The End of the Rainbow

by V. C. Andrews

  "Is she here?" I asked looking past her into the hallway and wondering why no one had helped Sarah with her things.

  "No. She had to start for the airport because she's almost late for her flight home as it is."

  Sarah lifted her suitcase with two hands. It was almost as big as she was. I jumped to help her and we put it on her bed. Then she brought in her trombone and closed the door.

  "What's yours?" she asked.

  "Mine?"

  "Instrument?"

  "Oh. I play the clarinet and the piano."

  "I have enough trouble with one. This is my first time here," she added.

  "I know. I've been coming here for four years and I've never seen you."

  "Four years! You must be like Kenny G by now."

  "No," I said laughing. "Hardly."

  She shrugged.

  "My coming here was my mother's idea. She wants me to absorb more culture,'" she declared with the back of her hand over her forehead and speaking in an exaggeratedly proper tone of voice. "Since her divorce, she's very concerned that no one gets the opportunity to say she's not doing a good job bringing me up."

  "Oh," I said, just learning her parents were divorced. "I'm Sorry."

  "It's all right. It's one of those civilized divorces. My father comes around and gives her advice on the cafe from time to time. He works for a food distributor and my mother's cafe is actually one of his biggest accounts."

  "Why did they divorce?"

  "No one reason in particular," she replied with a shrug. "One day, they decided they had made a big mistake when they had said. 'til death do us part.' We all sat in the living room and had a sensible conversation and concluded that leaving it up to death was losing control of your life."

  "My parents have always included me in their decisions. They believe that a family should be the best example of a democracy, especially since every decision affects me as well as it does them. That's been going on since I was about three."

  "Three? How could you help them decide anything at three?"

  She shrugged.

  "They believe in instinct. I guess, and paid attention to my moans, groans and smiles."

  She unlocked her suitcase. Everything in it had simply been thrown in with very little organization: her toiletries were packed right alongside her undergarments, her blouses, skirts and socks, shoes and sneakers. None of those clothes were folded, but she had carefully packed her jeans.

  "Do you realize you're wearing only one earring?" I asked. She slapped her hand over her ears and grimaced in pain.

  "Oh no. It must have fallen off when I went down to baggage. I'm sure I had it on the plane. Oh well, as my mother says whenever she makes a mistake. maybe I'll start a new fad: one earring only." To illustrate she meant it, she didn't take the remaining earring off.

  I watched her unpack and put her things in the drawers just as sloppily as she had put them in the suitcase.

  "How old are you?" I asked.

  "Fifteen. What about you?"

  "I'm just sixteen."

  "What are the boys like here?" she followed without looking at me.

  "Most of them are very nice." I said.

  "How nice?" She turned and looked at me. I wasn't sure what that meant. "Are they too nice? I hate boys who are too nice; they make you work harder at getting something going."

  "Something going?"

  "A romance or something very hot. Didn't you ever go with anyone here?"

  "No," I said. "To dances, but nothing very serious developed."

  "Oh boy," she said shaking her head and finishing her unpacking. "Just as I feared."

  "What?" I asked.

  She turned and lifted her arms. "Culture is no fun."

  There was nothing shy about Sarah Burnside, I quickly decided. When I introduced her to people, she began to talk to them as if she had known them for years and years, and she didn't have the slightest inhibition about sharing her opinions about things Or offering her opinions about what they were wearing. She had her own words for some things, too, especially things that displeased or annoyed her. If it was a minor annoyance, she called it Spewch; if it was something absolutely horrible to her, she labeled it Pewch. Our food was merely spewch, but many of Our rules fell into the category of pewch.

  "We should organize a protest committee and demand a meeting with Herr Director, Professor Greenleaf," she declared.

  When Courtney Bryer told her we weren't here long enough for any of it to matter, Sarah responded with a vehement declaration that "Even an hour in a totalitarian state is too long! Just because we're studying music, it doesn't mean we have to give up basic human rights."

  Most everyone simply stared at her; then when she wasn't looking, wagged their heads at me in sympathy. After all, she was my roommate,

  As it turned out. Sarah talked about rebellion, but did nothing to foster it. She was going in four different directions at the same time most of the time, but when she finally sat and began to take her lessons and play, she turned out to be very talented and bright. Our teachers actually enjoyed her. She was capable of saying outrageous things, raising eyebrows and cracking serious faces into soft smiles, but as soon as the mouthpiece reached her lips, it all went away and beautiful music flowed.

  She was immediately put into the senior orchestra and was gobbled up by the jazz ensemble. Although she was truly a character, she became popular and loved to move about the cafeteria bursting in on one clique or another to offer her flagrant opinions about anything and everything. Sometimes. I had the feeling she liked to shock or enrage other students just for the fun of it.

  Our room quickly began to resemble a splitscreen television picture. My side was neat, clean, organized. Hers had drawers half open with clothes spilling over the edges, clothes on chairs or even the floor: her bed was usually unmade and something was always hanging on her closet door, usually a slip or a blouse. Mrs. Bernard, our dorm headmistress, came by often and expressed her displeasure. Sarah would nod her head as if she was really paying attention and concerned, criticizing herself even more harshly, but the moment Mrs. Bernard stepped out, she exclaimed a loud "Pewch" and returned to her sloppy ways.

  Her mother had provided her with some acceptable skirts and blouses: however she only had large-heeled and large-soled shoes that made her look comical walking from the dorm to classes or the auditorium. She looked like she was on stilts. I suppose everyone accepted it because it gave her another few inches of height.

  She liked to talk herself to sleep every night, so I learned a great deal about her family whether I wanted to or not. I learned that her mother had given birth to her and that her parents had lived together with her for nearly three years before they actually married.

  "If they hadn't, they wouldn't have had any significant legal expenses when they divorced," she told me. I'm never going to get married. I'm going to live with four or five different men, in succession of course, and then live alone in Paris or London."

  "You don't want to have a family?" I asked her.

  "I might have a family or I might not, but if I do. I won't give up my independence. It's very important to have your independence." she lectured. "Don't become a Mrs. Somebody and lose yourself in your husband. We've been liberated from all that. Men have to accept us as equals or not at all."

  "I think you can be equals and still have a family," I told her. "And I don't think you have to give up your identity to be a mother and a wife."

  She was silent. I had the feeling that she would rather not speak than say anything that might offend ine. I also felt that she often sounded like someone who didn't really and truly believe in what she was saying. In fact, I thought that sometimes she wanted to believe the exact opposite.

  "Are you still a virgin?" she followed that night,

  "What? Yes," I said quickly.

  "A lot of girls these days want to be virgins until they actually marry." she said sounding like it was a wild, new idea. "And not just because of al
l the sexually transmitted diseases. They just think it's important. Is that why you're a virgin?"

  "I suppose it is," I said. "I think there are some things that should be kept sacred or special."

  She was silent again. I was afraid to ask her if she was a virgin, but she offered the answer.

  "My mother keeps telling me to be sure, Im careful, to be sure, I'm careful about not getting pregnant or sick, as if that's the only thing that matters,"

  "It is important," I said.

  "Pewtch," she said and surprised me by adding, "The only thing that matters is that you really care for the person you're with, that you want to do it with him more than anyone else, ever. That's all that's mattered to me whenever I've done it."

  "But you said you're going to have five love affairs."

  "So? You can love more than one person like that, can't you?"

  "I don't know," I said, "No," I concluded after another moment.

  "I don't think so. My parents were meant for each other and no one else. I believe in soul mates."

  She was silent for a long moment again. Then she turned to me and stared so long and hard. I had to ask. "What?"

  "You have to be especially lucky to have only one love forever and ever," she declared. "I don't feel I am or will be. I guess I'm more like my mother than I care to admit."

  It was the saddest moment we had together. I thought she was going to cry, but she turned over in bed m' stead and stopped talking.

  After nearly a week had passed. Harley called me. We had phones in our rooms, but at exactly ten p.m., they were shut down. Anyone who needed us for an emergency or something after that would have to call Mrs. Bernard directly.

  "How's it going, Mrs. Oak Tree?" I heard.

  "Harley!"

  "I thought I'd surprise you and call."

  "I'm glad you did. I could die waiting for you to write a letter. How's everyone?'

  "The same." he said. "Roy's terrorizing his construction crew. My mother is humming hymns in her sleep. I saw your mother yesterday after I came home from work. She was down at the lake. We had a nice talk," he said. "She told me things about her youth I never knew,"

  "I miss everyone already."

  "Everyone?"

  "Especially you, Harley. When can you visit? I have to get special permission to go off campus. and I don't expect Mommy and Daddy would want me to ride off on your motorcycle here if I can't there," I added quickly. I didn't want him to be disappointed.

  "That's all right. I wouldn't want to do anything but see you anyway. How's the weekend after next sound?" he offered. "I won't have to work that weekend."

  "It sounds wonderful."

  "I'll be there by noon Saturday."

  "Good. You can have lunch at the cafeteria with me. The food isn't anything special, but you'll enjoy meeting everyone and..."

  "Isn't there an oak tree we can sit under? I'll stop and buy us some sandwiches and cans of soda."

  "Yes, there is."

  "All I want to do is spend some time with you. Summer," he said.

  "Okay."

  "How's your new roommate?"

  "Interesting," I said. "You will at least have to meet her." He was silent a moment.

  "This place isn't the same without you," he finally said. "Even the birds are complaining."

  I laughed.

  "I sent out all my applications." he continued. "Lot of good it will do."

  "Don't you be pessimistic." I warned him.

  "Okay," he said. "I'll be a dreamer as long as I can include you. Can I?"

  "Of course you can." I said. It sounded too formal, too much like giving him permission to include me on some paperwork. I regretted my tone immediately.

  "What about if I just dream about you?" he pursued.

  "We might meet then," I said. "I'll have the same dream, only about you.'"

  I could almost hear him smile,

  "I'll call you again before I come up," he promised.

  Sarah came in from a late jam session just as I cradled the phone and sat on my bed.

  "Why so wan and pale, fair lover?" she asked. "What?"

  "It's from a famous poem. You look like you just lost your best friend."

  "No, I just heard from Harley, and it's made me a little homesick."

  "Oh, your noncousin cousin," she said. I had told her some of my family history.

  I looked up at her.

  "That's not the look of homesick. That's the look of love," she declared. "And you know what that means?"

  "What?"

  "You'll have to decide if he's the one and only. When is he coming here?"

  "The weekend after next." I said.

  "Fine. Leave it up to me. I'll tell you after only ten minutes with him. I have a built-in soul mate detector," she quipped.

  "Pewch," I cried at her and she laughed.

  As crazy as it seemed and even though we were so different that we could be extraterrestrials to each other. I was growing to like her a lot.

  The weekend before Harley was coming happened to be the weekend of our first school dance. Sarah was in the band playing for it. The preparations for the dance were simple. The school cafeteria personnel provided a selection of food and desserts, and there were some decorations: signs welcoming us all to our summer session, some large musical notes and bars that were cut out of big pieces of

  construction paper and hung from the ceiling along with some streams of crepe paper. The ballroom always had large portraits of great composers on the walls as well.

  I knew most of the boys at the school from previous years. There was no one who had drawn any particular interest from me, but still, going to a dance was something to look forward to, especially after so many days of concentrated work. Sarah had been telling me about a boy she thought was very handsome. His name was Duncan Fields and he played the trumpet in their jazz ensemble. I had noticed him in the cafeteria and on the campus. He was a new student and apparently already very popular from the way some of the girls were fawning over him.

  No one could deny he was good looking. He had rich, dark brown wavy hair with strikingly blue eyes and a firm, strong mouth. Even from across the cafeteria. I could see how confidently he smiled and spoke. There was something regal about his posture. although I didn't think he was arrogant.

  He had glanced at me a few times in the hallways and while crossing the campus, always flashing that movie star smile with teeth that glittered like tiny mirrors catching the sunlight. However. I didn't think anything special of it because he seemed to look at almost every girl in the school the same way. In my heart of hearts. I thought he was a dream, but not especially for me. It was almost as if he was already reserved for some glamorous destiny to live among the gods and goddesses of film and television and was just passing through the lower world of us mere mortals.

  The night of the dance was particularly warm. It began somewhat overcast and the clouds seemed to put a lid on the day's heat, preventing it from escaping and keeping us in an oven, The dorms had air conditioners and so did the ballroom, but the humidity made everything sticky. I chose to wear a camisole peasant dress in a cool Hawaiian print. Mommy had told me it was perfect for casual events. Sarah wanted to look bohemian and did look cute in her black beret, gypsy skirt and off-shoulder blouse with some long silver earrings depicting astrological signs. This time she wore two earrings.

  We entered the ballroom earlier than most of the other students because Sarah had to set up with the band. Duncan was already setting up and had started playing his trumpet. He glanced at me over his instrument and wiggling fingers, and I saw his eyes warm and smile. Then, he turned and blew a little of Carnival of Venice, which I knew to be a fairly difficult piece. Everyone stopped what he or she was doing to listen. After a few moments, he paused and shrugged as if that was nothing. Why make a big deal of it? He looked embarrassed by the attention he had drawn to himself.

  "You're Burnsy's roommate, right?" he asked me, stepping down from the
small stage that had been set up for the musicians.

  "Burnsy?"

  "That's what we call her.'

  "Oh. Sarah. Yes, we room together," I said.

  "Clarinet?" he continued, pointing at me. I nodded. "You're pretty good. I heard you one afternoon."

  "I'm adequate," I replied.

  "Adequate?' He laughed, "Hardly that. You're a lot more than adequate," he said, his eves drinking me in from foot to head and then back down quickly as he widened his smile. "The only disadvantage to my playing tonight is I won't have all that much time to get to meet people and dance. When I step off for a break. I'd like to dance with you." he said. "Would you save me a spot on your dance card?"

  "I don't have a dance card," I said.

  "You will," he predicted.

  "I see you've introduced yourself to my roommate already," Sarah said finally noticing. She stepped up beside him. He wasn't much more than six feet tall, but when Sarah stood next to him, he looked like an NBA basketball player.

  "Not really." Duncan said. "I don't know her name. Why don't you be nice and introduce us formally."

  "Who wants to be nice?" Sarah quipped. Duncan raised his eyebrows and smiled. "All right, all right," Sarah said. "I'll introduce you formally. This is Summer Clarke and Summer, this is Duncan Fields."

  "Hi," Duncan said. "I like your dress."

  "Thank you."

  Sarah jabbed him in the side with her elbow, "Hey!" he protested, grimacing with pain.

  You didn't say anything about my dress. I thought you said I was the love of your life."

  "You are," he declared. laughing.

  "Yeah, right." She shook her head at me and returned to her place in the band.

  "She's a barrel of laughs," he said. "Actually, she's one of the most talented trombone players for her age that I've played with, and I've been at a few of these music camps."

  "I know she is."

  "She likes you. She's always talking about you."

  "Really? I was afraid we were too different to become friends," I said.

  "You could probably become friends with anyone," he declared.

  "How do you know that?" I challenged. I hated artificial compliments.

  He laughed.