by Liv Leighton
Shortly after their grand entrance, my mom and dad followed. My mother waved and introduced herself to Brien while my dad leaned up against the bookshelf, staring at Brien with a deeply furrowed brow and arms crossed over his chest. Playing the protective part, I guess.
After the introductions and an embarrassing round of small talk, Brien gathered up his brother. He lingered for just a moment on the porch, long enough for me to say, “I guess I’ll see you Monday, then.”
His mouth quirked into a smile. “You got it, Mary.” He touched my chin lightly and winked before he stepped off to the sidewalk. My stomach swarmed with a flock of out of control butterflies. And with those four words, he was gone. What really just happened? Did we bond while our brothers were out?
Ugh. Brien Collins. I smiled and went back inside.
...
Sunday morning was rather uneventful. The sky was a dreary grey again, with a light drizzle. The weather only managed to add fuel the anger I’d suppressed the day before. Seriously? The one good day we had in Astoria, and I was quarantined to the house?
Luckily, as boring as the morning had been, the evening changed tides altogether. I learned that we were expecting a visit from Dad’s brother, Andre.
I didn’t remember Uncle Andre at all.
As the day grew longer, the house erupted in complete chaos. Mom ran around adjusting furniture and dusting shelves. Dad completely cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom. It was amazing what a little elbow grease could do a place to make it look tons better. All we needed now was a bit of paint.
“Mary,” Mom said as she finished in the living room, “go put on one of your better dresses.”
I stared. Why was everyone in such a tizzy for a visit from Dad’s brother? They were acting like the King was coming for a visit.
As I trudged up the stairs, I heard Dad tell Nate to change his clothes as well.
I waited at the top of the landing for Nate. He elbowed me as he passed.
“Ow, Jerk,” I said, rubbing my arm. “Why are they all bumfuzzled?”
He stopped at his door for a moment, not looking at me. When he did turn to face me, he stared. “Uncle Andre is…,” he looked down. “I dunno. You’ll see.”
“Different?”
Nate nodded. “Yeah.”
“Different how? Like rude, weird, eccentric?”
“I don’t know…,” he said, running his hand up the molding around the door. “I guess the last one.”
I sighed. “God, Nate. Which one?”
“Eccentric, I guess.”
I shrugged, looking downstairs. “So? It’s Dad’s brother, not like a boss or something.”
“They’re scared,” Nate said but quickly shook his head. “Not scared, intimidated, by him.”
“But why?” I shook my head and frowned.
He shrugged. “You’ll see. Besides,” Nate said, “you have nothing to worry about.” And with nothing more, he went into his room and shut the door. What did he mean, you have nothing to worry about?
I went into my room as well, but sat on the bed for a moment. I really wanted to put on my worst clothes and see what would happen. You know, the jeans with the blown-out knees and a ratty sweater? What the hell could Uncle Andre do to me anyway? I decided to not cause waves so I could see what was going on. Would make for an interesting evening.
When 6:45 came around, we sat like dolls on the living room sofa. How stupid we were all acting. I shook my head, wishing I was anywhere else but there.
The doorbell rang.
The air in the room shifted from that of anticipation, to outright tension. Mom and Dad exchanged a silent look, before Mom stepped forward to open the door.
My immediate impression of Uncle Andre was that of all of my relatives, I resembled him the most. It was something about the shape of his nose and the full bottom lip, I think. Uncle Andre had the same, dark hair as my dad’s, however, Dad’s was peppered with a few strands of gray. Unlike my father’s typically wild locks of hair, Uncle Andre’s was perfectly styled. No one could look that perfect. It was like he just stepped off a photoshoot for a ‘success’ magazine – three-piece suit and a leather case at his side.
“Good evening.” He greeted my mother coolly, with a respectable nod. When he greeted Dad, it was with slight acknowledgement of their blood relation. He gripped my father’s hand and held onto it for a moment as his eyes raked approvingly over Nate and I.
“Your children appear to be much older than the last time I visited,” Uncle Andre said with the slightest emphasis on the word children; the intended meaning of which I could not place. Wow, this guy was cold. His tone sounded so obviously rehearsed; like it was the warmest greeting he could have come up with on the ride over from the airport.
“Andre,” my mother interjected, “why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll prepare a cup of tea.” I couldn’t be sure, but I swear she even bowed slightly. Seriously, what was going on?
“That would be wonderful, Allison. Thank you.” Uncle Andre turned to Dad and nodded to us while straightening the cuffs of his jacket. “Nicholas, would you be so kind as to introduce me to the children; I’m afraid it has been so long.”
Dad jumped as if Uncle Andre startled him. “Oh, but of course.”
Oh, but of course?
Dad didn’t speak that way, not that I remembered, anyway. It was like he was addressing a superior. “This is Mary,” he said, gesturing to me, “and Nate.” I could see Nate out of the corner of my eye squirm slightly.
“Nice to see the both of you again,” he said with a short bow. “Let us enjoy some tea while we catch up.”
As Uncle Andre and Dad headed for the adjoining room, I looked down at Nate who shot me an I-told-you-so look before following them.
Tea in the kitchen was just as odd. I watched Uncle Andre question my parents about everything in our lives, including our education and after school curriculars. It just felt… weird. And for someone who didn’t have any children, Uncle Andre was awfully concerned about our upbringing.
“Nate is in after school Tae Kwon Do,” said my mother as she fidgeted with her spoon. Nate only recently signed up; and had not actually participated in classes yet. “Mary is still playing the violin.”
“Is she, now?” Uncle Andre asked as he pulled the spoon from his tea and set it on the saucer all the while looking at me. “I wondered if that talent had resurfaced after the car accident.”
Why were they discussing us like we weren’t in the room? I looked from person to person, watching the way they interacted. Uncle Andre definitely acted as if he was the superior, and they let him treat them like servants.
Seriously, what the hell?
“I’m sure she would love to play for you, wouldn’t you, Mary?” Dad asked. Like yesterday, when suggested I stay home, this was not a suggestion. But how could I play? I didn’t even remember how to hold a violin. We hadn’t even moved past a bit of music history in my music class. It’s why the instrument remained in its case since I’d first awoken.
“I…suppose.”
Not!
God, why didn’t I say no?
I didn’t want to perform for this man, let alone attempt something in front of a room full of people that I wasn’t even sure I could do anymore. The violin had been something pre-accident Mary had loved. But if I’d learned anything over the last few weeks, it was that I wasn’t the old Mary anymore. I was myself. I sighed.
“I guess I’ll go upstairs and get it,” I said, which felt more like an out of body experience than anything.
“Actually, no need.” Uncle Andre stopped me. His tone suddenly a whole lot softer than it had been. “If I may,” he said, and he pulled the leather case that he’d brought with him into his lap. He slowly unbuckled the clasps. I gasped as he opened it. To my horror, there was the most beautiful instrument I’d ever seen in my life. And before I could process the words coming out of my mouth, I was speaking.
“Is that a-�
��
“Stradivarius?” Uncle Andre echoed my thoughts and smiled. “It is, my dear. I wouldn’t have anything less.” He watched me for a moment before continuing. “I picked it up on my recent travels to Italy. I wondered if you might be interested in giving it a try.”
He pulled the violin and bow from the well-padded interior and handed them both to me with a nod, as if to say, “go on”.
I stared at the very expensive instrument for a moment before taking it from him.
Feeling utterly ridiculous, I placed the instrument beneath my chin, as I’d seen done. Fear of damaging the amazing creation crept up my spine. What the hell am I doing?
With a deep breath, I placed my fingers where I thought they ought to go and pulled the bow across the strings…
Five
Weren’t Monday’s something teenagers dreaded? Wasn’t that the way it was? If I was learning anything about myself, it was that I wasn’t a normal teen – not by a long stretch. I absolutely loved Mondays. With it came the promise of learning, seeing my friends, and, of course, pottery class with Brien.
As I sat through my Monday morning classes, Maisy and I caught up on our weekend. I apologized profusely for not being able to go to the mall with her on Saturday. It turned out that Maisy was unable to go as well. Her mom found out that her term paper wasn’t finished, so she was grounded until it was.
“Maisy!” I said far too loudly, so that Ms. Riley hushed us from her desk at the back of the room, “I’m so sorry!” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper, “I completely forgot to look over your essay. It was such a strange weekend-”
She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Ffft. Don’t apologize at all. I finished the paper and it’s absolutely amazing, if I do say so myself. So, no harm done.”
Maisy wore opalescent orbs in either of her ears that looked like tiny, full moons. She’d switched out the crystal rings on her fingers for what appeared to be hundreds of silver charm bracelets on either of her wrists. Her hair was straight, but her winged eyeliner more than made up for her lack of beaded braids. I smiled. She always looked different.
“So, anything else interesting happen this weekend,” Maisy asked during French class ‘study period’ (Madame Beaulieu was still very much absent). Her eyes were sparkling as if she knew something I didn’t. “Brien…” she hinted quietly.
I’d been so wrapped up in catching her up on what’d happened during Uncle Andre’s visit that I’d completely forgotten about Brien being at my house. The Metallica shirt and my tangle of hair flashed through my mind and I gasped. And I told Maisy everything.
“You’re kidding me?” she exclaimed. “Brien asked you to be his study partner?”
“Well, not exactly,” I said, twirling my pencil between my fingers. I looked around the classroom, but everyone else appeared to be either on their phone or else gazing off into some middle distance I couldn’t see. “He mentioned something about ‘borrowing’ me to study with him sometime and then changed his mind.”
“Changed his mind?” Her eyebrows raised. “How?”
I shrugged and doodled on my page. “He said ‘you’re probably too busy anyways’…like what is that supposed to mean? Is he interested or was he just being nice?”
Maisy laughed and shook her head. “Mary, Mary, Mary. Tsk. You poor thing.” She grabbed my hand and looked me square in the eyes. “He. Is. Intimidated.”
I rolled my eyes. “By what?”
“By you!” she said, throwing both palms up in the air.
“How is that even possible,” I said, leaning back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m like the least intimida-”
She held up a hand to shush me while shaking her head. “In your own little mind, you’re not. But to the guys and girls around here? They either want to be you or be with you,” Maisy laughed.
“Now I’ve heard it all.” I rolled my eyes again. “Okay, so…let’s say he is, in fact, into me,” I said it with every ounce of mockery I had. “Then what?”
“Ask him out,” Maisy said flatly.
I laughed. “Right. Like I’m going to waltz up to the guy I obsess over and exclaim: Hi, I really like you. In fact, every time you accidentally flex in pottery class, everything in me either melts or feels like it’s on fire. No thanks,” I said as she laughed.
We agreed to finish our conversation after lunch. Chemistry flew by; and I thanked every god who was listening for Maisy’s assistance. Being her lab partner was the best thing I could have asked for because, as it turned out, I was crap at chemistry. I felt even worse about not helping her with her essay; and though I offered an apology several more times during our class period, Maisy continued to smile and laugh.
“It’s okay,” she said, in complete understanding. “You can’t help what your parents do.”
After chemistry, my thoughts turned to Brien as I walked toward my pottery class. Ugh. I wanted to think of anything else but him. Thinking about him was beginning to occupy more of my time than ought to have been acceptable. Plus, I still didn’t know how I felt about all of it - about him. The last thing I wanted was for him to continued to ignore me in favor of conversing with Brock about football. I might never forgive myself for allowing him to occupy any space in my mind.
My stomach twisted as I entered the classroom and saw that Brien already sat at his wheel. A massive block of clay sat on the pottery wheel at everyone’s desk. I felt the blood drain from my face as I took my place next to Brien, doing everything in my power to avoid making any sort of contact with him.
Because the truth was, if he was giving me the time of day as a result of our younger brothers being friends, I didn’t want any part in it. Ugh, why did this have to be so confusing? My heart was already broken because I couldn’t remember my family. Like I really needed to be consumed with the thoughts of a guy that didn’t know what he wanted.
I heard Maisy’s voice echo in my mind: ask him out. Right. The more I thought about it, the more anxious I became. What would Maisy say if she knew that, instead of asking him out, I was going to avoid him? Was I taking all of this too seriously? Second week of school and I was already bumfuzzled. Leave it to a guy to mess things up in a hurry.
As Mrs. Jensen discussed pottery wheel safety and the structure of the bowl she wanted us to attempt, I kept my gaze as far away from Brien as I possibly could. Thinking, instead, about the moment when I’d pulled the bow across the strings of the Stradivarius. As we began the process of wetting the clay, and testing our wheels, my mind drifted back to the beautiful sound of music that had filled our kitchen.
“That was truly stunning,” Uncle Andre said, taking a sip of the tea my mother had just placed before him.
Utterly bewildered by the sudden take-over of my muscle memory, I stared down at my hands: one clasped around the neck of the violin, the other holding tight to the bow. I’d somehow just performed Vitali’s Chaconne in G Minor. The absolute existence of the piece moments before I played it had been unknown. Something about having the violin in my hands had triggered a past memory.
Mrs. Jensen’s voice interrupted the scene playing in my mind. “And always be sure to keep the clay wet; we do not want dry pottery thrown about the room.”
I grabbed a wet sponge from the bucket at the center of our table; bumping the hand of Olivia as I did so. She smiled, about to say something to me before our teacher carried on with her lecture. As Mrs. Jensen explained and demonstrated (in the air) how to properly begin to shape our bowls, my mind wandered once more.
“Do you know Bach’s Partita Number Two?” Uncle Andre asked with somewhat of a dreamy tone; as if he’d remembered something of which he was particularly fond, and hoped, desperately that my performance might bring it back.
“I…don’t know,” I said, suddenly frustrated. Why couldn’t I remember anything? Why had that stupid car accident stolen every memory I’d ever had? It was maddening: like waking up in a body that wasn’t mine; in a life that mine you
rs. My vision clouded over, and tears begun to spill from my eyes in way that I hadn’t allowed before. I was Mary Shuman: positive, upbeat, look-on-the-bright-side Mary Shuman. Why was I crying over something so small?
Without a second thought, I handed the violin and bow back to Uncle Andre and retreated to my room. Maybe if I could just-
“Mary. Mary!” Mrs. Jensen’s voice cut once more into my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
I blinked several times realizing, all at once, that the chunk of clay that’d once been between my fingers, was now all over the front of my apron, my jeans, and my shoes. I took my foot off the pedal and the wheel slowed from what had been an insanely rapid pace, to a much calmer rotation and finally, stopped.
The entire class halted what they were doing to direct their attention toward the complete mess I’d made of myself. I felt my face go instantly red. Before Mrs. Jensen could say another word, I removed my apron, wiped my hands upon my jeans, gathered up my things, and walked out of class; leaving everyone including the teacher, open-mouthed and stunned, behind me.
Wrestling against the urge to cry in the middle of the hallways, I made my way toward the front of the school and out the door; eager to get in my car and drive to anywhere else. But just as I reached for the handle of my car door, someone from behind me yelled-
“Mary, stop!”
I whipped around and saw Brien, pottery apron still tied around him, clay covering his arms up to his elbows, slowly jogging towards me, laughing.
“Right, laugh it up.” the words came out harsher than I’d meant them too, but all the same, it felt good to yell at something.
He stopped short of me, looking down at me with a kind smile. “Look at us,” he said, attempting to shake bits of clay from his entirely gray hands.
I looked down at myself and saw that my hands, too, were gray and covered in clay. My jeans and shoes were spotted and as I leaned over to peer at myself in the side mirror, saw that my face was spotted as well.