Juniper Berry

by M. P. Kozlowsky

  “You can tell me,” Juniper said. She thought of her ruined dinner plans. “You know, sometimes it feels like my parents want nothing to do with me. My mom and dad, they don’t even sit with me for dinner anymore. We used to cook together all the time. We had Indian night, French night, Moroccan night. We’d dress up as chefs and try different accents. Dad said it was good practice for him. Now they forget I even need to eat at all. Kitty, too. She’s always starving. I have to take care of the both of us.”

  Giles looked up at her as she continued. “Once, my dad taught me how to do the robot.” She gave a quick demonstration, arms, legs, neck, back all stiff. Then, joints popping and locking, she flowed jaggedly until slumping over as if a plug were pulled. It was quite impressive. “My mom even beat-boxed while we did it. It was so funny. But we haven’t danced in so long. Every time I ask my dad he tells me his robot short-circuited or something and he can’t fix it. Then things just got worse from there.”

  Giles glanced up at her. “And . . . and they were never like that before?”

  Sadly, Juniper shook her head. “They’ve changed. I can’t describe how exactly. It’s like all the lights in the house won’t turn on anymore and it’s always dark, and they can’t see me. Like I don’t even exist. Except if they need someone to yell at.” She paused, struggling with her emotions. “I used to mean something to them.”

  This gave Giles the courage to speak. “You’re right; it’s night and day.” His voice grew melancholy, wistful. “They used to take me to the ocean; we used to play sports. My dad was even teaching me how to play guitar. But that was a while ago. Now even their music’s different.”

  Something clicked in Juniper. She felt she was getting somewhere. “Are . . . are your parents . . . are they famous?”

  Giles shrugged. “My father composes operas and my mother sings. They’re famous somewhere, I guess.”

  “Giles, it all makes sense.” Juniper was trembling now. There were others like her, experiencing the same exact things. “Do you think . . . This is what happens to people like them, right?” she said. “Your parents are celebrities; they’re famous. My parents—”

  “I know who your parents are. I wish they were mine.”

  “No, Giles, you don’t understand. When I was younger . . . but now . . . now everything’s different. I think it’s the pressure or all the attention or something.”

  “Maybe,” Giles said, unconvinced, “maybe not. After following them, I think it might be something else. It’s one thing to act mean or forgetful, it’s something else to sneak into the woods in the middle of the night and . . .” He looked up at her.

  Juniper locked eyes with him. “Tell me.”

  Giles exhaled a deep breath. “I wanted to keep a close eye on them, maybe find out what was wrong and fix it. One night, when they thought I was asleep, they left the house and walked into the woods. I followed them. I didn’t want to be caught, so I kept far back. They walked for a long time, almost in a daze.”

  “Were they sleepwalking?”

  “No. Definitely not. They hadn’t slept in days. Just before they left, they were arguing like mad. Eventually, I followed them all the way here.” He looked around. “I think it was here.” He touched a nearby tree, inspecting it, found nothing, then went on. “Somewhere around here, anyway, and then they disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?”

  “They were there one minute; they were in front of a tree, touching it. Then they were gone.”

  “It was dark out. You probably just couldn’t see where they went.”

  “They didn’t keep walking. I’m telling you. It was dark, but I was able to follow them this far. After they stopped, they just vanished.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I looked all over for them. They were gone. When I went back to the house, they weren’t there. I stayed up for a long time, as long as I could, but I didn’t see them until the next morning. By then they were . . . different. You have to believe me. They were gone. Something’s off. My parents . . . they . . . they . . .”

  “They what?”

  He clearly didn’t want to say it. There was great fear in his eyes, fear that Juniper felt she understood. In fact, she knew what he was going to say, but she still needed him to say it.

  Finally, he did. “They haven’t been right lately.”

  Juniper’s insides went ice cold. She looked deep into his searching eyes. “Giles, I do believe you. I really do.”

  The rain began to come down even harder and the thunder roared to life overhead. There was nothing to be done now. She gave Giles her umbrella for the long walk home. But not before they decided to do some more exploring together the next day, two friends in search of answers.

  Chapter 3

  JUNIPER SAT IN THE BACK ROW of the Berry home theater watching old family videos, something she found herself doing often lately. Twelve rows from the screen, she looked at all the empty seats before her. What were they even there for? They were never filled, not even close. Once, it was just the three of them, and now it was only her. Her and Kitty.

  Kitty always refused to keep still here. She preferred to run across each aisle, one after another. Up and down, back and forth, between seats and under them, fighting for Juniper’s attention. She didn’t succeed this time.

  On the screen was footage from several years earlier, a trip to New York City. Juniper stood in the middle of a snow-covered Central Park with her mother. Her father’s voice could be heard from behind the camera.

  “Juniper, how do you like New York? Isn’t it great?”

  The city was quiet, the sound of traffic long faded. There was hardly anybody about and peace had settled in comfortably. Snow clung to the tree branches like white moss, weighing them down. Benches and sculptures and bridges were covered in a fine dust; the boulders were snowcapped mountains to conquer. No footprints, no disturbances, except for the snow angels they just made. The surrounding buildings vanished in a mist of white. The only guides through the buried paths were hazy lampposts, miniature lighthouses each.

  On-screen, Juniper, tongue out, twirled in the softly falling snow. “We’re still in New York? I don’t believe it!”

  Mrs. Berry laughed. She picked her daughter up and spun her around, the most beautiful of dances.

  Watching this, Juniper pulled her kaleidoscope from her pocket and peered through it. The single image became hundreds.

  “My two girls,” Mr. Berry said. He zoomed in and focused affectionately on both their faces. He caught their eyes, then their smiles, then their whispers. “Hey, what are you guys talking about? No secrets.”

  Juniper nodded, both on-screen and off.

  Mrs. Berry placed her down and looked at her husband. “Okay, you want us to tell you?”

  “Yes, whatever you’re thinking, throw it out there,” he said.

  “Okay,” Juniper squealed. “We’ll throw it out there!” And both she and her mother fell to their knees and gathered a snowball each and threw them at Mr. Berry.

  “Hey! No fair!”

  The camera jerked and swayed, capturing the white of New York City and the pitch of its sky and the swollen ivory moon. Laughter consumed everything, filling the speakers of the home theater.

  Juniper took it all in. She looked at Kitty running up and down the aisles with her feline gait. She clapped her hands and seconds later her dog was by her side. “I don’t get it,” she said to Kitty. “I miss this. I miss them.”

  Kitty licked her hand.

  “I know. They’re right upstairs. But it doesn’t seem like them anymore. What if . . . what if it isn’t just their jobs? What if it’s something more like Giles said? Do you think that’s possible?”

  The conversation she had had with her new friend wouldn’t leave her head. It wasn’t just her parents, she knew that now, but that didn’t mean it was anything out of the ordinary. Giles seemed to insist that his parents were up to somethi
ng strange, and Juniper had to admit roaming the woods in the middle of the night was peculiar. But that was about it. It didn’t prove anything more. And yet, what did the two friends expect to discover together? Surely, Giles’s parents didn’t just disappear like he said.

  Kitty turned on her back, exposing her belly to be rubbed. Juniper obliged, then answered her own question. “No, I suppose not. I suppose this is what happens when people have more important things to worry about than . . .” She trailed off.

  Just then the theater door swung open and her mother stood in the entrance, hands on hips. In the odd mixture of light and shadow, along with the flickering of the screen, she looked like a different woman. Juniper didn’t know if this was a good thing or not.

  “Juniper! Get out here right now! Your tutor is waiting for you!”

  Mrs. Maybelline—Juniper nearly forgot. “I was just watching this.” She pointed to the screen. “Remember this?”

  Mrs. Berry glanced at the screen for no more than a second. “Of course I do. New York.”

  “But—”

  “Get out there now! This woman follows me around and why? I’ll tell you why: because you’re not out there. Don’t you know I have far better things to do than run around looking for you? If I don’t nail this part, there are thousands of women waiting to pull me from my perch. It all can fall apart so easily. And what if that happens, Juniper? What then? Go back to years ago? Back to that little house, living those little lives?”

  “Why not?”

  This set something off in her. Mrs. Berry charged at Juniper and yanked her out of her seat. Kitty barked wildly. “Why not? Why not? Are you serious?” She was shaking Juniper now, digging her nails into her daughter’s arms, a different sort of dance.

  Juniper’s head thrashed from side to side, tears were gathering in her eyes, and still her mother continued. “You don’t understand!” There was something missing in her eyes. They weren’t the same as the beautiful pair on-screen.

  “Mom,” Juniper cried. “Mom, what’s wrong? Tell me. Please. No secrets.”

  Mrs. Berry sneered. “No secrets? Well then, here it is, Juniper. The truth.” She pulled Juniper’s face close to hers, each one’s nose only centimeters from the other’s. Mrs. Berry’s teeth were bared, her nostrils flared, and her eyes were dark. Then, in a distorted guttural voice, she said it. “I’ve finally got what I want. And I’m not going to let it go.”

  And with that, she pushed Juniper out of the room and toward Mrs. Maybelline in the living room.

  Coughing, nearly gagging, Mrs. Berry went back upstairs, a strange jerk in her walk. The lovely gait of years ago was gone. Now she was smaller somehow, slightly hunched and crooked.

  Juniper wiped her tears and sat beside her tutor. It was all she could do.

  “She talked to me today,” Mrs. Maybelline said, her eyes wide and giddy. “Your mother. She said, ‘You. Wait here. I’ll get her.’ Oh, it was wonderful just to be in her presence. I couldn’t even talk. I must have made such a fool of myself.”

  “She seemed normal to you?” Juniper asked. Even though it was someone to talk to, she didn’t grow attached to her tutors anymore. They never lasted very long. Her parents always found some reason to get rid of them, even with the confidentiality agreements all employees were forced to sign.

  “Normal? Oh, no no no. There’s nothing normal about your mother. Or your father.”

  Juniper inched up in her seat. “There isn’t?”

  “Not at all. Why, they’re . . . they’re . . . stars!” Mrs. Maybelline couldn’t even blink. She stared off in complete awe.

  Juniper sighed. “What are we doing today?”

  “You can be like them, too, one day. You’re very talented, Juniper. I see it. Your writing is top-notch. Top-notch. Plus, with their connections . . .”

  “I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want them to be famous either.”

  Mrs. Maybelline found this hysterical. She guffawed with every ounce of her rather large being, her cheeks reddening, her veins pulsing. “Kids”—she laughed—“you have to love them.” She continued laughing, her bulbous body bouncing jollily. Juniper couldn’t look away. It was quite a sight. Mrs. Maybelline was right; she saw nothing but stars.

  But then, almost instantaneously, the laughter stopped. It just cut off mid-ululation. Something had caught her eye. “Oh my God,” she whispered, pointing down the hall. “Your father. Oh, wow.”

  Juniper turned and saw her father staring out a window just like he did in his study the day before. Enraptured, he didn’t move. Juniper knew what was out that window, she used her monocular out it many times. It was a straight shot, an unobstructed view. Right into the woods.

  Mr. Berry continued staring, his hand reaching out for something that wasn’t there.

  Mrs. Maybelline didn’t find any of this odd. “He’s so dreamy,” she wheezed. “Juniper, you are the luckiest girl in the world. To have parents like that, I swear.”

  “Mrs. Maybelline?”

  No answer.

  “Mrs. Maybelline!”

  “Huh? What? Yes?”

  “Are there . . . are there things out there . . .” She nodded ahead. “Are there things that can change almost everything there is about a person? Something that can make people become like my parents?”

  Mrs. Maybelline was still caught in her stare, but she responded in a wistful voice. “I sure hope so. Whatever it is . . . I want it.”

  The lesson began and the lesson ended, and Mr. Berry never left that window.

  Chapter 4

  WITH HER MOTHER AND FATHER about to leave for rehearsals and all lessons completed to Mrs. Maybelline’s empty satisfaction, Juniper was on the roof. She was sprawled out on her stomach letting time tumble by as she anxiously waited for Giles to arrive and their expedition to begin. The pulsing sun, attracted to the dark paint of the roof, warmed her back as she spent the slowly expiring minutes spying with her binoculars on the crowds outside the gate. It was a favorite activity of hers.

  People stood enraptured at the gate, peering in, searching for a sign of the Berrys. There were fans of all ages—the word “fan” derives from fanatic, Juniper’s father often informed her lately—a wide spectrum of life and ethnicity, some of whom slept in their cars or pitched tents outside the estate. They were but a small sample of a world Juniper hardly knew, and she couldn’t have been more intrigued by their every movement and gesture. Focusing on their mouths, as she had done so often, she attempted to read their lips, following the conversations she so desperately wished she was a part of. She used their body language to guide her, whether they were laughing and waving their arms or if they appeared awkward or angry, friendly or flirtatious—sometimes conversations don’t need words, she realized.

  Through her binoculars she read the homemade signs and collages. She followed the zooms of the arsenal of camcorders; she watched the camera phones extend through the gates for the best picture possible, while other people turned the lens on themselves making sure to get the house in the background. These pictures, it appeared, were immediately sent somewhere, thumbs busy on the keypads. It occurred to Juniper that, as much fascination these people had for her family, they had an equal amount for themselves and especially their phones. Some hardly ever glanced up. She couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t, with so many people around to talk to.

  Mingled throughout the masses were the ever-present and persistent paparazzi. In a seemingly endless cycle, they lurked, steadfastly orchestrating the fanfare and spectacle. And so Juniper, for her own safety, was told by her parents to keep far away from life outside these gates, lest she be exploited, tormented, or worse.

  After turning around to quickly scan the yard for Giles—unfortunately, there was still no sign of him—she returned to the crowd and watched as two kids, who couldn’t have been much younger than herself, raced each other from one end of the street to the other. That could be me, she thought, and then quickly realized that she had n
ever been in a race before. How is that possible?

  Seeing all this day after day, everything these people had, all they could do and experience, the entire world waiting to be explored, Juniper wondered why they wasted their time hoping for just a brief glimpse of a family doing something so dull and ordinary as advising a gardener on certain shrubbery or walking from the front door to the car. Why were these moments to capture?

  Searching the crowd for an answer, she spotted a woman—she, too, with binoculars. Only, it seemed this person was looking right at Juniper.

  Finally! Contact! Juniper offered a small wave of her hand and a gentle, welcoming smile.

  “On the roof!” the woman screamed. “On the roof! The kid! Their little girl! Juniper!” She let out a searing squeal and soon everyone was pointing and shouting and screaming. Flashes went off, the paparazzi scrambled, the gates shook. People shoved their way to the front.

  Although she was at a safe distance, Juniper’s heart thrashed.

  Suddenly security was at the gates, pushing the crowd back. But it wasn’t for Juniper’s sake. Mr. and Mrs. Berry’s car was coming through.

  As the black Bentley wheeled past the gates, the roar of the crowd grew. Their hands slapped at the tinted windows. “Who’s in there?” they shouted. “Which one is it?” Then, as if in response, Mrs. Berry’s hand emerged from a crack in the rear window and waved. “I love you! I love you!” the crowd shrieked, loud enough for Juniper to hear all the way on the roof. One fan jumped on the hood of the car and had to be forcefully removed. Some were actually crying. “You’re the best!” “Stop, please!” More pounding of palms against the windows and doors. Hands extended markers to sign their pictures and T-shirts, cameras clicked away madly.

  Finally, the car drove off, the gates closing automatically behind the chaos.