As we crossed the garden, my curiosity was building. Why did Adrian bring me here? Curiosity guided my eyes to a building made of perfectly cut stones. On one side was a row of high windows whose parapets were brimming with flowers.
“What a beautiful place!” I exclaimed, admiring the flowers.
“Those are pansies,” he whispered near my ear. “They always bloom in the summer. Keyra is very proud of them.”
His breath tickled my neck, making it hard to think. That’s not fair!
“Who is Keyra?”
“Keyra McPherson, the owner, he said. The laughter in his voice indicated that he knew exactly the reaction that provoked in me.
Keyra McPherson... I got distracted thinking about her. By name, I was imagining a strong woman with thick glasses and a tight bun atop her head. It would be interesting to see a matriarch—Irish or Scottish, whatever it was. I had to be careful not to show my ignorance about ethnic differences.
We climbed the steps that preceded the large porch embracing the entire front façade of the house. A beautiful woman was standing close to the balustrade. She was almost as tall as Adrian and equally pale. Her brown-red hair, thick and long, fell down over her shoulders in cascades, forming a striking contrast with the ivory tone of her skin.
The woman could only be a supermodel. How I could fail to notice that? She wore a lovely, blood-red dress with a daring V-neckline that left the suggestive curves of her breasts exposed. Only someone with a perfect body could wear such a dress and she certainly was in good shape. So, with parochial and jealous thinking, I concluded that her dress was too flashy to be worn in broad daylight and at home.
Sally, the enthusiastic girl...I guessed, but in the next moment, Adrian greeted her by another name—Keyra. My mouth fell open. Why had I pre-supposed that the owner of a pension should be a widow, elderly, or pudgy?
The woman walked with an elegance that reminded me of Charity. Again I felt like an ogress. Were all of the friends and relatives of Adrian Cahill beautiful and attractive women like them? That’s not fair! I cannot compete with them.
Keyra came up when we reached the balustrade, introduced herself informally in a warm and relaxed manner, but all the time keeping her eyes fixed on me until it started to get on my nerves.
“Well, well... it’s you!” she said with an unmistakable touch of incredulity in her voice.
The odd-colored eyes, halfway between purple and brown, moved ceaselessly over me as if I were some kind of exotic animal or supernatural visitor.
Adrian cleared his throat. She smiled at him, not even a little embarrassed.
“Give me a break, Adrian! We never thought this would happen. I even bet...”
“Keyra!”
“Oh!” She gestured vaguely at his abrupt rebuke, but never stopped smiling. “I almost forgot my manners. Please come in.”
When Keyra passed me, she gently bumped my arm. Her touch felt like a low-voltage wire slipping beneath my skin. I needed to repress the urge to get away, but by the way she looked at me, I knew it was obvious that she’d noticed my reaction.
“Don’t worry, dear.” Keyra spoke with Adrian, but kept her eyes fixed on me. “You know that she will be safe here in my domain.”
“I have no doubt, Keyra. Nobody in his right mind would dare challenge you.”
Before I could open my mouth to question their crazy talk, Keyra grabbed me by the shoulders, put her face next to mine and plastered a kiss on me with her red lipstick colored lips.
“Welcome to McPherson House , baby girl!”
It was...a caricatured manner of welcome. I felt like a child of four years ago being seized by an eccentric spinster aunt. All that remained was pinching my cheek in that awful manner that every child hates.
My daydreams remained carefully hidden under a docile façade. Only Adrian was not fooled by my sweet face when I thanked her politely. The moment he removed his glasses, his eyes twinkled at me. He wanted me to see that my attitude hadn’t deceived him. Keyra didn’t notice our exchange of glances as she led him inside. I watched them move away, but not before sending them my best wry smile.
The way they were talking, I figured they were pretty close friends. While I pretended to admire the decor and not appear nosy, Keyra and Adrian moved beyond the door. I strained my ears to hear what they were saying, but they spoke too fast. I couldn’t understand anything. They spoke so fast and so low that I doubted that they could hear what the other was saying. The only thing I managed to grasp was when she asked about my luggage and Adrian replied that it was in the trunk of the car. So, I guess this is where I’m gonna stay − the McPherson House. Why am I always the last to know these things?
Looking very serious, Keyra began to whisper, her eyes constantly searching for my whereabouts. I thought that this was the perfect moment to leave them alone and make my field trip. I took a few steps, stopping in front of a counter. Farther inside, I could see the living room. It seemed simple, clean, and organized - but not the kind of organization that makes you wonder if some living soul inhabits the place. You could see traces of human passage − a glass left on the table, the television on at low volume. I couldn’t help but notice a half-empty bowl of popcorn and some magazines spread out on the couch.
A somewhat cluttered looking bulletin board was affixed to the nearest wall. None of the walls had any other adornment—no paintings, no pictures...nothing. The bulletin board itself was a work of art with its colorful clippings, messages, alerts, notes, and many snapshots. I wondered if maybe it was intentional, meant to attract the attention of guests.
What caught my attention were the pictures tacked to the board showing several young people of my age wearing summer clothes. They were probably taken during a summer vacation, but all of the people appeared in all of the photos, but for one. Only the scenarios behind the group changed: one track, one rock by a lake...probably the Bluewater, one camping in the woods of the lower town. I recognized the last photo! Apparently, they had explored their surroundings quite often. The date in the corners of the photos indicated that they were taken in mid to late July. I’d bet they were students taking advantage of the wonders of the County before returning to school for the fall term. Soon I confirmed my brilliant deduction through the captions under the photos. The group consisted of college freshmen from Uwall.
The bulletin board also contained clippings of articles taken from the student newspaper—“The Wallpaper’s Today”. Mmmm... Interesting. The name of the newspaper, I mean. Who considered the stories appropriate for tacking on the bulletin board. It might be a fan of the authors or something. Maybe it was the author himself or herself who put them there, hoping for recognition from their colleagues. The glory of the university is what I am talking about.
The headlines said: “New clue of the Mountain’s Ghost—Part I”; “The implications of the University’s financing...”; “Mysterious Disappearance of Law Academic”; “Panic in the Green-Screen: participants of party claim to have heard beasts roar in the woods.”
Beasts in the woods. A shiver went down my spine. Immediately, I thought of the Panther. and I don’t mean the statues on the wall of the town. What came to my mind were fleeting images and even more frightening, a huge shadow moving through the trees. I could not see it entirely on that fateful night in South Portland, but what I could not see was enough for me to fear the little I saw. If you understand what I mean! I remembered the roars, the screams of Simon Cridder, and the recent talk about predators between Adrian and me during lunch.
Shaking my head, I tried to concentrate on reading the text that described the party promoted by the “fraternity of the empirical.” The event was held at the forest Green-Screen located on the opposite shore of the lake. According to the author, the roar began when the party was in full swing and caused widespread panic. “Those who weren’t sober soon were...”
All other articles were by the same author—Joe Verano. So my last hypothesis was correct. Element
ary, my dear Watson!
Still shaken by the news, I looked around the rest of the bulletin board. Below the reports, there were reminders of activities and schedules. Mostly referring to the university: Rules for using the library and refectory...schedule of classes, events and commemorative dates, plus instructions about required documents and a host of other bureaucracies. Mmmm...That was important!” Later I would have read those guidelines more closely.
The other reminders involving the operation of the boarding house itself: rules of conviviality, scale of cleanliness of the common rooms; procedures for the use of the kitchen; time to use the available computers; and shared bathrooms...
“Excuse me,” muttered someone.
I almost jumped with fright. The young man was very close to me and I had not noticed his approach. He glanced around me without looking directly at me. By his body language, I understood that he wanted to cross the hall toward the living room only I was between the bulletin board and the counter—directly in his way. Immediately, I stepped aside, close to the wall. In return, he gave me a grateful smile.
When he passed me, I took the opportunity to study him. He wore rumpled clothing. Part of the short-sleeved white shirt was out of his belt, revealing another black shirt underneath. Both collars were raised and the sleeves rolled up. His hair was a sideshow—disheveled like the characters from Manga Comics. When he turned sideways, I realized that his glasses—a John Lennon style—threatened to fall off the tip of the nose at any time. One of the stems was patched with a Band-aid. If he didn’t look so rumpled, I might have said he was cute.
The boy walked quickly across the room, looking all around until he stopped suddenly and clutched a sheaf of papers over the television. I heard muffled laughter from the other side of the aisle. I looked back and saw a group of five people - two young men and three girls jostling amid their giggles... The young man returned to my side, facing the group. He lifted the wrinkled sheaf of paper above his head. His body showed tension.
“Thanks, guys! Thanks, anyway!” he said in a mixture of irony and embarrassment. His voice was low and pleasant.
The group burst into laughter.
He turned to me and apologized in an absurdly formal way, but as he was apologizing, I thought it was appropriate to say something like “it was nothing” or “okay” or “stay cool”... but before I could open my mouth, he was marching out of the room.
“Oh, come on, Derek,” mocked one of the others. “You were dying to meet the new girl!”
Derek pursed his lips, his only visible sign of anger, but didn’t bother to respond. He went his way without seem shaken until we heard the door down the hall slam. It was followed by another burst of laughter from the group.
“He never gets out of that music room,” said one of the girls.
“If you had not stolen the music scores from him, he probably never would have gone out today either,” another young man replied.
“Just between us, this kid goes to the Water Closet?” asked another young man.
“No, he’s an alien,” said a young woman with monotone voice.
“How do you know that aliens don’t use the Water Closet?” someone asked, provoking new laughter.
“In some things, he’s so like...oh, never mind!” The girl with the monotone voice was now staring at a girl in dressed in black from head to toe.
Someone cleared his throat. “You and your conspiracy theories,” the girl with the monotone voice added.
“Why not leave them alone?”the girl in black interjected. It took me a split second to realize that the two were no longer talking about Derek, much less aliens.
“You do seem obsessed with them, not me,” retorted the monotone voice girl, who no longer sounded monotone. How confusing. I wish I at least knew their names!
“Well, if they want to be goths, punks, metal heads, or whatever else there is going on nowadays, it’s their problem,” intervened a third girl—a blonde.
“She’s the one snooping around into people’s privacy. And now she’s dressed like that...” said the formerly monotone girl felt, finally encouraged to say something bad about the girl in black. “We’re also new on the block, so don’t forget it. Nobody likes strangers who stick their noses where they don’t belong.”
Ouch! This last comment sounded like a rebuke...and in public! As expected, the girl in black became irritated.
“Shut up!” she said. “You’ll want to announce my top-secret activities over a loud speaker, don’t you?”
“How secret can your activities be, baby?” The formerly monotone voice became monotone again. “We’ve already ventured by your ‘Area 51’ a long time ago.”
The girl in black made a huge “O” with her mouth. “I don’t believe you invaded my room!”
Oops!
“Yo! The door was wide open, Delilah. We didn’t have to break in to see your coffin. We’re not sure how Keyra allowed you bring that thing into the boarding house!”
The two girls forgot they had an audience and were discussing things for real—and everyone forgot about me. Fantastic!
“Hey! You can you two stop it?” interjected the tan boy. “You two look like dog and cat! Let’s forget the conspiracy theories, okay? Otherwise, the new girl will think we’re all just nutty.
Who me? No way!
15
PANSIES
The group approached me with Delilah in the lead. I held my breath. The girl in black was just a bit taller than me. She had dark brown hair which was very short and bristling. Her eyes were also dark, but bright, naughty, and smeared with heavy makeup matching perfectly with the full pointed black fringes of her clothes that fluttered when she moved. She seemed to be in perpetual motion, gesturing all the time, causing her to look like she was spinning and floating like a character out of a Tim Burton movie. I noticed that she had unusually small hands—pudgy...like the hands of a child or a madonna.
“I’m Delilah Key,” she introduced herself, extending her little hand to me in graceful formality. “This is Nikos Tripopoulos. If you haven’t noticed, it’s a Greek name.” Delilah gave her companion a measured look from top to bottom, seeming proud to be able to say the complicated name with ease. “In fact, he is Greek from head to toe.”
“I’m not,” Nikos interrupted, glancing at me. I’m American. My parents are Greek.” He seemed bored, like this discussion was something old between them. Nikos also extended his hand to me. “Nice to meet you. Call me Nik. I come from Philadelphia. My parents have a travel agency there. I’m here for the journalism course.”
I returned the handshake, while Delilah wrinkled her nose, chiding Nik. “Woe, my! Do you always provide your police arrest record on the first date?”
Nik leered at her and took revenge. “This annoying girl came from Michigan. She thinks she will be a great fashion designer. Dressed that way, I think there’s no way!”
“I will be, asshole. These clothes are part of a scientific experiment.” She abruptly turned to me and said, “I’m working on a project—fashion within the urban tribes.
The Greek guy interrupted her. “Conspiracy theory!” he mocked her in a friendly way. Everyone laughed except the girl in black.
“I know how the fashion industry works,” she said, unfazed.
Regaining control of the introductions, she focused on the next guy. “This is David.”
“Martin,” the boy completed his own name. “I’m from Frankfort, Illinois. I intend to major in American History.”
“Okay,” said Delilah, “interrupting him. That’s Sally, Ms. Know-it-all of the fastest cars on the planet. She’d going to do mechanical engineering.”
The redhead stepped forward. She had short curly hair and thousands of freckles dotting her upturned nose. She was wearing jeans dungarees, old and oversized, obviously trying for “tomboy look”; however, she hugged me warmly. Whew! That was something I didn’t expect.
“That’s how you welcome visitors in Oregon?
” Delilah’s tone was acidic.
Sally stuck her tongue out at her.
“Welcome to the house of freshmen. I’m Sally Benson and I come from Idaho, not Oregon.” She made a point of emphasizing the name while casting a look of disdain at Delilah.
“Small potatoes.” Delilah rolled her eyes as she grabbed the arm of a blonde girl. “This one is Abby.”
“Hi! I’m Abigail Haines.” The girl seemed very friendly and relaxed. She wore glasses with a shocking pink frame. I briefly shook the hand that she offered me. “Everyone calls me Abby.”
“That’s exactly what I said, wasn’t?” Delilah intervened peevishly. “Abby also came from Michigan. Can you believe that we’re both from Bloomfield Hills. It’s a very small, quiet town... Isn’t that funny? We lived in the same town for eighteen years, we studied at the same school, but we only met each other two weeks ago when we arrived in Hadrian’s Wall. That’s what I call fate!”
“And I call it a ‘communion between two catastrophes’!” Sally muttered in a provocative tone, but Delilah paid her no attention. Now that the “spotlight” was on her, she wouldn’t allow anything to interrupt her performance for any reason.
“...and already we feel like we’re already great friends.” Delilah kept talking while she wrapped her arms around Abby. They both laughed like mischievous accomplices and did a couple of short hops.
“Ha! Ha!” Sally imitated the two girls with an expression of displeasure.
Nik gently touched Sally’s shoulder. Sally rolled her eyes, but restrained herself.
“Oh, that guy you saw leaving here, the anti-social dude...” Delilah said in a confidential tone. “His name is Derek Spencer. He will study classical music. In fact...he’s a terrific pianist! They said that he’s a prodigy! I thought it was an exaggeration, but when I heard him play the first time, I had to acknowledge that he’s awesome!”
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