Mephisto Waltz

by Bridgett Kay Specht

  "He's a part of it all still, isn't he Mother? He's still a part of everything he once loved."

  I turned to look at her. For a moment, she looked astonished, and I feared she may be angry with me, but then she grabbed me and held me and wept all the way back to the house.

  #

  For the next few weeks, the house was like a mausoleum. I drifted about aimlessly, not numb like I had been, but without the will or inclination to do anything. I had never been so long without a companion, and the house was still so full of sadness that I couldn't even attempt to enjoy myself. Sometimes I would drift to the piano and begin to practice, but my heart wasn't in it, and it depressed me to hear the result. I could not open a book without remembering Mark's opinion on it, and he'd always had very strong, sometimes scathing opinions when it came to literature. I hated to sit around and watch television, but I wasn't in the mood for thinking either, so I mostly took long walks and tried to keep my mind occupied by listening to music.

  One afternoon, after several weeks of living in this maddening way, my parents called me into the living room for what was deemed a "family meeting." I sat on the sofa between my parents as the setting sun cast its pale orange glow on the far wall. The russet light gave my parent’s faces a grave look, and I feared that I had done something to make them angry, but Mother smiled wanly and patted my hand.

  "Darling," she said, "Your Father and I have been talking, and we think that it's time for a bit of a change."

  "Are you firing me?" I asked as a weak attempt at lightening the mood.

  "Oh no, you haven't done anything wrong," she said with a fake laugh. "I think you've noticed, just like we have, how empty this house feels now, and how full of sad memories."

  "So, we're moving?" I guessed.

  "I'm taking a job with that firm in Texas," Daddy said. "It's a pretty nice pay raise." he added.

  "And the house is near the gulf. You like the beach, don't you Miranda?"

  I nodded, not really sure what to say.

  "I know you probably don't want to leave all of your friends here-"

  "What friends?" I interrupted.

  "Don't be silly Miranda, you have friends," Mother said dismissingly.

  "I really don't," I insisted, "but I don't want to leave Aunt Elizabeth."

  "You can call her any time you want when you have your new cell-phone," Daddy said.

  "We weren't going to tell her until later!" My mother cried.

  "I thought you said a cell phone would cause me to be careless in my schoolwork and rude in public. Is this a bribe to get me to go?" I asked unabashedly.

  My Mother looked sheepish. "We thought it might soften the blow a little." She admitted.

  I shrugged. "I don't know how to feel about it, to be honest. On the one hand, I don't want to leave everything that Mark loved, or to abandon his memory. But I have to admit that it gets harder to stay here every day. I think I'd rather go."

  #

  So, after the long and tearful goodbyes with Aunt Elizabeth, and a last look at all of the places Mark and I used to hold dear, we packed our belongings and drove south to the peaceful town of San Avila. We moved into a spacious Victorian home with large bay windows which opened towards a view of the peaceful little avenue.

  The beauty peace of San Avila seemed almost unreal to me after the ugliness of my loss, but something about walking along the boundless gulf, listening to the music of the gulls, and tasting the salt air, acted as salve on my wounded heart. I spent all of my time at the beach for the rest of the summer. I was, unknowingly, strengthening myself for what lay ahead.

  Chapter 1

  Clara

  The High Priestess

  When I stepped out of my mother’s car into the cool morning air, the circle drive, provided to parents dropping off their kids, was almost empty. The sidewalk in front of the school’s entrance was filled with teens filing in from the student parking lots. I almost regretted leaving my convertible at home. The car had been a gift for Mark and me on our birthday, and I hadn’t touched it since Mark died.

  I said goodbye to mother and approached the entrance, keeping my eyes on the sign that read St. Avila Preparatory Academy, and away from the curious stares of my new classmates. I tugged at my skirt compulsively as I walked. My new uniform was prettier than my old school uniform, light gray with white trim, with the school crest embroidered in silver and black on the blazer, but the skirt was much shorter than I was used to, and I was very conscious of any wind that happened along.

  The campus at St. Avila Prep was smaller than the one at my old school, but the architecture was much more elegant. It had a large main building which resembled a cathedral, and several smaller buildings built in a Spanish mission style surrounding a well-kept courtyard. Already, I could see small groups of students sitting together under palm and oak trees, and a group of boys stood in a circle in the middle of the courtyard, kicking a hacky-sack back and forth. I sat on a bench and opened a book- a rather nice collection of Lord Byron's poems Mark had given me for Christmas- and waited for the first bell.

  Very soon, I became immersed in the verses, and was startled when the bell rang. I reluctantly put my book away, and made my way to my first class, which was English. The other students around me were noisily shuffling into their seats, talking and laughing, but I opened my book again and continued reading. I was just slipping back under the poetry’s spell, when I felt a tug on my hair.

  "Hey, Blondie, are you awake?"

  I looked up to see a smiling, good-natured face with two bright blue eyes framed with bright red hair. I smiled back sheepishly and closed my book.

  "I'm sorry, I tend to tune everything out when I read."

  "No problem. What are you reading, anyway?" Without asking, the girl took the book from me and looked at the cover.

  "Lord Byron? I think I've heard of him. Wasn't he that Nazi guy during WWII?" She asked.

  I suppressed a laugh. "He was actually a poet- a gothic writer."

  She handed the book back to me. "Funny, you don't look like a goth. I'll bet you're smart, and that's why you're reading it. What's your name, anyway?"

  "I'm Miranda, Miranda Rothschild. What's your name?"

  "I'm Summer Wilde. I'm glad we’re friends, now. I need someone smart to help me with English." I was a bit surprised at the rapidity with which she declared her friendship, but she was a fun and engaging girl, and I enjoyed her company, so I kept talking with her until our teacher arrived and called the class to order.

  #

  At lunch, I decided to take advantage of the warm weather and sit on one of the benches outside, but every bench I saw was full. I was about to go back inside the cafeteria when I heard, "hey, new girl, over here!"

  I turned and saw Summer sitting under a tree and waving wildly at me to join her. As I approached I saw another girl lounging with her back against the tree and her long, skinny legs sprawled casually out in front of her. The girl had messy, black hair with bangs that hung carelessly in her wide, brown eyes. Her face was uncommonly pretty, with its pale, pink rosebud mouth and porcelain complexion. She smiled timidly as I approached.

  "Hi Miranda. It is Miranda, isn't it?" Summer asked brightly. "I remember, because it's the name of the girl from that play we had to read last year. Miranda, this is Clara. Clara, this is the new girl I was telling you about."

  Clara smiled and murmured a hello. I said a shy hello in return and sat down on the grass, opening my lunch. I noticed that Clara was absent- mindedly picking at a slice of pizza in front of her.

  "I want you to eat all of that," Summer said in a motherly tone.

  "Yes Ma'am," Clara replied bemusedly. She picked up the pizza and took a bite.

  "So, Miranda, when did you move here?" Summer asked.

  "This summer," I replied. "We moved here after- “ I stopped myself, deciding that Mark’s death was too personal a topic for a first meeting, “when my dad got a new job."

  "Do you like it her
e?" Clara asked.

  "I love it." I replied. "I love living near the ocean, and I love all of the quaint little shops downtown."

  "The tourist traps," Summer said, rolling her eyes. "Their charms wear off very fast."

  "I like some of the shops in the winter, when the tourists are gone," Clara said. "Everything is more peaceful here in the winter."

  "I've always been fond of the springtime, myself. I love the rain," I replied.

  "But nothing compares to a quiet winter's day, when everything is covered in a grey mist.” Clara responded, leaning against the tree and closing her eyes as if she were seeing the image in her mind.

  "Doesn't anyone like summer best?" Summer asked with a pout. "Oh look, here come the guys," she said, suddenly distracted, and pointed to two boys who were approaching.

  One of the boys was tall, with dark hair and coal black eyes. The other was shorter and somewhat pudgier, with sandy hair and a round face.

  The shorter boy plopped down on the ground grinned at Clara. "The beach house is officially available Friday night. Will you come?"

  I was appalled at the thought that Clara and this boy might be dating. She seemed to be completely out of his league.

  "I don't know if I can go," she replied, looking down at the ground.

  "You have to go, Clara. Everyone important will be at the party. I'm going," Summer responded. I felt relieved that the boy was talking about a party, instead of a tryst like I'd originally assumed. I must have sighed at the thought, because the taller boy turned his attention to me.

  "I'm sorry, my friend is really rude for ignoring you like that,” he said. "I'm Jason, and this is Chad. What's your name?"

  "I'm not rude." Chad interrupted. "She's invited to the party, too. The more cute girls who show up, the better!"

  I blushed a little at this. I'd never been called cute by anyone but my mother, before.

  "You're inviting her to a party, and you don't even know her name," Jason scolded, hitting Chad on the back of the head. "I'm sorry," he said, turning back to me. "Please continue."

  "I'm Miranda." I said. "I moved here this summer."

  "I'm very pleased to meet you, Miranda." Chad said in an exaggeratedly polite manner, bowing to me. I laughed, and he seemed heartened by my response. "Are you coming, though? Jason and I are in a band called Candy Mountain, and we'll be playing. We rock. "

  "With a name like 'Candy Mountain' you'd pretty much have to." I quipped.

  "Miranda and Clara are both coming." Summer answered for me. "Give me your phone number, Miranda, so I can call you later and tell you how to get to the beach house."

  I didn't have my number memorized yet, so I took out my phone to look up the number. When I had given her my number, Summer took my phone from me and began to program her number into it.

  "You don't have a lot of numbers in here." she said. "Here, Clara, put yours in, too."

  As Clara fiddled with the phone, Summer stood up and started brushing Clara's hair. Clara didn't seem to mind her forwardness. In fact, she said, "Can you braid it for me?"

  Summer played around with her hair a bit, and then sighed. "I can't do anything with all of these layers."

  "I can braid pretty well." I offered.

  "Go ahead; I give up,” Summer said, standing and allowing me to take her place.

  Clara’s hair, as carelessly tangled as it was, was soft and healthy, and as I brushed it, It shone in the sunlight with an almost blue sheen. I brushed her hair slowly, and tried my best not to pull. Clara sat very still, and even when I did pull, she did not complain.

  "Why do girls always groom each other?" Jason wondered out loud.

  "It almost makes me want to be a girl, if that meant I could brush Clara's hair," Chad sighed.

  "Or stand a chance with her at all, for that matter," Jason said.

  Summer caught the puzzled look on my face, and sighed. "I guess you might as well tell her, Clara. She'll find out soon anyway, especially with loudmouth Jason around."

  "I don't mind. It isn’t a secret," Clara said, even though she looked a bit like she did mind. She tilted her head back slightly to look at me. "I'm gay."

  "Oh," I replied, not really knowing what else to say to such a revelation. I bent over to look for a rubber band in my purse.

  "Is that a problem?" Chad asked in a defensive tone.

  "No, it's isn't." I said decidedly, and wrapped the rubber band around the end of Clara's braid.

  Clara turned around and smiled at me. "Thanks- for braiding my hair, I mean."

  "No problem." I replied, smiling back. Clara seemed like a very sweet girl, and I resolved to judge her based on that fact, and nothing more.

  #

  It wasn't an extremely long walk, and the weather was mild, so I decided to walk home that afternoon. When I got home and opened the kitchen door, I was greeted by the scent of freshly baked cookies. I found my mother at the kitchen counter, carefully cutting out stars from cookie dough as the first batches cooled on the cooling racks. She looked up and smiled.

  "Hello, Miranda. You may have two cookies. The rest are for the church choir fundraiser." Mother said, gesturing toward the cooling rack.

  "How was your first day at school?" she asked.

  "It was fun." I replied. "I met some nice people. A rather insane girl named Summer adopted me into her clique."

  "Insane?" my mother asked, laughing.

  "Well, she's a very nice girl, just very high energy. She's insane in a good way. She's supposed to call me later about a party on Friday."

  "I'm glad you've hit it off so well." My mother said, looking relieved, which belied her conviction that I’d had friends at my old school.

  "I'm glad, too. I was afraid I would be the school nerd again."

  "You aren't a nerd." Mother retorted. "You and Mark always did things your own way. The kids at your old school just weren't very accepting."

  "This school definitely seems more accepting. I even met one girl who is gay." I blurted out.

  Mother looked up from the cookies, gaping. "Is she one of the seniors?"

  "No, she's a junior, like me."

  Mother narrowed her eyes and she shook her head in disapproval. "She's probably just experimenting while she's in High School. She's too young to make decisions like that about her sexuality."

  "Is 16 really too young to know?" I wondered aloud.

  "You're 16, Miranda, and you've never even had a boyfriend," Mother answered.

  "You always say I’m a late bloomer," I said. "Most kids my age have dated."

  "Even so," Mother said, "16 is too young to throw your life away on a destructive lifestyle like that. This girl, if she continues down this path, will never be able to have children, or even get married. The important thing when you're young is to learn to master your impulses and do what's right."

  "I thought you might say something like that." I said, upset by her strong reaction. "Well, in any case, my only point was that she seemed to have plenty of friends."

  "I just hope her friends care enough about her to encourage her to get out of that lifestyle," Mother said.

  #

  That night, after I finished my homework, I went online and did some research about homosexuality, trying to determine whether Mother’s fears were justified. I tried to remain detached and intellectual with my research, but this was not an easy task. I went to sleep early that night, but it was a fitful sleep. My mind was whirling with all of the conflicting views I had studied that evening, and I felt as though I was lost in a fog. At least, I must have been in a fog, since everywhere I looked was covered in a white, swirling mist. I groped around myself, in all directions, but my hands were grasping at empty air. I walked forward, afraid of what I might find, yet compelled to find something more substantial than mist. After a time, I became aware that Clara was walking beside me, also lost in the mist. She soon stopped and pointed. "There's a light up ahead."

  We walked together toward the brightness, but th
e closer we got, the hotter the brightness became. Suddenly I could see that Clara was not walking forward, but being dragged by a cord I could see wrapped around her neck. I tried to grab the cord to untie it, but it burned as hot as the flames she was being dragged toward.

  Mark came out of the mist and grabbed my hand, "Save her, Miranda. I'm begging you."

  I reached out to touch Mark, but he burned too, and suddenly all I could see surrounding me was not mist, but fire.

  I woke in the cool air of my bedroom, covered in sweat.

  #

  On Friday afternoon I was sitting at the kitchen table, starting on my weekend homework and waiting for Summer to call, when Daddy stuck his head from behind the door. "A couple of supermodels are here to see you."

  "Supermodels?" I asked, puzzled.

  "Yeah, a redhead and a tall, skinny brunette," he said, shrugging.

  "Oh, you must mean Summer and Clara."

  "They're in high school?" he said incredulously.

  "Of course they are." I said, and sighed. "Not everyone is a munchkin like me."

  I had always been small for my age, and my face was round, freckled, and childish as well, but I’d never really grasped how much older the other girls at school looked. I tried to push that thought from my head as I followed Daddy into the living room.

  Summer and Clara were both there, examining some of the family portraits on the wall. My self-consciousness returned when I saw they had both already changed out of their school uniforms and were dressed for the party. Summer was wearing a yellow gingham-print sundress, and Clara looked especially pretty in a white lace baby-doll top and jeans. I was already beginning to feel unworthy to be in their presence when Summer turned around and said, "You aren't going to wear your uniform to the beach-house, are you?"