Mephisto Waltz

by Bridgett Kay Specht

  Clara swam to the side of the pool and got out, still coughing. I could see, in the ghostly light emanating from the pool, each of her ribs straining at her thin, white skin. She looked as though she had not eaten in days, but I dismissed the thought when I recalled having seen her eat earlier that day, though she'd not eaten very much.

  "I'm sorry I dunked you, Clara, please come back," Summer said, taking in her appearance and looking almost as worried about Clara as I felt.

  "I'm not mad, I just need to go to the restroom," Clara replied, and went back inside. As she opened the door, Chad and Chase both ran past her and jumped into the pool at the same time, causing a huge splash that hit me directly in the face. I coughed and gasped, and by the time I caught my breath, Chad, Summer, Chase, and Holly were busy with another splashing war, and Clara was nowhere to be seen. Jason, however, was outside now, and standing beside the hot tub. He gestured for me to come over with a shy grin. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that the whole reason I was there was for a chance to talk to Jason alone, and swam over to him.

  As I got into the hot tub with him, it occurred to me that he'd meant for this meeting to be romantic. After all, on TV and in movies men and women sitting in hot tubs together was always a setup for a romantic interlude. I noticed, though, that the hot tub, the stars, and the moonlight did little to make me feel either enrapt with romantic feelings, or even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Instead, I felt calm and lucid, and for this I was grateful.

  "I'm glad I'm finally able to be alone with you," Jason said. "I was afraid you would run away again. Summer must be an evil genius, to have gotten you to come over."

  I shook my head. "I'm here of my own free will. I was only running away before because things were happening so fast, and I needed time to collect my thoughts. I'm still not entirely certain how I feel about you, but I do feel comfortable enough to ask what I need to ask, though, so I can make an informed decision."

  "That's very logical of you," Jason replied. His voice was serious, but his eyes were laughing.

  "Why is that funny?" I asked.

  "Well, it's a beautiful night, and you're a beautiful girl. Why would we need to be logical about this?"

  "I just told you; I don't know what 'this' is yet," I said, and sighed. "There is so much I don't know about you. It may not be my business, but Clara’s been so depressed lately, and it seems like you’ve been antagonizing her. Why you and Clara have been fighting."

  Jason regarded me coolly for a moment, then laughed darkly, "You're smart, Miranda. I'm sure you already know what's been going on with Clara."

  I looked down at the churning water, which was filled with iridescent bubbles that danced on the surface, forming and breaking almost as soon as they were formed. I wondered if my courage would prove as fleeting, but I charged ahead. "I have an idea, but I don't want to make assumptions until I've spoken to both of you, and I’ve heard each side of the story."

  "I see," Jason said, still sounding amused which, I noted, was very condescending. "Have you spoken with Clara about this, yet?"

  I shook my head, "I haven't had a chance. Besides, she has so much on her plate right now, I didn't want to make her talk about something that might be stressful."

  I looked up, and Jason's amused expression had been replaced with a more sober, thoughtful one. "I see. I’ll give you my side of the story, then. Clara has a crush on someone right now, who most likely does not return her feelings. I simply reminded her that she has more important things to worry about.

  “What I told Clara was for her own benefit, to keep her from getting hurt. I don't know if she's told you, but she was hurt in the past by someone she cared about. She’s made enemies because she’s too naïve. She needs to fix the messes that she’s already made before she makes new messes, and she needs to be more careful whom she chooses to love.

  “Clara's not like you; she doesn't question people before she trusts them. People are cruel, and to survive this world you need to be tough, bury your feelings, and be able to fight, like Summer does." Jason nodded in Summer's direction. She was sitting on Chad's shoulders, wrestling with Holly, who was perched on Chase's. Within a few seconds, Holly had toppled into the water, laughing.

  "I know why Summer does what she does, and I know that she has the best intentions, but sometimes I don't like her methods. Why can't people be honest, and fight without using underhanded or manipulative tactics?" I wondered aloud.

  "Because most people don't care who they hurt as long as they get their own way. They will take every honest, tender feeling you have and use it against you. Even the people you love the most can use your own feelings against you. People who don't have the ability to fight back, or who don’t have friends who will fight for them, end up like Clara did before Summer was able to step in and make everything all better. Clara was weak."

  "I think that's a little harsh. Clara's a good and honest person. I happen to see that as a virtue, not a weakness."

  "I know that it's harsh, but it's true. People like Clara have the luxury of being good and honest because people like Summer are willing to fight, and fight dirty. But what will happen to someone like you, Miranda, who seems willing to fight, but clings to weak virtues?" Jason said. "Virtue isn't weak," I said. "Virtue is a source of strength."

  "Spoken like a true stoic," Jason replied. "What will happen to calm, stoic Miranda when no one is around to fight for her? Will she walk proudly up to the gallows with her head held high? Deliver a pretty speech before drinking the poison hemlock, as if her virtue alone will save her? Does she really believe that dying with her pride is better than doing what is necessary to survive?"

  "You underestimate virtue too much," I replied. "It doesn't make you impotent; it gives you an arsenal of weapons with which to fight, like the wisdom to know who you can trust, and an indomitable spirit to defend those you love."

  "What if the people you love betray you? Even those who seem the most trustworthy can hurt us."

  I thought of Mark during his mood swings, and remained silent.

  "I like you, Miranda, and I don't want to see you hurt. I can look after you." He shifted closer to me, and reached out to touch my hand. His eyes were smoldering in a way I’d never seen before.

  I shook my head. "I can look after myself."

  Jason sighed, but continued undaunted. "Then how about we start slowly? The fall dance is coming up next week at school. I can't take you, because Candy Mountain is playing, but I'll make sure I slip away to spend some time with you between sets."

  I sighed and agreed reluctantly. "I still haven't made up my mind about you, and I still need to talk to Clara, but I want us to be friends.”

  "I'm not giving up. I'll spend time with you, let you get to know me better, and I hope I’ll eventually earn your respect, which I can see is vital to winning your heart. I'm glad it's vital, though. I wouldn't bother with a girl who felt otherwise."

  "I'm sure you wouldn't. I'm starting to prune, and it's getting late, so I guess I'll see you at school." I got out of the tub, realizing I'd already made my mind up about Jason; his arrogance was very off-putting. The next time I spoke to him, I knew I'd be able to easily turn down his advances.

  Chapter 4

  Truth

  The Star

  That night, as I washed the chlorine out of my hair, I again thought about my feelings for Clara. Even though I had been able to confront Jason, my relationship with Clara seemed just as complicated as before. In fact, I was certain Clara and I had almost kissed on Jason's front porch, and as lighthearted, warm, and pleasant as that realization made me feel, the implications of those feelings were terrifying.

  I took a handful of conditioner and began working it though my hair, gently separating each tangle with my fingers. As I ran my fingers through the slippery strands, I allowed myself to again succumb to the fantasy of taking Clara by the hand and requiting her feelings for me. The flush of happiness I felt at this fantasy confirmed by fears; m
y feelings for Clara were indeed romantic.

  My fingers hit a snag that wouldn't budge.

  I took a little extra conditioner and worried the knot until it relented. Then I rinsed my hair thoroughly and stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my head, and pulled on my thick, terrycloth bathrobe.

  I stepped out of the bathroom and into the chill of the bedroom, a cloud of steam billowing behind me. I sat on my bed awhile and dried my hair with the towel while I thought. I had a real same-sex attraction, and it was not just a passing fancy for someone cute but, rather, it was replete with very strong and meaningful feelings. I couldn't talk to anyone about it. Aunt Elizabeth, who would undoubtedly give very sound and reasonable advice, and would very likely not judge me, would probably inform my parents of anything I said, and I wouldn't blame her. After all, this was a very important and significant occurrence, and my Aunt would feel that my parents should know.

  However, I knew that my parents would not be as slow as Aunt Elizabeth to judge me, and I knew they would counsel me to fight against my feelings, and perhaps pray them away. They would believe that what I felt was harmful and perverse, no matter how natural and pure I knew my feelings to be. I thought back to how I’d felt after I'd returned from Corpus Christi with Clara, and realized how much I treasured my feelings for her. I didn't want to fight my feelings, but at the same time, I was terrified of what would happen if I acted on them. If I was wrong, and my feelings were really harmful, I would not only hurt myself, but I would also hurt Clara. I cared for her too much to potentially hurt her, even if my caring for her was wrong in itself.

  I shook my head, trying to pull my train of logic out of the crazy spiral it was beginning to form. I took the wet towel off my head, folded it, and put it back up in the bathroom.

  "You need more time to think about this," I said firmly to myself. "Go to sleep, and everything will seem simpler in the morning. Besides, you might be wrong about Clara's feelings for you. You need to wait until you hear Clara's side of the story before you make any rash decisions."

  I slipped on my nightgown and got into bed. As I was reaching for my bedside lamp, my phone rang. I picked up.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, Miranda, it's Clara. I hope it's not too late for me to call, but I couldn't sleep. I didn't wake you, did I?" She sounded very agitated.

  "I was still awake. Don't worry; if I was still asleep, I'd just let the call go to voice mail. Are you ok?"

  "I don't know. I wanted to talk to you, but I don't want to talk about any of the things I need to talk about. Maybe I just needed to hear you say that you aren't mad at me, or, at least, that you don't hate me."

  "Of course I'm not mad, and I certainly don't hate you. Have I done something to make you think I was angry?"

  "No, you haven't," she said quickly. "I just thought, after this afternoon..." she trailed off, and then said, "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to make sure you aren't mad."

  "Are you referring to what almost happened on the porch, right before Jason came home?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't worry, I'm not angry. In fact..." I trailed off too, and then laughed nervously. "I guess I don't want to talk about it, either. I just want you know that you don't have to worry. What I told you this afternoon is true. You can trust me. You won't lose me as a friend."

  "Thank you for that," she whispered.

  "Today was such a strange day. I probably won't be able to sleep, either, after everything that has happened. I thought after I talked to Jason, I'd feel better, but I don't." I had meant to comfort Clara, but instead I was pouring out my problems to her.

  "Are you and Jason going out now?" she asked.

  "No. I don’t have any feelings for Jason."

  "Poor Jason, he really likes you a lot."

  "I'm not worried about him. I'm afraid I'm going to have to be very blunt with him, though. He's not going to give up on me easily."

  "No, he won't, but that's Jason. He always thinks he knows what's best for people."

  "I noticed. He's a lot like Summer, in a lot of ways. Maybe they should go out."

  Clara laughed softly. "I think they're too much alike. Besides, Summer always says Jason's not her type."

  "Maybe that's her way of saying that she likes him. Maybe she protests too much."

  "Summer has never had any problem going after guys she liked. Why would she be coy about her feelings for Jason?"

  "I don't know. Sometimes, when someone has really strong feelings for someone, it can be frightening." I realized I was talking about my own feelings for Clara, then, and my face grew hot.

  "Are you speaking from personal experience?" Her voice was light, and she asked the question the same way that Summer would- as a curious but disinterested party. My face grew even hotter, and I thought perhaps I was mistaken about her feelings for me.

  "Are you still there?" she asked when I didn't respond.

  "Yes. I was just thinking. My mother has always called me a late bloomer. Before I came here, I was a nerd without any dating prospects, so I've never had to think about it. School, music, and family were the only things on my mind."

  "That actually sounds nice. Love can be really painful and complicated. Maybe you would be happier if you avoided it."

  "Isn't love, if it's with the right person, supposed to be wonderful, though? Maybe I would be missing out on something if I avoided it."

  "I guess you're right. Just make certain it is the right person, when the time comes. Avoid the likes of Amber. I wish someone had told me that."

  "I don't think you can choose who you end up falling for," I said, feeling a twinge of pain as the truth of those words hit me.

  "Then what can you do, when you fall for the wrong person?" Clara wondered aloud.

  "That's the question, isn't it? Also, how can you be sure whether the person you fell for is the right person, when your reason is so clouded by your feelings?"

  I heard Clara sigh. Then she said, "I'm tired of always feeling guilty when I fall for someone. I always feel like I'm forcing something terrible on them that they don't want."

  "Don't feel that way. You're a wonderful person, and anyone who has earned your affection should feel honored.”

  "You're always so nice, Miranda. I wish..."

  "You wish what?"

  "I wish I could sleep, so I could form a coherent though," she replied.

  "Turn off your lights and lay down," I said, "and I'll just keep talking until you fall asleep."

  "That could take a while. My insomnia has been really bad, lately."

  "I can talk for a long time," I countered. "I can ramble on and on about nothing very skillfully, and put anyone to sleep."

  Clara laughed, and agreed. I turned off my light, lay down, and started to talk. I talked endlessly about my troubles playing Mephisto Waltz, and how I wanted to kill Mr. Boscov for making me play it. I talked about Aunt Elizabeth, and how easy playing piano had been when she was my teacher. I talked about all of the lessons Aunt Elizabeth had taught me outside of piano, about her knowledge of art and philosophy, and how much I missed her, even though we spoke every week on the phone. I talked about how different Aunt Elizabeth was from my mother, and how much I hated when she and my mother fought. I rambled on and on, growing drowsier and drowsier, until I didn't remember what I was talking about anymore. Then I opened my eyes and realized I had fallen asleep.

  "Clara, are you there?" I whispered into the phone, but everything was silent. The silence was palpable, like cotton in my ears. Then, through the silence, there came a whispering.

  "Miranda... Miranda..."

  The phone was still silent. I looked around and saw the thin, white curtains on my canopy rustle, as if moved by the wind. Then, at the foot of my bed, I saw a vague shadow.

  "Miranda...Miranda...Miranda..."

  The whispering grew louder. The shadow at the foot of my bed was more clearly defined, now. It was human shaped. It moved closer to me, rustling the
curtains of the canopy as it came."

  "Miranda..."

  "Mark?" I whispered weakly.

  "Miranda..."

  My heart leapt with fright, and I sat bolt upright in bed. The shadow was gone, and I realized it wasn't silent at all, but there was a strong wind rattling my window, followed by a boom of thunder.

  I had been dreaming.

  The room was hot now, and my face was wet with sweat and tears. I was terrified, trembling, but the heat overcame my fears, and I suddenly had to be rid of my sticky bedclothes. I reached out with a shaking hand and pulled the bed curtains back. On the other side, there was no ghostly apparition or nondescript human figure come to haunt me. There was only a dark and empty room. I got out of bed and went to window and, mindless of the storm, threw it open, letting the mist from the rain cool my hot face. The cold and damp woke me up and brought me back to my senses, and I began to cry in earnest.

  "Why aren't you here? Why won't you come to haunt me, at least?" I cried indignantly out into the storm. "I won't be frightened this time. I promise."

  I let out a sob and doubled over on the window-seat with a sudden spasm of grief, and cried, "why did you leave me at all? You would have been the only person I could talk to about Clara, but now I have no-one. You're the only person who would have understood, but you're gone!"

  I succumbed then to grief, and I couldn't utter another word. My body shook wildly with my sobs, and I was helpless to stop it. After what may have been a century or a minute, the storm began to subside, as did my tears. I sighed deeply, numb to my shame and grief, and shut my eyes.

  #

  The next morning, after I finished my piano lesson, I was in a foul mood. Lack of sleep, combined with my lack of progress during a particularly frustrating piano lesson, had made me very cranky, so I went straight to the kitchen to eat away my mood. When I arrived, I was surprised to find the kitchen occupied by Clara, Summer, and my mother all sitting at the kitchen table together, laughing. My mother looked very much at home, almost like a high-school student herself, and she was smiling as she told a story about some mischief Mark and I had gotten into as children. When I thought of Mark, the previous night's haunting dream played itself in my mind again and I felt suddenly unwell. I stayed back by the door, unnoticed by the others, and clutched the doorway for support.