Piper, Once & Again

by Caroline E. Zani

  He told her stories of adventures they had had in the woods around their small village. The trees they had climbed without falling, the eggs they had stolen from nests to cook for their midday meal, the wild rabbits they had tried to catch and keep as pets, the berry bushes they had scoured, not caring how many scratches they had to endure, as long as they could have the sweet and tart taste of the red and blue berries on their tongues, and how they had been scolded at home for having stains on their clothing. These details were so real and so vivid it was as if Piper actually had memories of them. He told her of snowfall so great that everyone in the village had had to stay in their homes for days at a time and hope they had enough wood cut for the fire.

  And then he told her about how one day he wouldn’t come to visit anymore. “But don’t worry, because even if you can’t see me I will still be there with you—always with you,” he whispered. Hot tears trickled down her fevered cheeks. “Why don’t you want to come visit me anymore? What did I do wrong? Are you mad at me?” He wiped each tear as it slid down toward her pink chin. Vander smiled a smile that she would keep deep in her soul until the day she took her last breath, a smile so wide and so sweet she knew even at such a young age, that he was hers in some way she didn’t quite understand.

  He continued to visit her throughout the next couple of years, with longer periods of time between each visit until she turned seven on a snowy January night. After her birthday party was over and all the pink and yellow gift wrap was thrown away and all her friends had gone home, Piper was getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, and thinking about her Shawn Cassidy cassette she had received and how she couldn’t wait to listen to it the next morning. She got into bed, her cat Valentine curled up on her pink coverlet purring softly and not moving an inch to let Piper get comfortable. Remembering that she needed to say her prayers, she sprang back out of bed, kneeled on the hard floor and bowed her head. Without warning, Valentine jumped up and, hissing, leapt to the rocking chair at the foot of her bed. Piper was glad. It meant that when she opened her eyes, Vander would be there. And sure enough, as her eyes popped open, he was kneeling beside her.

  He smiled at her and instantly the warm feeling he always brought filled her entire body, bottom to top. She knew this feeling well because it accompanied all his visits. What she didn’t know then was that for the rest of her life she would be searching for that feeling of absolute love and light. And while she would come close on a couple of occasions, what she felt from others was never quite right, never enough. She opened her mouth to speak, wanting to tell him about all the gifts she had received for her birthday and the fun she’d had at her party. He just smiled back and nodded, looking at her hands still clasped in front of her on the edge of the bed. She looked at him for a moment longer, smiled back, and then continued her prayers. When she finished, she confided in him how much she had missed him. The floodgates opened then and the battery of questions washed away the silence of her bedroom. “Why have you been away for so long? Haven’t you wondered what I’ve been up to? Do you know that I got a horse over the summer? His name was Cocoa but I renamed him Victory, because I like the sound the ‘V’ makes. Where do you go when you aren’t here?”

  He told her that he knew Victory and he liked him very much and asked her to promise that she would make sure she always cooled him off properly after riding and never to rush the process. “Horses need to be walked-out for a while after you ride—before eating, and drinking cold water.” He made her promise to remember this. When she nodded, he touched her under her chin. Looking into his eyes she knew she needed to remember this. Then he smiled and she knew it was okay, that she was okay when he was near. She asked him how he knew so much about horses, and she wanted to know where he lived and why don’t her parents believe her when she tells them about him and the stories he tells of the village and the fishermen and the berries. She wants to know why he doesn’t have a mother and father, and a home for that matter. And why did his pants never reach past his knees and didn’t his feet get cold without any shoes?

  Piper stopped suddenly when she realized that she was making him sad with all her questions. Usually she just listened to Vander, but now she wanted to know so much about so many things. She could tell that he was feeling sad and asked him why. “Do you remember when I told you that I was not going to be able to visit forever?”

  She looked down at the floorboards now, her excitement and wonder instantly evaporating. “I remember,” she whispered. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing Piper, nothing,” he tried to reassure her, but she was crying now. The scent of lavender and burnt raisins reached behind her nose as he put his arms around her, joy and despair entwined in their hearts. The tears came fast and so furiously and she cried on his shoulder for some time. He held her close and whispered, “I will always love you. I have for so many lifetimes.” She thought she heard footsteps in the hall. She didn’t really understand what he meant but she knew that he loved her and didn’t want her to be sad. Vander made her promise not to forget what he was about to say.

  “Piper this is the last visit. I want to be able to visit forever, but I can’t. One day you will know why. If I stay,” he sighed, “people will think that something is wrong with you and it will get in the way of your life and your lessons. We all come here to learn—you’ll see. You have to be patient, please. Do it for me, Piper.”

  Be patient? She didn’t understand a word of what he said. She tried hard to concentrate, to focus on his words, but it was so difficult knowing that she had to study his face and try to absorb his voice into her memory, her being, if this was truly the last time she would see and hear him. His hair the color of sun-bleached straw, seemed so dull now; his eyes, usually so blue and bright, as if there was a light shining behind them, tonight were darker. When he did look at her, they were hazy, almost flickering.

  He said, “You are mine and I am yours, God promised us that. I know you don’t remember, but it’s okay. You have to live this life now the best you can so that someday… someday….” His voice trailed off.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Piper, are you in bed yet birthday girl?” Piper jumped off the bed, surprised. “Hi, Daddy. I’m getting ready for bed now! She knew he wouldn’t open her door if she were changing into her pajamas. He always tucked her in at night but she didn’t want him to come in this sad night. She wanted only Vander.

  She heard her father shift his weight back and forth in the hall, wooden floors gently sighing as he did. “I’ll be back in little bit, Sweet Pea.” Piper was relieved but sad to know her time with Vander was coming to an end. She hopped back onto her bed under the window that looked out over the small barn her dad and Uncle Guy built for Victory.

  When the door opened fifteen minutes later and as the light from the hallway washed over her bed, Vander slipped from sight. For the first time in her life panic rose in her little chest, but at the same time she realized she could still feel his steady hand on her shoulder. Her dad bent down over her bed, wished her a happy birthday, told her how much he loved her, and kissed her on the forehead. And, as he did, Vander’s hand slipped from her tiny shoulder. She wouldn’t feel it again for what would seem a lifetime. “I love you, too,” she whispered, but not to her dad, not this time.

  Chapter 3

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU smell memories? What do memories smell like, Piper?” He always asked her questions in an accusatory tone. “In all of my years of teaching, I’ve never met a student who had so much potential and took so much pride in wasting it. And why is there hay in your hair, again?”

  Piper was tired of trying to explain herself to adults who seemed to enjoy making her uncomfortable. “Maybe I was day-dreaming. I don’t really know what to call it. When you started talking about the Eiffel Tower I … I started to smell … I’m not sure what it was but … it’s a mixture of, umm, roses and something else—like cinnamon, I think.” She shook her head until the offending piece of hay fell fr
ee of her long hair and spiraled to the floor.

  How am I supposed to live like this? Why am I stuck here—in this dead town? Why does everyone go out of their way to make me miserable? These things had bothered Piper for so long. She wanted to say it all out loud but knew she couldn’t without getting into more trouble. Why did everyone else just stay here, work here, raise their kids here? It made her stomach turn and she wanted out—now. She knew he didn’t believe what she said. “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Connor, I’ll pay more attention,” she said, eyes on the floor, and then asked if she could leave. He nodded sternly.

  This tiny little town in Massachusetts was like a cell to Piper, something that would smother the life breath out of her, something from which she needed to escape. She dreamed of bigger things. No, not marrying a prince or curing a disease or even become a rock star, just wanting something different, something just for her. She knew she deserved bigger and better things … if she could only find them, or, she hoped, if they could find her. At seventeen, Piper could not stand another day of the town’s drudgery, of teachers, of snooty girls who gauged status by the boys they dated, and of boys who did whatever it took to make the girls pay attention. Most of the kids in school were quite impressed with themselves, and regarded Piper as a nothing: someone perfect for a “do-over,” though she had never considered anything of the sort. Even her own family members were strangers to her. She didn’t seem to connect with anyone really, just her animals. Anyone who knew her knew the most important things in her life were a horse named Victory and a little brown dog with one eye she had found out in the woods while she was riding one day. He followed her home and that’s where he stayed. Seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. Valiant taught her that one eye and a big heart were far better than two eyes and a nose in the air.

  Her teachers didn’t know what to do with her. Always late for class, seemingly apathetic, sometimes depressed, always had her nose in a book or was writing in a journal some very dark poetry that, in fact, frightened them: not for their sakes, but for hers. She had a couple of friends they saw her around town with, but they didn’t attend the same school. She wasn’t the kind of student that a teacher would have a chance to get to know; after all, she didn’t cause trouble, but on the other hand, she wasn’t an exceptional student, either. She had what the teachers called “potential.” Piper knew it existed, didn’t doubt it for a moment. She just couldn’t see wasting it on textbooks and term papers. She had better things to do with her time. And because of this, she was thoroughly disgusted with her Senior English teacher when she asked Piper to stay after class on this already-gone-bad Tuesday afternoon.

  Mrs. Karinnik slid a piece of notebook paper, the fringe still attached, out from under her blotter as if it were so secretive or perhaps so base that she didn’t want it contaminating the other students’ work. Piper recognized it as the assignment she had handed in the day before. The assignment was to write a poem with love as its central theme. And she did just that. Mrs. Karinnik looked at Piper and winced as she noticed the dark eye makeup that usually made Piper look sad, today making her look tired, almost old. There was a quality that she possessed some called “old soul” and others just called weird. She knew it wasn’t because she had a tough life—quite the contrary. It’s just that Piper didn’t fit in any more than a Tupperware lid fits after it is introduced to the dishwasher.

  Mrs. K, as everyone called her, said after a few moments hesitation, “Uh, Piper, honey, I wanted to talk with you about your work here. I’d like to help you.”

  Piper shifted her weight, folded her long arms on which hair stood at attention, straightened up her 5’10” frame and stared back down at this woman who knew nothing about her. She said nothing, only drawing in a deep breath, ready for battle. For God’s sake, why do adults, especially teachers, want to “help” me?

  Mrs. K, undaunted by Piper’s defensive posture or impatience, said, “This is really quite good, Piper. You could really develop this talent, become a writer.”

  Piper tried to take the words in and see if she could somehow bend their meaning into a threat or a dig. She couldn’t, of course, and, before she knew it, Mrs. K. had reached out and touched her arm gently. She looked deep into Piper’s eyes, which were now squinting back at her, as she tried to think of something to say. “You know, this poetry is very sad, there’s a feeling to it that is, well, really beautiful. Also I wanted to ask you if there was anything you’d like to talk about. Is everything okay at home?”

  The kiss of death—when will teachers learn? No teenager, least of all, me, wants to “talk” to them. What could possibly come of a conversation with a woman who is three times my age, sometimes wears two different colored knee-high stockings with her skirts, never seems to keep up with the gray roots in her hair, and drinks Diet Coke like she really expects it to perform miracles on the spare tire around her soft middle? And for God’s sake, she’s a teacher—she didn’t know anything about life or being young and misunderstood. Again, not wanting trouble, she simply said, “No, I don’t have anything I want to talk about, thanks. I have to go; I have to feed my horse.” This wasn’t the first time she had used this as an excuse to leave the school at exactly 1:54 every day for the last three-and-a-half years. She couldn’t imagine staying in that building, around all those people for a minute longer than was required by her parents, thereby delaying a ride on that particular day.

  Many of her teachers admired her love of animals and her dedication to them as well as her talent for riding. They saw her galloping in the fields, seemingly one with her beautiful blood-bay horse, trotting along the railroad bed that could be seen only once the leaves fell from the trees, or contentedly leading her horse on the roadside as they drove past, out of town to go wherever it was that teachers live. They never stopped or waved. Some felt it would be inappropriate, an intrusion on something that was truly beautiful—a girl and her horse. Some of them actually envied her—tall, thin, and beautiful in a way that most girls are not. She had a unique way about her that defied definition. “She looked like she belonged,” and that’s where the thought always ended. Where did she look like she belonged? Certainly not here, in this small town that was going through growing pains, being invaded by a new breed of suburbanite—30-somethings drawn to a quaint town for the qualities it offers only to overbuild it, pave it, fill the wetlands, and fence off all the best places to ride. These intruders looked at people like Piper as if she ought to be removed from their idyllic town. She was a nuisance, someone whose horse’s hooves destroyed lawns and left unpleasant “gifts” behind on their street; a street that was, only months before, a trail in the woods.

  As for her looks, she wore her hair straight and parted on the side. Her coal black hair was shinier than any of the other girls’, simply because she didn’t do to it the things they did to theirs: perms, curling irons, hair spray, teasing, gel, protein packs, color. Piper simply used the same thing in her hair that she used on her horse’s mane and tail—Cowboy Magic shampoo with a can of her father’s Miller beer. Any horse product that was created for optimal hair and hoof growth would surely work on her was her logic and she was right. A little Hooflex here and a little Show Sheen there before leaving the house kept the comforting scent with her all day in the way some people find comfort from their grandmother’s Jean Nate which she found quite unappealing. The beer always made Victory’s coat seem to glow and his mane was easier to braid for shows with the added bonus of masking the floral scent of the shampoo. Flowers smelled like death and sadness to her but how could she explain that to anyone?

  Super shiny and sleek was not a common sight with all the perming and bleaching going on. She would have gladly offered her simple recipe had anyone actually asked her. But no one ever did.

  She thought people avoided her because she was different in a bad way; but really, people just didn’t know how to approach her. On the back of a horse by day and absorbed in reading and designing her dream barn at night, she didn’t
give others much opportunity to interact, and she liked her solitude most of the time. Most adults, especially her teachers, knew that she would come into her own some day and be successful and loved and productive, but there was a process to this thing called life and it cannot be rushed. So some of them said silent prayers for her, some just shook their heads and thought, Ah, to be so young and have your entire future ahead of you to figure it all out. Most felt, however, that she could use a little help in the area of social skills, again not something you can force on a free spirit like Piper. She was unique, and, if given the opportunity, Mrs. K. would have freely shown her appreciation for the young talent and shared with her stories of when she was that age and the fact that she, too, rode quite a bit when she was younger and lived in North Carolina on her grandparents’ farm. But Piper never gave her a chance.

  When she walked out of the school that day, feeling the stale air of the empty corridors trying to hold her back, suck the life breath out of her, she knew she would never go back. She also had that strange experience again. In Mr. O’Connor’s room it was so faint that she couldn’t identify the scent. It usually happened every once in a blue moon when she least expected it, but here it was again. It was too powerful to ignore and yet so vague that it was difficult to describe in words. She had what she thought of as a scent memory. She thought everyone experienced these, but she never found anyone who recognized what she described. They weren’t actually scents that were present in her immediate surroundings at the time; rather they seemed to come from behind her nose, or maybe from her mind, and were accompanied, always, by images that flooded her for only tiny fractions of time. She likened it to waking from a dream and not being able to hold onto it long enough to recall it, only to have little shards of it slice through her thoughts during the day. That, at least, seemed to happen to other people; but the “scent-ache” was something that no one else seemed to understand, so she stopped trying to describe it. When she was little she told her dad, “I can smell what it was like before in my other house.” Her dad listened and encouraged her to continue, “What did it smell like, Sweet Pea?” “Like love, Dad.” She smiled at the memory and her dad’s response. “Oh, I see. That must have been nice!”