um...what do you play>” I finally spit out.

  “I play the piano. I know it’s kinda old fashioned.”

  “No, no, pianos are...great.” How dumb did that sound, the whispers swirled inside my head. “Are you good?” Yet another dumb question. My inner voice was telling me to shut the hell up!

  “That’s debatable,” he said with a modest smile.

  “Oh...I mean...I’m sure....you are very—I heard you were good.” What was I saying, I pleaded with myself to shut up. Now he would know I was asking about him!

  His lips pursed together as his eyebrows rose. “I do all right, I guess,” he said with a hint of delight.

  I was nearly quivering from nerves as I looked back down to the guitar. “I have to go, maybe I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Yeah, of course I will...um...drama class...right?” I shook my head in recognition of the fact that I was a total dork as I made a beeline for the door.

  “See you later,” he shouted with a broad smile as I walked away.

  “Yeah, see you later,” I said as I unintentionally took the guitar still stuck in my hand out the door.

  As soon as I crossed the threshold the store alarm started ringing, and the salesman sprinted after me. My eyes widened when I realized what I had inadvertently done. I stopped dead in my tracks at the front of the door, and slowly took a few steps backward trying not to turn around. I turned to the salesman, and apologized trying to go unnoticed, which at this point was moot.

  As I moved forward again through the door I tripped over the end of my own foot. This was truly embarrassing, I thought. I looked back and saw Will standing there smiling with his eyes intently focused on me and my preposterous antics.

  I forced a laugh and yelled back, “First day with the new feet.”

  I couldn’t move fast enough out of that store. I walked so fast my calves were aching intensely. When I looked up from the concrete I’d put four blocks between myself and the music store.

  I stopped and sank spiritless onto a sidewalk bench. He must think I’m an idiot. He would be absolutely right. I am an idiot, I scolded myself fiercely.

  I checked my watch and decided that I would go back to the house. Audrey was at work, and if I got caught I’d just tell her I stayed home because I was feeling sick. This didn’t seem like a total lie at this point due to the fact that I had a burning in the pit of my stomach that made me feel queasy.

  I wanted to recover and rest anyway before I looked after Lilah. I didn’t know what to expect with that. I needed to put the mortifying events of the morning out of my mind totally.

  After a much needed nap, I dragged myself off the couch and whipped a brush through my hair. I needed to be next door in forty-five minutes. I had no idea what to expect, and frankly I was not looking forward to it. But I thought about my car that I loved having, and the fact that it gave me a sense of much-needed in
dependence. I turned my attention to the magnificent guitar that I wanted to possess so badly that I’d nearly walked out of the store with it today. Ugh...it forced me to think about how silly I’d looked earlier today.

  Why was I worried anyway about what Will thought? I persuaded myself that he didn’t matter, and it’s not like I really wanted to have a boyfriend or anything. I’d never had a boyfriend before, and I didn’t see the need to change my situation.

  I was always good at talking myself out of my own feelings. I mounted arguments and before long I believed what I was telling myself. I would continue to tell myself no connections; it’s easier that way. My internal monologue was well organized. It’s just attraction, nothing more. For some reason this time, it seemed to be harder for me to convince myself that I wanted no connections.

  As I brushed my teeth, I checked the clock once more. Hmph, fifteen minutes. I felt like I was going to face the firing squad...any last requests.

  Lucy had given me specific instructions as to what to do today. She gave me a key and a detailed list. First was to wait for the center’s van to arrive around three-thirty or so, and when the van arrived the center aide would bring her into the house. Second, give Lilah her snack, juice and her favourite, Nilla Wafers. Third, put on a video and wait for the next hour for Lucy to come home. It sounded easy enough, but I was still apprehensive.

  I decided to watch for the van at Audrey’s house, instead of waiting at Lucy’s. I figured that would be okay.

  The van pulled up promptly at three-thirty, and I grabbed Lucy’s house key and sprang out the front door. The aide Sherry was tall and rotund. She wore her hair in braids that caressed her back. She had a deep voice, and didn’t seem like the type to be taking care of the mentally challenged. Her athletic frame and husky voice was the antithesis of her caring and compassionate manner though. She carefully placed Lilah in her chair, wheeled her up the ramp and took her into the house.

  “She just went to the bathroom,” Sherry informed me. “If she has to go again she will point towards the bathroom, and say ‘b...b...b.”

  I tried to conceal the look of horror on my face. “What do I do, ya know, if she has to go?”

  She gently smiled at me as if she understood my aversion to this task. “Don’t worry honey. All you have to do is take her in and help lift her onto the toilet seat. She knows how to do the rest.”

  “Oh, okay. Hmph,” I grumbled, taking stock of her small frame while trying to calculate her weight. She couldn’t be more than a hundred pounds, but last time I checked I couldn’t lift a hundred pounds of anything.

  “She should be all set though.” She paused. “Lucy was sure to tell me to make sure her bladder was empty before I brought her home,” she said in a clinical fashion.

  I watched the van back out of the driveway, and as soon as Sherry drove down the street the panic set in fiercely.

  Lucy’s house was an exact duplicate of Audrey’s except there were only two bedrooms. There was a main living room with the kitchen positioned directly behind it. Once again, there were no hallways. The two bedrooms were located directly off of the main living room on the left side.

  The walls in Lucy’s house were painted beige, and the windows had wooden Levolor blinds. No lace...good choice, I thought. Even though the house was small it was decorated like a picture out of a Pottery Barn catalog. She had a cornflower blue couch coupled with white wooden end tables, and a white comfy chair with a flowery blue pillow. It looked really nice. Maybe Lucy could give Audrey some decorating advice.

  Lilah was sitting in her special chair that sat facing the television set. She sat there smiling and playing with her doll. She was fourteen years old and suffered from cerebral palsy, and from what I had been told had the mental capacity of a three-year-old. She was able to react emotionally to the world around her with very few words. When she did speak, it was usually just the first letters of the word, like for the television she simply muttered “t...t...t...,” and pointed to the set. On some level I envied her, that her mother loved this imperfect creature so much that her entire life orbited around her.

  I turned on “Sponge Bob” for Lilah and retreated to the kitchen to prepare her cookies and juice. I set four Nilla Wafers on a plastic plate and filled a sippy cup full of juice. I secured the lid and nestled a straw down into the cup. I took the plate of cookies and juice into the living room, and placed them on a tray in front of her. She took the cookies and haphazardly shoved them into her mouth.

  I felt badly that I really didn’t know how to talk to Lilah. I felt ridiculous having a regular conversation with her, and conversely, I felt just as silly talking to her like an infant. I mean she was just a few years younger than I was. Therefore, I came to the conclusion that I just wouldn’t say much of anything. I was hoping this uncomfortable feeling I had gnawing in the pit of my stomach would soon go away. I was going to be doing this five days a week, at least through the summer, or whenever I had saved enough money to buy my guitar, whichever came first. I didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to pay off the car.

  The hours dragged by with a deliberate crawl. Finally, I heard the sputtering growl of Lucy’s Ford Explorer.

  Lucy came in the back door, and I heard her yell as her keys hit the counter, “I’m home.”

  I popped up off the couch and met her at the kitchen entryway. “Hi.”

  “How’d everything thing go today?” she asked nervously, placing her jacket over the kitchen chair.

  “Everything was great,” I overemphasized to help calm her nerves. “Lilah came home at three-thirty, and I gave her a snack. She’s been watching TV for the last hour.”

  “Has she used the bathroom?” Lucy asked as she made her way over to Lilah.

  “Yeah, she went right before she got home, and, well, she hasn’t pointed to the bathroom or anything yet. I watched the amount of juice I gave her,” I said, picking up the juice and shaking the still half-full cup.

  When Lilah spotted Lucy she squealed with delight and started to rock back and forth in her chair, waving her arms wildly.

  “Hi baby.” Lucy made a beeline straight for her and gave her an enormous hug.

  I was glad that Lilah hadn’t seemed to lapse into her joyous spasms while I was with her. She remained calm, or maybe she was just sad or bored. It was hard to tell.

  “Same time tomorrow,” I said as I gathered up my things and edged my way toward the door.

  “Yeah, see ya tomorrow,” she said, distracted for a moment, but then her eyes centered on me. “Astrid, really, thank you. You don’t know what a big help this is.”

  “No problem,” I said with a faint smile.

  I momentarily pondered the ease of this job, and maybe I was really lucky to have found something where I could pretty much just sit on the couch and read. I hoped Lucy wouldn’t try to throw me any curve balls.

  I tore across the lawn and bounced through the front door. Audrey was making chicken enchiladas...yum! The Nilla wafers I had earlier did nothing to quell my hunger.

  Audrey had lifted out three chicken enchiladas and set them on a plate.

  “Sour cream,” she offered as she scooped out a dollop for herself.

  “Yes please,” I answered, inhaling deeply the sumptuous smell of the enchilada sauce.

  She set the plate in front of me, and I didn’t say two words as I inhaled the entire plate. I probably could have at the very least come in second place in one of those eating contests that I had seen on ESPN.

  “So how did this afternoon go?” she said as she painstakingly placed a spoonful of Pico de Gallo on top of her sour cream.

  “Fine,” I said, trying to swallow a large piece of chicken.

  “Would you like some Pico?” she asked.

  “Nooo, thank you,” I said as I turned my nose up. Once you’ve eaten Pico from between your toes it kind of turns you off.

  “Jeez Astrid, chew your food much?” She giggled as she moved her fork to her mouth.
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  “Sorry,” I said as I wiped the blood red sauce from my chin with my sleeve. It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten much of anything today besides the coffee from this morning, and a few cookies this afternoon.

  “Well, you know if you need me, I’ll be here most days.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin.

  “Umm, everything was pretty easy today,” I mumbled with another mouthful of food.

  “Well, I’m here if you need anything,” she reiterated.

  I nodded my head in recognition, wondering if her words carried more meaning than she’d intended.

  I took my plate to the sink to rinse it off.

  “Thanks for the grub,” I said in a pleasant tone.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, still working on her first enchilada.

  I retreated to my room where I scanned my scant wardrobe and contemplated what I could wear tomorrow. Everything I owned needed to be washed. I took out a Bohemian-looking white gauzy top, and pulled out previously worn jeans from the dirty clothes piled in the corner of my room. I gave them a quick sniff and determined that they had one more day of wearability.

  I put on my pajamas, which consisted of sweats and a white T-shirt, and crawled under the soft beckoning pink comforter. It was too early for bed, but I felt so tired that I could hardly keep my eyes open.

  I grabbed my torn copy of Herland and began to read. As I read my eyelids became heavy from exhaustion, I gave up all control. I let myself slip ever more deeply into sleepy unconsciousness, trying not to worrying about what tomorrow would bring, or how I would face Will in class.

  Chapter Seven

  My gaze broke through the antiqued lace veil that fell down, only slightly obscuring the view to Lucy’s through the window. I could see into the kitchen through the window. Lucy always kept the blinds open, and for some reason I found myself looking toward that window often, and gaining a measure of comfort when I saw Lucy doing something mundane like washing dishes or cooking a meal.