Mephisto Waltz

by Bridgett Kay Specht

  "It is beautiful," I said, though I was looking at her.

  "We aren't supposed to come here, because the gravel path is dangerous, and several students have been hurt," she admitted. "Sometimes, though, I need the quiet so much that I have to come."

  "I won't tell," I promised. "I used to have a place like this at my old home. Not even Mark knew about it. Sometimes, secrets are necessary to maintain sanity."

  The light grew dimmer, then, and I looked up to see that the moon's face was hidden behind a thin veil of clouds, casting a foreboding shadow over the pond. I felt Clara shudder, and I turned to see her gazing intently at the moon, the shadow reflected in her eyes.

  "Don't give in to the melancholy," I said. I pointed upward. "Look, there, and there, between the clouds, the stars are still shining. See how quickly the clouds are moving away?"

  "There's Mars, I think," she said, pointing to the brightest. "The steadiest lights are always the planets.”

  "But the planets do wander. Heavenly bodies are like people," I said. "The ones who shine the brightest wander in and out of our lives," I sighed. "But listen to me; I'm the one who said we shouldn't give in to melancholy. I have something else I want to say- that I need to say. I'm not sure how to begin, though."

  I looked back to Clara, and she was looking at me intently with those eyes that always saw so much. I felt vulnerable under her gaze, so I turned back to the veiled moon.

  "I'm ready to give you my answer."

  "You don't need to decide so quickly," Clara said, "I don't mind waiting."

  "I told you that I would give you my answer soon, and I've thought this over very thoroughly. There's no reason for me to wait. I've had to be very honest with myself, more honest than I've ever been, about who I am and what I want."

  "I'm sorry," she interrupted. "I'm sorry for putting that on you. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or push you."

  "I'd rather be uncomfortable in the light than comfortable in the dark," I said. "I've learned about myself. I've grown. I thank you for that. Thank you for pushing me, for challenging me, for inspiring me. You are good for me- better than I've ever hoped for. I very much want to be with you, to be in a relationship with you, and be more than friends; that is, if you still want me."

  I forced myself to look at her again, and saw that Clara's eyes were no longer shadowed, but alight with happiness. "Of course I do! As much as you say I inspire you, you inspire me- a hundred times more. I'm sure I don't deserve you."

  I took Clara's hands in mine, all fear and shyness gone, and said, "of course you do. Besides, this isn't about deserving. It's about needing, and belonging, and-"

  Clara leaned closer to me, cutting of my speech, "I'm sorry, but I still need to be careful. May I- may I kiss you?"

  I became breathless in the same way I had on Jason's porch, but I managed to say, "Yes," and leaned in, closing the rest of the gap between us.

  As our lips touched, so softly and gently, the moon broke through the clouds and bathed us in its light. We touched carefully, but soon the sensation and the sweet taste of her overcame my fears altogether, and I deepened the kiss. Clara, responded in kind. We were synchronized. I felt whole. I felt connected to her.

  Then the sound of footsteps on the gravel path shattered the moment, and a voice called from behind, "Girls!"

  I broke away from Clara and turned to see Mrs. Lewis, who'd been chaperoning the dance, standing behind us. I will never forget the look on her face, because it's a look I've seen many times since. Her eyes were filled with both shock and disgust, and she seemed to be struggling for words as she gaped at us. Clara withdrew her hands from mine, and this act seemed to snap Mrs. Lewis from her state of shock. She straightened her skirt, patted her hair down, and cleared her throat, as though trying to regain her dignity.

  "You aren't supposed to be down here, girls. It's especially dangerous to be here at night. I'm calling your parents to come take you home, and I'm afraid I'll have to assign a week’s worth of detention for both of you." She turned and gestured for us to follow her.

  Walking up the gravel slope was much more difficult than walking down had been. Halfway up, my heel caught on a stone and I slipped. I put my hands out to catch myself, but they scraped against the rocks, and my left wrist twisted painfully.

  "Are you okay?" Clara asked as she helped me up.

  "I think I hurt my wrist," I said, wincing as I stood.

  After we'd cleared the steepest part of the path, Mrs. Lewis came over and looked at my wrist.

  "It's beginning to swell," she said, clucking her tongue. "You see, this is why that place is off-limits. Come with me to the office, and we'll see if there's anything to wrap it with."

  We walked behind Mrs. Lewis on the way back, and when she wasn't looking, Clara took my good hand. When we neared the gym, however, David stepped into view, and she squeezed my hand briefly before dropping it.

  "Thank you, David, for telling me," Mrs. Lewis said. "They were at the pond, just as you said. Miranda fell and hurt her wrist."

  "That's too bad," David said. "I've had some first-aid training. Maybe I should take a look at it."

  "That would be very helpful, David, thank you again. The nurse isn't here, and I'm afraid I'm not very good with this sort of thing."

  David smiled smugly and walked with us to the office. He tried to take Clara's hand, but she stopped abruptly and jerked her arm away from him. I stepped protectively in between them, no longer mindful of the fact I was over a foot shorter than David, and injured as well.

  David game me a withering glance, then looked at Mrs. Davis and put on a sheepish grin.

  "I'm sorry if I got you in trouble, but please don't be mad," he said to Clara. "I was only worried for your safety. It's dangerous for two girls to be out alone at night."

  "No need to apologize, you did the right thing," Mrs. Lewis answered for Clara, and turned to unlock the office door. She turned on the light, which seemed garishly bright after being outside in the dark for so long, and pointed to a narrow door in the back of the office.

  "That's the nurse's office. I'm sure you'll find whatever you need in there. I'll be in here, calling your parents."

  "Calling your parents?" David asked when we'd gone into the nurse's office. "What were you both doing down there, anyway?"

  I ignored David and went to the sink to wash the scrapes on my hands. Clara, too, was silent, and stayed by my side. David shrugged and went to the door to listen to Mrs. Lewis's calls.

  I dried my hands, and then sat on the table while Clara rummaged through drawers and shelves, eventually finding some bandages to wrap around my wrist and an ice pack. David chuckled.

  "Kissing, huh? Well, I hope you girls have had your fun, because it's about to end," he said significantly. He strode over to the table and said, "Give me your arm."

  I searched his face for any sign of malice, but his eyes were calm and neutral. In fact, he looked very satisfied, as though he'd already won. My wrist was still throbbing with pain, so I held it out to him. Clara stepped close to my side, clutching the bandages and eyeing David warily.

  I tried not to wince as David examined my wrist, but there was no need, because his hands were surprisingly gentle.

  "I can't believe you're my rival," he said condescendingly. "I suppose Clara likes blondes. Do you think I should bleach my hair? No, it doesn't matter; you won't be a threat for long. Amber's told me all about your parents. I hear they're very strict and very religious."

  "They aren't so bad," I said, though rather hopefully.

  "I don't think it's broken," he continued. "It's just a sprain." He turned to Clara and held out his hand. "Hand me the bandages, like a good little nurse."

  Clara rolled her eyes, but complied, and David began to wrap my wrist, firmly and securely. He had evidently not been lying about his first-aid training.

  Mrs. Lewis came back into the room, then. "Your parents are on their way to pick you up, girls. I'd like both of
you to stay put until they arrive."

  "Could you bring my sister here, too? She's not supposed to be at the dance," Clara said.

  Mrs. Lewis hesitated, then nodded and left. David finished wrapping my wrist, and then watched with a sour expression as Clara lay the ice pack tenderly on top of the bandage. I drew in a sharp breath at the cool sensation against my hot wrist.

  "I'm sorry, does that hurt?" Clara asked, pulling the ice away quickly.

  "No, it feels good," I said. I put my hand over hers, and drew the ice pack back into place.

  "This is all my fault," Clara said. "You got hurt, and I'm sure that means you won't be able to play piano for a while. Plus, now your parents know everything. I don't want to cause any problems between you."

  "Don't worry about it, Clara. It's not your fault. Besides, you know how frustrated I've been with piano, lately, so I welcome the break. As for my parents- well, I was going to speak with them about this soon, anyway. All that's happened is my schedule's been moved up a bit." I looked into Clara's eyes, and she seemed reassured.

  "Ugh, I can't believe how shameless you both are. Stop being mushy with each other in public."

  Giselle had come in while I was wrapped up in my conversation with Clara. She was standing next to David, pouting.

  "You're a hypocrite," Clara said to her sister. "You've been hanging all over David at every opportunity."

  "But this is how things are supposed to be; a boy and a girl," David said, wrapping his arm around Giselle. "People don't care if we show affection in public."

  "Then perhaps you should follow their example, and mind your own business," Clara said.

  The sight of Clara standing up to David made me want to stand up and cheer, but before I could, my parents arrived. The tiny room was getting extremely crowded, and the situation almost made me want to laugh, but I held my tongue.

  Mother walked over to the table and examined my bandaged wrist. "Are you okay, darling?"

  "It's just a sprain, don't worry," I said. Mother didn't seem upset or angry, but there was a reserve to her manner which added to the uncomfortable feeling in the room.

  "I'm sorry for getting detention, and I'm sorry if I worried you," I continued.

  "I hate receiving phone calls telling me you've been hurt," Mother said. "But it doesn't seem to be a serious injury, so it's okay. Your father can pick up your car tomorrow, so you don't have to strain your wrist driving home."

  Standing in the background, David frowned. He seemed unhappy with my parent's lack of reaction, but Daddy interrupted his brooding.

  "You're David Andersen, aren't you? I know your father, Mike. He's one of our best clients."

  "Yes, you're Mr. Rothschild? I'm glad to meet you. My father speaks very highly of you," David said, shaking Daddy's hand.

  "Thanks for taking care of my daughter's injury," Daddy said warmly.

  "It's my pleasure. Miranda is a sweet girl," David said.

  I tried not to laugh at his performance. David was a talented actor.

  "Are you ready to leave?" Mother asked.

  "Yes," I slid down from the table clumsily, and Clara handed me my purse.

  "Thank you," I said. "I'll talk to you soon."

  "Are you certain you'll be okay?" Clara asked.

  I just smiled cheerfully and nodded, and then followed my parents from the room.

  Chapter 7

  Aftermath

  The Magician

  In the car, on the way home, there was an unbearably awkward silence. I'd been certain that my mother would want to discuss what had happened, but she remained stubbornly quiet. I watched a few moments as the streetlights outside passed by, casting lines of light over my parents’ passive faces, then receding again. Finally, I grew frustrated with the silence, so I took a deep breath and spoke.

  "I'm sorry Mother, Daddy. I didn't want for you to find out this way."

  "We're not exactly happy, Miranda," Mother answered. "You've never received detention before. I think, though, that your injury is punishment enough."

  "I am sorry about the detention, but that's not what I was referring to," I persisted. "I was talking about the fact that I kissed Clara. I know that Mrs. Lewis told you."

  Daddy heaved a heavy sigh, but Mother patted him on the arm reassuringly and said to me, "your father and I discussed that on the way, and we understand."

  "You do?" I asked, taken aback.

  "Yes, and it's nothing to be embarrassed about. We understand that young people experiment. When I was in junior high, my best friend and I practiced kissing, for when we got boyfriends. It was all completely innocent."

  "Do you mean Catherine?" Daddy asked.

  "I can't believe you remember," Mother replied.

  "She was pretty."

  Mother laughed and playfully hit Daddy's arm.

  I shook my head. Mother and Daddy's reaction, it seemed, had been based on false assumptions.

  "Listen, I want to be honest with you both. I wasn't experimenting, and I wasn't practicing for a future boyfriend. I wouldn't have kissed Clara unless I meant it. I care about her too much."

  There was another awkward silence. The roads were darker now; we passed fewer streetlights on the residential roads, so I couldn't read Mother's expression.

  "Miranda, I know you care about her, and I'm glad you are such close friends. Sometimes, though, it's easy to confuse caring for someone with other feelings. Think about the implications of what you are saying."

  "I know that, from your perspective, this seems very sudden, but I have been thinking about this for a while. I'm not confused; I'm gay."

  "Miranda, you're too young to make a decision like that," Daddy said firmly.

  My purse shook, and I was confused until I remembered that I'd turned my phone to vibrate. I worked the phone out of the purse with my good hand while I said to Daddy, "I'm old enough to know my own mind and my own heart. This isn't a 'decision,' this is who I am."

  I flipped the phone open, and there was a message from Summer. r u ok?

  Yes, I replied.

  "Miranda, despite what you may have heard elsewhere, it is a choice, and it's a dangerous one. People who live that lifestyle are marginalized. They can never have a normal family or a normal life. We want better for you. Please, pray about this," Mother said.

  What happened? Summer responded.

  "Miranda, don't text your friends while we're talking. It's rude," Mother said, and held out her hand. I reluctantly handed her the phone.

  "We're home," Daddy informed us as we pulled into the driveway.

  I was tired, but I was also famished, so I went into the kitchen to make a snack, and Mother and Daddy followed.

  "Miranda," Mother persisted, "please, promise me you will pray about this."

  "I will," I promised, though the moonlit night when I'd made my decision to requite Clara's feelings was the closest I'd come to praying since Mark died. "Nothing will change, though. I've been through all of the arguments and all of the reasons I should fight my feelings, but in the end, I had to be true to myself."

  "Why are you being so stubborn about this, Miranda? Are you so determined to hurt this family even more, after we've already suffered so much from losing Mark?" Mother pleaded.

  I clutched the tumbler I was holding in my shaking hand, struggling not to dash it to pieces on the floor. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, "how could you? How could you use his memory against me? Do you think I didn't suffer, too?"

  "Miranda, Julia, please don't turn this into a fight," Daddy interceded. "We're all very tired. We should get some sleep, and discuss this tomorrow."

  Mother put her head in her hands, sighed, and nodded slowly. She let Daddy lead her from the room, struggling with her tears. I was torn between feelings of guilt and annoyance at how well Mother could play a martyr.

  At the doorway, Daddy turned and said, "good night, Miranda."

  "Good night, Daddy."

  "You know we love you, and want wh
at's best for you, right?"

  "I know. I love you too."

  Daddy turned and left with Mother, and I heaved a large sigh. I had not expected a better reaction from my parents, and Daddy had intervened before a fight escalated between Mother and me, but I still wished I had been able to contact Aunt Elizabeth before confronting my parents. I needed someone's advice, because I couldn't think of anything I could say that would help Mother or Daddy understand how I felt, or would convince them that I wasn't confused.

  I made myself a sandwich and carried it upstairs, carefully balancing the plate on my arm while my good hand held the tumbler of milk. When I got to my room, I put the food down on my desk and, since Mother still had my phone, wrote a long e-mail to Aunt Elizabeth. I explained everything which had happened that evening, as well as everything I'd been thinking about the past week, the conclusions I'd reached, and how I felt about Clara. Because of the length of the email, coupled with the fact that I was typing one-handed, I was up writing well past midnight.

  After I finished, I took an aspirin for the pain in my wrist and went to bed. Somehow, I couldn't feel depressed or anxious concerning my parents. Rather, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was Clara sitting by the starlit pond.

  #

  I slept late the following morning, as the bright morning light which poured through my windows had somehow failed to wake me. I was hungry, having missed breakfast, but I was terrified to go downstairs and face my parents. Instead, I called Mr. Boscov to cancel my piano lesson, and he scolded me for my carelessness in injuring my wrist. Then I took a long shower to help myself wake, and when I finished, went to my computer.

  Aunt Elizabeth had already replied to my e-mail, and I opened it tentatively.

  Dearest Miranda

  Why in the world would you suffer through such a crisis without going to anyone for help? I was surprised when Mr. Boscov told me about your breakdown during your piano lesson, but I no longer am. Such things are inevitable when you keep strong feelings and doubts bottled up inside. It is hubris to think that you can bear all of your troubles alone. Please, if you ever go through anything like this again, call me, or tell someone you trust what is happening immediately. I can't pretend to understand the burden you've carried these past few weeks, but I would have liked to be able to lighten the load.