Her grandparents had a condo in Charleston, but spent little time there. Summer and autumn saw them either in Maine or in the highlands of Scotland, Duncan’s childhood home. Annie adored the spacious condo overlooking Charleston’s harbor, and her visits there nourished her emotions as well as her body. She loved strolling down the quaint streets and browsing in the open-market shops. She loved to watch the Gullah women weaving their wonderful grass baskets. She adored Charleston and could easily make her home there.
But the cabin in Maine was another story. It was both frightening and disturbing—for no concrete reason she could come up with—and she hated spending any time there.
Perched on a rocky point overlooking the rugged northeast coast, the cabin seemed isolated and primitive. Her eccentric grandparents loved the place and wanted her to accompany them there whenever she wasn’t in school. She always obliged since the alternative was even worse than her dread of the cabin. But she hated it.
It was funny though. Twice she’d visited Scotland with her grandparents and had enjoyed every minute of it. Both times they’d stayed in a small stone house in the Scottish Highlands that was as remote and rugged as the cabin in Maine. That’s what made it so perplexing.
True, in Scotland there was room to roam and spread one’s wings—take long treks across the hills—think and dream and breathe without interruption. And not too far away was a mysterious loch that both intrigued and inspired Annie until her musical soul was brimming over with colorful badineries and wonderful rhapsodies. She loved delving into the local legends and myths and then, afterwards, weaving them into intricate musical tapestries with her violin.
The cabin in Maine, however, gave her chills, restless nights, and stark, soundless dreams. There was never any music in Maine. When she’d tried to explain her feelings to the others in the family, they’d scolded or laughed or told her she was being overly sensitive and just seeking attention.
Mancando. The word was bitter. I might as well just fade away into oblivion. They wouldn’t even notice I was gone. I think they’d be relieved if I just dissolved into the atmosphere…floated away…disappeared… Decrescendo, Annie…diminuendo…just fade away…
Annie retrieved the pillow and wrapped her arms around its plump softness. She stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. She’d been ten when she’d put them up and had thought them wonderful. How naïve she’d been then. Ridiculous how excited it made her when Mrs. Pratt gave them to her; how she’d dragged the stepladder upstairs and had stuck them up, one at a time. How I loved stars when I was a kid. I still do, I guess…not as much, maybe, but they still hold the same fascination…silly, I guess…
Annie gave herself a mental shake. You know what? I’m going to do it. She sat up and exhaled with a sharpness that cut. “I’ll do it,” she said aloud. Why not? Why not call Nana and Doc and plead your case? There’s no one else. Unless you count Mrs. Pratt. And you really can’t count her, can you?
Mrs. Pratt was in her late sixties and had been with them for as long as Annie could remember. Her parents’ lives had been well established long before her unexpected arrival, and they’d needed someone to stay with Annie, allowing them the freedom they coveted.
Widowed early in her forties, with no children, Mrs. Pratt was free from responsibilities and family ties and had agreed to move in. She’d become an immediate and invaluable member of the household and was soon cooking, managing household accounts, and seeing to Annie’s basic needs. It was Mrs. Pratt who chose birthday gifts, kept up with medical and dental appointments, and saw her to and from her music lessons. It was Mrs. Pratt she’d run to as a child whenever she’d scraped a knee or had had a bad day. Gray-haired and comfortably plump, Mrs. Pratt was a safe harbor, an anchor—the corner stone at 3312, Sweet Springs Court.
But now, as she wallowed in her despair, Annie was resigned to the fact that Mrs. Pratt could do nothing for her. There wasn’t any doubt that the kind woman was like a mother to her, but Annie knew the older woman had no means of caring for Annie outside her parents’ home and financial reserves.
No, the only people able to help her were her grandparents. Surely they would feel sympathetic to her plight and insist that their granddaughter be sent to them.
Annie knew her grandparents didn’t like it when their daughter and son-in-law argued. She’d overheard a conversation one evening two summers ago where her grandmother had moaned to her grandfather that “it wasn’t good for the child”...she being ‘the child’ in question.
They’d been spending a long weekend in Charleston, and it’d been no surprise when Saturday’s dinner at an up-scale restaurant had ended in a heated debate—over the inflated prices of desserts, of all things. Annie remembered going to bed that night with a pounding headache and her usual stomachache, but later tiptoeing down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of milk. Her grandparents had been sitting in the living room discussing the problem. She’d eavesdropped for several minutes.
They didn’t like it one bit. I can hear Nana saying, “Penny and Paul’s arbitrariness is wearing me out, Doc.” Those were her exact words. Their ‘arbitrariness’ was making them sick and tired. Nana never minces words. I agree, Nana. It’s wearing me out, too.
The decision made, Annie jumped from the bed and sprinted to her door, paused to listen for a second, then opened it. She peered through a three-inch wide crack to make sure the coast was clear, having no desire to bump into her parents—or Mrs. Pratt, for that matter. No one lurked upstairs. With an intake of breath, Annie streaked down the hall, picked up the cordless phone, then scurried back to her room. In seconds, she had the number punched in and heard ringing on the other end.
“Good afternoon,” a pleasant, throaty voice said. Nana.
“Nana? It’s Annie.”
“Darling girl. So nice to hear your voice. What’s up?”
Annie decided to come right to the point. “Nana…I’d like to come to Charleston.”
“Any time, darling. You know that. But don’t you have a month or more of school left?”
“Well…yes, but I didn’t mean for a visit, Nana. I mean…”
“Is there something wrong, dear? Parents upsetting you? School? Boyfriend?”
“Yeah, Nana—I mean, no, it’s not boyfriend trouble—but, well, yes, there is something wrong.”
“What is it, dear?”
Annie swallowed the growing lump of emotion in her throat. “Nana…I can’t…” She swallowed again. “I can’t stay here any longer. It’s unbearable. They’ve put me in a remedial math class and are making me stay after school three days a week for tutoring. I’m-I’m not allowed to hang out with J-Jenny after school anymore. Can’t call her, can only see her on Saturdays when they say so. I’m a virtual prisoner here, Nana, and…” her voice broke. “What’s worse? They’ve-they’ve taken away o-orchestra.”
“Oh, dear…”
“Didn’t you hear me, Nana? They’ve taken me out of orchestra. I hate it here. Please. Can’t I finish the school year in Charleston with you and Doc?”
“Annie, darling. You know we’d love to have you, but…”
“But the answer is no.”
“Oh, sweetie…”
“You don’t care one bit what they’re doing to me.”
“Anne Veronica Wren, don’t be silly. Of course we care. But, dear heart, it would be impossible. We can’t just take you away from your school, your home—your parents. You know that. I’m not sure the courts would even allow it. Look, sweetie, I know they can be, well, trying at times, but they do love you. You know that. And summer is just around the corner and will be here before you know it. Then you can come visit us for as long as you like. We’ll go shopping, buy a lovely new outfit, and eat lunch at Sticky Fingers. How’s that?”
“No.”
“Annie, please…”
“But, Nana. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t.”
“Please, Annie, darling…”
“Oh, Nana,�
�� she paused, hoping her grandmother would hear the despair in her voice and give in, but there was only silence on the other end. Annie sighed then stiffened her shoulders. “Okay. Okay, Nana. I guess I’ll talk to you later then. G-give my love to Doc.”
“I will. Bye-bye, dear heart. We’ll see you soon. Keep your chin up.”
Yeah, right. Annie jabbed the off button then stared out her window for several seconds. The sound of a distant siren jogged her back to the present. She dashed out of her room and replaced the phone on the hall table. Her parents were still downstairs—probably arguing about which boarding school she should be sent to. A horrible choking sensation filled her throat, and Annie had to hold her breath to keep from bursting into tears of frustration.
Fine. I’ll stay here until summer. I’ll take the stupid math class and go to tutoring. And, meanwhile, every nerve in my body will begin a slow deterioration. Every cell in my body will disintegrate. I’ll cease to be me. I’ll be an automaton—a robot. I’ll be a bit-player in a nightmarish theater presentation. I’ll become a nobody. From now on, Annie Wren is on stand-by. Good-bye, Annie.
There was nothing to do. Annie didn’t have the strength nor desire to open a book or even think about schoolwork. She was still numb from her grandmother’s rejection and lack of understanding. No empathy there. My only friend is music. I need music. I need to fill the vacuum of my soul with melody.
Annie stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. The face staring back was an enigma. Who, exactly, was Annie Wren, anyway? Nothing extraordinary about her short, curly brown hair, her blue eyes that were said to be just like her father’s, her pointed chin and pale cheeks. She was nothing like her tall, statuesque mother with her straight blond hair and naturally rosy cheeks. And her go-for-it-all father had more energy and charisma than she’d ever have. The only thing she shared with him was the color of his eyes. So, who was she? One big Nobody, that’s who.
She backed away from the mirror, got down on hands and knees, retrieved her CD player from under the bed and selected a disc featuring a little-known but promising violinist. Inserting it into the player, she adjusted the headphones and volume, then settled back against her pillows with a resigned sigh. Six weeks. School would be out in six weeks and two days. After that she’d have the whole summer to do what she pleased.
High school loomed on the horizon, and she’d have to put in four tortuous years there, but then her imprisonment would be over. Her term would be up. She’d endure. She’d have to. It seemed she had no other choice. But it’d feel like an eternity before she could make her escape. It already felt like a chasm had opened up before her and, if she took one wrong step—just one wrong step—she’d fall into a bottomless Forever.
Forever, Annie grimaced. Forever is a long time…a very long time.
Annie lay on her bed for an hour, only half-listening to the music. Tears flowed until the pillow was sopping wet. This isn’t working. This stupid CD isn’t enough to fill the emptiness. I need something tangible, something alive. She tore off the headphones, rolled to a sitting position, and clamped her lips together. Then she got to her feet and walked over to the violin case leaning against the wall. She snapped it open and drew out her instrument. Fitting the violin under her chin, she ran the bow across the strings. It needed tuning.
“Damn.” The word shot from her mouth like a bullet. “Why? Why can’t anything work the way it’s supposed to in this freaking world?” She felt like throwing the violin against the far wall but had enough presence of mind to stay in control. Destroying her instrument would solve nothing.
She flopped down on the carpet and stared at the violin in her lap. Mute. Inanimate.
Even my violin…my best friend…is against me. “You don’t want me to play, do you? You’re going to keep your music to yourself, aren’t you? You’re going to punish me, too. Right? Well, you know something? Two can play that game. I don’t need you, either. Do you hear me? I don’t need you, either. I’ve been a fool haven’t I? Thinking you would be my ticket out of this mess. What a joke. What’s the use? What’s the freaking use?”
Annie placed the violin and bow back in their velvet-lined case. Then, opening the closet with one hand, she shoved the case onto the top shelf, jamming it in with assorted boxes and long-forgotten toys. She didn’t want to see it again; didn’t want a reminder of what she’d lost. She wouldn’t play the violin anymore.
It’s what they want, isn’t it? So, I’ll give them what they want. That’ll shut them up. Fine´. Her mind screamed the musical term for ‘the end’. This is my finale—my farewell to happiness and hope… Good-bye, you stupid violin…good-bye…and good riddance.
THREE
She had another dream that night. After an unappetizing dinner of deep-dish silence served on a bed of ice-cold stares, Annie excused herself, gave Mrs. Pratt a half-hearted hug, and said goodnight. She didn’t read. She didn’t listen to music. She just brushed her teeth, got undressed, and slipped into bed to burrow deep beneath the covers. For several minutes she let her mind play and re-play the day’s events. Still numb, she watched the mesmerizing black-light pictures that formed behind her closed eyelids and tried to empty her mind of all thoughts. She slept.
And then it happened: another of the dreams that had plagued her since early childhood; a dream that haunted her—followed her like some insistent wraith.
She was floating in a sea of celestial brightness—tiny pinpricks of light everywhere. And music—sweet and intoxicating. The heavens exploded with a myriad of unimaginable colors. Swirling, twirling, dancing colors that kept time to an impossible rhythm. Breathtaking; beautiful. The festive, jubilant music flooded over her like a tsunami, and she gasped as it took her breath away.
Annie was swept up in the ‘nachtmusik’ and became one with the heavenly nocturne. With rainbows of exquisite colors, she danced and pirouetted among numerous stars, impossible to count or even assimilate their number. The ecstasy was so intense that for a heartbeat, she thought she’d died and was seeing God.
It was the most wonderful experience.
And the most terrifying.
Then it was over. And like the countless times before, Annie was left in a silence so profound she had to cry.
* * * *
When Annie opened her eyes the next morning, her first waking thought was euphoric. It took several seconds before she realized that the bubbling sensation still welling up deep within her was only the product of The Dream. The Dream she’d had for the past ten years. The Dream. Nothing else.
Just the creation of a silly, childish, overly sensitive subconscious. Why she had to endure these dreams, she didn’t know. All she knew was that the effervescent bubbles she had the morning after always evaporated and left her feeling hollow. Like the aftereffects of a drug. Tears trickled down her flushed cheeks.
It had only been The Dream.
Out of sheer willpower, she tolerated the next few weeks. She and Jenny snatched precious seconds in the halls or in their one class together, but nothing more. The social studies teacher was a curmudgeon and insisted that time be used to its fullest, so they never had enough time to talk. Annie felt a mushrooming dread that she would lose her best and only friend. She knew how much time Jenny was spending with Carolyn Hunter.
Jenny and Carolyn had the same lunch period and three classes together. Annie also knew they shared a lot of the same interests. It was more than apparent that her best friend since second grade was drifting away. Her world was dissolving all around her, and she was powerless to do anything about it
One incident after another kept her stomach in knots and her mind in turmoil. Then the unthinkable happened.
Annie was slumped in her desk in the remedial math class staring at nothing in particular when Mr. Sheffield announced he was giving a pop quiz. It was only a quiz, not a full-blown test. Nothing that Annie hadn’t endured countless times before. But when the chubby, balding teacher, whose face always shone with a pa
tina of perspiration, passed out the quiz sheets, Annie felt her tenuous hold on sanity irreparably loosened. It was the last straw.
She stared at the paper in front of her—numbers and words bouncing on the page as though possessed—and swallowed the rising bile. The acid in her stomach churned and burned its way up her throat and into her mouth, and if she didn’t leave the room immediately, she’d throw up—all over her desk, in front of the entire eighth grade class, and Mr. Sheffield.
She started to rise but it was too late.
The sour vomit erupted like molten lava and splattered the quiz paper, her desk, and the floor beneath with its disgusting mess.
Pushing back her chair, she slammed into Kevin Kerr’s desk in back of her. He yelped and watched, open-mouthed, as Annie leapt out of her seat and dashed for the door. Behind her a murmuring, droning sound, like insects stirred up on a lazy summer day, filled the room. Her classmates’ attention, no longer on the quiz, was on her, and she was afraid she’d pass out from acute embarrassment. Oh, God…oh, God…her mind screamed.
Mr. Sheffield called after her. “Ms. Wren. Ms. Wren—” Annie didn’t stop, nor did she bother to look behind her. Her only interest was reaching the privacy of the girls’ lavatory where she could lose the last shreds of her composure and wail without control.
She stood at the sink rinsing out her mouth when the female teacher from the classroom across the hall rushed in. Her look of concern changed to resignation when she saw that Annie had the situation under control.
“Honey, are you all right?” she asked in an conciliatory voice.
“Yeah…now I am,” Annie answered, as she tore a paper towel from the holder and mopped her dripping face. “I’m sorry. I-I made a mess back there…I-I really made a mess…”
“Don’t worry. You couldn’t help it, I’m sure. And I know Mr. Sheffield understands. These things happen.”
Centauri Serenade Page 2
