Mephisto Waltz

by Bridgett Kay Specht

  I was too flustered to respond with more than a quick thank you before continuing to the dining room. James, however, followed me.

  “I love music. I wish I were a genius, like you, but I only play a little bit of guitar.”

  “I’m not a genius,” I said emphatically.

  “That’s right,” Alice, whom I hadn’t seen following us, said. “Miranda isn’t a genius, she’s just privileged. It’s very easy to confuse the two, sometimes.”

  “I’m privileged?” I said.

  “Of course. I’ve known girls like you, before. You’ve had all sorts of advantages that other kids never had. You went to all the best, expensive schools, lived in a huge, beautiful house, and your parents paid for you to have music lessons and dance lessons from all of the best teachers ever since you were a small child. Am I getting warm?”

  I felt my face grow hot, though whether it was from embarrassment or anger, I was unsure. “If I say yes, I’m a snob, and if I say no, I’m out of touch,” I said.

  “Pretty much,” Alice said unabashedly.

  “Did you see the snow?” James asked her, diplomatically changing the subject.

  “Yes! It was breathtaking,” Alice said, dropping her cynical demeanor. As Alice continued her enraptured descriptions of the snow, I caught James’s eye and gave him a thankful smile. He winked at me surreptitiously, and then returned to listening to Alice.

  #

  Breakfast was attended to in much the same way dinner had been the night before, except the opening prayer was much longer. It was so long, in fact, that it took up almost half of the thirty minutes we were allotted for breakfast. After breakfast, those of us who were still in school, Julian, Grace, Alice and I included, went into a small library in the north wing to study for a few hours. We were given workbooks for several subjects based on our grade level, but the work was simple, and easy to complete quickly, so I was finished with my day’s work well before study-time was over. When we’d finished, we broke into groups of males and females, and the females went into a smaller room labeled the scriptory.

  In the scriptory, the walls were lined with desks and tables, and there was a large circle of chairs in the middle of the room where everyone was to sit. When everyone had settled, Ms. Sweeny, who was leading our group, stood to speak.

  “Good morning, everyone,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and smiling brightly at everyone in the circle. “I hope everyone is enjoying the snow as much as I am, because this is the first of many snows to come.

  “I’m pleased to welcome Alice and Miranda, who arrived here yesterday.” She turned to Alice and I, who were sitting next to each other. “Go ahead and introduce yourselves to the group. Alice, why don’t you begin.”

  Alice gave a wry smile to the group and said, “Hi, I’m Alice-”

  “Why don’t you stand up, so everyone can hear you?” Ms. Sweeny interrupted.

  Alice seemed as confused as I was as to how- when everyone was seated in a circle- standing would help anyone hear her better, but she complied.

  “Hi, I’m Alice,” she began again. “I’m a junior in high school, from Houston, Texas.”

  “Your name is Alice Smythe, right?” Ms. Sweeny asked.

  “No, ‘Smythe’ is my stepfather’s name,” Alice replied with evident dislike.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” Ms. Sweeny said lightly. “What is your last name?”

  “I’m without a last name, right now. My Dad’s a complete cuckold who can’t stand up to his shrew of a wife, so I’m disowning him,” she said.

  I expected Ms. Sweeny to reprimand Alice, but instead she said, “It was very brave of you to share your feelings about your father with us. Thank you, Alice.”

  “Thank you, Alice,” everyone in the circle echoed as Alice sat.

  “Miranda, will you introduce yourself, now?” Ms. Sweeny said.

  I stood and cleared my throat nervously. “Hello, I’m Miranda Rothschild. I’m also a high school junior, and I’m from San Avila, Texas.”

  “I heard you playing the piano this morning, Miranda. You’re very talented. Do you plan to study music in college?”

  “I’d like that very much, yes,” I said.

  “Keep practicing, and I’m sure you’ll get into an excellent school. It was a delight to hear you play, this morning,” she replied.

  I murmured a thank you, and sat down to a chorus of, “thank you, Miranda.”

  The “sharing session,” continued in the same manner for the rest of the morning. Each girl in the circle, going clockwise, would stand and tell everyone some personal detail about themselves, and then answer Ms. Sweeny’s probing questions. The questions, as well as the answers which followed, grew more and more personal, and when my turn to stand came again, I found myself struggling to answer Ms. Sweeny’s questions satisfactorily without revealing any vulnerabilities that she, or any other councilor, would be able to exploit in their attempts to cure me. Each girl who revealed any weakness, or exposed any raw part of their soul, was given high praise, and any girl who did not reveal enough had been questioned more harshly. I was emotionally exhausted by the time we were free to go to the dining room for lunch, and I still had the mixed session to endure afterward.

  #

  After lunch, I was still exhausted, but I felt better having eaten, and went into the session with renewed focus. Pastor Smith opened the mixed session with a prayer, and then Dr. Caleb stood, and again welcomed Alice and me to the group. I looked at Alice's wearied expression and knew that she, like I, was growing tired of the pleasantries. When he asked Alice and me if we'd had any questions about the booklet, I decided that the time for pleasantries was over and, emboldened, raised my hand.

  "The booklet classifies homosexuality as a mental illness," I said, "but later, it references bible verses in an attempt to frame homosexuality as a sin. I was wondering; how can something be an illness and a sin all at once? Surely, people can't be blamed for getting sick."

  "I'm glad you brought that up, Miranda," Dr. Caleb said. "You see, the same sex urges that you feel are the illness, but if you act on those urges, that is a sin. Think of this analogy; kleptomania is a mental illness, but stealing is still a crime."

  "But surely you can't compare stealing, which deprives people of their hard-earned property, with consensual, same-sex relationships, which are victimless," I argued.

  Dr. Caleb smiled, and said, "As I am about to explain, same-sex relationships are far from victimless."

  He began to lecture the group on what he considered the dangers of a homosexual relationship to be. Same-sex relations, he said, were an addiction, a vice, which would spiritually enslave the people involved. I thought back to the night I’d decided to requite Clara’s feelings for me, when I’d seen so clearly how pure and selfless my feelings for Clara were, and I wanted to laugh aloud at the contrast to Dr. Caleb’s words.

  The lecture lasted for our entire period, so I didn't have to worry about "sharing," again, for which I was grateful.

  #

  After the mixed session was over, we again broke into groups of males and females. The females went with Ms. Sweeny into the calefactory, where we were given several activities to choose from consisting of either cross stitching, knitting, or crocheting. I chose a pretty, apple-blossom patterned sampler to embroider, and we all sat and worked while contemporary christian music played on the radio. Most of the girls in the group seemed to enjoy the activity, and were talking or singing along with the music while they worked on their projects. Alice, however, sighed loudly.

  "The snow is melting," she said drearily.

  I looked up from my sampler to see that, indeed, the clouds had broken up and the sun was shining, causing the snow to melt and drip down the window panes. Alice sat for a moment, and looked despondently out of the window, then turned back to her knitting. She struggled with it for only a few minutes before throwing it down in frustration.

  "This is impossib
le. What is the purpose of these stupid projects, anyway?"

  "You can try a cross-stitch sampler, if you want," I offered. "They are a lot easier."

  Alice shook her head, and raised her hand to get Ms. Sweeny's attention.

  "What are the boys doing, while we are in here being domestic?" Alice asked.

  "They're usually outside, playing team sports," Ms. Sweeny replied.

  “Well, I’m certainly glad we get to stay inside fussing with yarn, instead of having to go outside to play in what’s left of the snow,” Alice said sarcastically.

  “We engage in other group activities that you might enjoy more,” Ms. Sweeny said. “On Tuesdays a very nice woman from the town drives here to teach ballet and liturgical dance. We also learn cooking and sewing on occasion, as well.” She smiled and turned to the next table.

  “Anna, Grace, why don’t you both sit here with Alice and Miranda? Their table is a lot less crowded.”

  “Heaven forbid that two lesbians sit at a table together, alone,” Alice murmured as Grace and Anna gathered their things and left their own crowded, yet lively position. “We could start making out at any moment.”

  I laughed, and Alice looked at me, her eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

  “You grew a sense of humor,” she said.

  I was about to speak, but Grace interrupted by sitting next to me with a loud sigh, looking exhausted. “I hope you’re happy, Alice,” she said. “I had nightmares last night, after all. Thank you so much for encouraging James.”

  “You’re welcome,” Alice said brightly.

  “He didn’t tell them about ‘Mary of Misery,’ did he?” a tall brunette, whom I assumed was Anna, asked.

  “You know James; give him the smallest bit of encouragement, and he loses the ability to keep his mouth shut,” Grace grumbled.

  The conversation quickly degraded into an argument, but I ignored it, choosing to just sit and watch the rest of the snow melt away in the sunlight, my cross-stitch forgotten. I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and was too drowsy to move when Ms. Sweeny dismissed us for our hour of free-time. I leaned my head on my hand and closed my eyes, but was soon roused by the sudden jolt of the table as James sat down next to me.

  “Would you like some company, or were you sleeping?” he said.

  “I was falling asleep,” I said as I sat up and yawned. “I should stay awake, though, if I want to sleep at all tonight.”

  “I’m sorry if the story I told you last night kept you awake,” he said, abashedly. “I love telling stories, and that one is so much fun to tell newcomers. Alice seemed to enjoy it, in any case. Do you know where Alice is, by the way?”

  “She was here just a moment ago,” I said, looking blearily around the room. “She was here when I closed my eyes.”

  “She might have gone to the library. She told me that she likes to read, and I think most of her books were confiscated. Do you like to read?”

  “I love to read, but most of my books were taken, as well.”

  “All of mine were taken, except for my Bible, of course. I wish I’d know what sort of books were allowed before I came, but I’m sure I’ll get my books back when I leave.” He looked up, then and stood when he saw Alice approaching the table, carrying a couple of books, just as he’d predicted. He pulled a chair out and offered her a seat.

  Alice stared at James for a few moments, and then laughed. “Are you serious? I can sit down on my own, thanks.”

  “This is how things are done, here,” James replied with a shrug.

  Alice rolled her eyes, but sat. “This place is stuck in another century.”

  “The rules are here to help us,” James said. “I didn’t want to give up my music, or cut my hair, but I did, because I want to get better.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Alice said. “You aren’t in school anymore, are you?”

  “I left college to come here for a semester,” James replied.

  “So you must be of age, then.”

  “I’m 19.”

  “So you aren’t being forced by your parents to be here. Why do you stay? Why subject yourself to this, willingly? I didn’t want to come. Miranda didn’t want to, either, did you Miranda.”

  My eyelids had been drooping again, but snapped open when I was addressed. “No,” I said, “my parents made me come.”

  “So why are you here?” Alice again spoke to James.

  “Because I love God, and want to follow his law,” James said. “I’ve been struggling with these… feelings for as long as I can remember, but when I got to college, I was overwhelmed, and succumbed to temptation.”

  “Temptation in the form of a specific boy?” Alice asked, grinning.

  James looked down, and the light, which usually sparkled from his bright, enthusiastic eyes, seemed to go out. “I’d been saving myself for marriage, and I threw it all away for- well, he was actually a pretty wonderful person, but it was still a sin. I broke the promise I’d made to myself and to God.”

  “So you’re punishing yourself for breaking your promise?”

  “No, I’m here so I won’t hurt myself like that again. I don’t want to be self-destructive. I want to get better,” James said emphatically.

  Alice seemed dumbfounded, “what do you think, Miranda?”

  “I don’t know enough about James’s situation to judge. All I can say is that I don’t believe that being with someone you love is self-destructive or sinful.”

  “You’re a romantic, aren’t you?” Alice said, with a sad smile.

  “I don’t know if I am. I’d never thought about romance very much before recently, when I realized that I had very strong feelings for a good friend of mine,” I said.

  “That must have been a good experience, though, if it led to such romantic notions,” Alice said.

  “It was incredible. I thought that she and I would be happy together for a very long time.” I absentmindedly touched the cross around my neck.

  “Do you think you were falling in love with her?” James asked, his eyes regaining some of their glitter.

  “I was definitely falling in love with her. My parents, however, disapproved, so here I am.”

  “Don’t fall in love, Miranda,” Alice said abruptly. “It hurts too much when your beloved ultimately betrays you.”

  “Is that why you are here?” James asked. “Did someone you love betray you?”

  “No, I’m here because my stepfather and my stepmother both wanted to get rid of me, though I suspect my backstabbing brother might have helped persuade my biological dad into giving his consent. Neither of them approve of my ‘lifestyle.’ I was betrayed by a girl once, though. It wasn’t her fault, and I don’t blame her, but it still hurt.”

  “I never believed that love would be easy,” I said.

  The three of us contemplated this for a few moments in silence. Then James broke the silence, by saying, “It’s almost 6:00. We should get ready for dinner.”

  #

  After dinner, I had gone back to the piano to practice, but the calefactory was crowded and lively, and I couldn’t concentrate. I was still exhausted, so I went to bed early.

  I pushed my bed against the outside door in my room again, and settled down to sleep next to the cold, outside wall. As I lay in the dark, my eyes were drawn to the patch of pale light cast onto the floor by the small window, and the wavering pattern of frost. I shuddered with cold, and promptly shut my eyes, blocking out the dismal sight of my cell and gently turning my mind toward warmer, happier thoughts.

  I tried to imagine that I was home, in my own, large canopy bed, with the warm, salty sea air wafting in through the open window. The indulgence in such a simple, happy memory ignited a painful flood of nostalgia, which carried my mind further back than my home in San Avila. In my mind’s eye, I was a child again, outside on a warm summer night, looking through a telescope at the clear, radiant stars. The familiar scents of jasmine and honeysuckle danced on the wind.

  I could hear Mar
k’s voice again, but it wasn’t a disembodied whisper, calling my name. It was warm and alive with excitement as he spoke to me about the stars and planets he’d once been fascinated by.

  “Maybe one day,” he was saying, “when we’re grownups, we will live in colonies on Mars or Titan. We might even live in space stations- huge, planet-sized ones orbiting the Sun like Earth!”

  I could see Mark clearly, his green eyes bright with wonder, looking wise beyond his years.

  “How long will it be before we’re grown up?” I’d asked him, imagining what it would be like to live in the vast, black sky among the stars.

  “Aunt Lizzy told me that you become an adult when you turn 18, so we’ll be grown in nine years,” Mark said.

  “Is that all? I work so hard at being grown up now, but I always mess up. I won’t be ready to be a real grownup in 9 years,” I said, panicked.

  “Of course you will,” Mark said. “You’re always so mature and responsible. Being a grownup is easy, and you’re one of the smartest girls in our class.”

  I shook my head and looked back at the stars, which somehow seemed further away than before. “No, Mother said that being a grownup is hard. No one is there to tell you what to do. If I don’t know the answer to a question at school, all I have to do is ask the teacher, and she’ll help me. If you’re grown, you can’t ask anyone for help.”

  “I’ll always be here, Miranda,” Mark said, putting his hand on my shoulder affectionately. “I’m older than you by five minutes, and big brothers have to take care of their little sisters. Don’t be scared to grow up, because you can ask me for help whenever you want.”

  I looked away from the stars, and my perfect memory began to shift. The scent of jasmine and honeysuckle grew stronger and stronger, until it became so pungent that I felt like I was choking on it. The backyard was no longer warm, but hot and sticky with humidity. Mark was several inches taller than me, 16 years old once more.