Clarity Castle

by Marie-Hélène Lebeault

  I nodded, understanding. “When I came here the first time, I was walking off a bad mood. You’re saying that as soon as I let go of being disappointed about my grade, I changed the channel. Does the Castle have its own channel?” I asked.

  “Not exactly,” replied the teacher. “Imagine if you will a thermometer, where zero degrees are a neutral temperature, or frequency in our case. As the frequency rises, the feelings are positive. If it drops, the feelings are negative. The feelings just above zero are contentment or satisfaction, optimism, and enthusiasm, rising all the way up to joy. Just below, you’ll find boredom, worry, and anger, dropping all the way down to fear.

  “There are many feelings in between. To see all of them, simply look up the emotional scale online when you’re back in your world. Anyhow, the moment you rise above zero, you can access the Castle and all of us,” explained the teacher.

  It sounded easy enough. “Is it possible to stay above zero all the time?” I asked.

  “Only if you stay here. Life on Earth isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s meant to be real and unique. You get to choose what happens, moment to moment. Most people choose unconsciously, through habits of thought. It seems like life is happening to them, that they are powerless. If they are tuned into the powerless station…” said the teacher.

  “All they get are powerless thoughts and experiences,” I exclaimed as the scope of the implication sank in.

  This was huge. It explained January’s seemingly charmed life. She was always chipper and passionate. I looked at her closely then at April. January’s skin was flawless, her hair was glossy, her eyes bright. I could feel the joy seeping out of her. It felt warm, inviting. April, on the other hand, looked like someone applied a matte filter to her. She was not dull, but even when she smiled, the wattage seemed dimmer. I didn’t feel a pull towards her, but I didn’t feel repelled by her either. I felt comfortable in her presence. It occurred to me that my own frequency was probably matching hers. I smiled at her, a wave of compassion coming over me. She smiled back.

  The teacher beamed at us. “Both of your frequencies just rose!” We all beamed back.

  “It’s almost time to go. Do you have any more questions about frequencies?” asked January.

  “No, I get it. It’s pretty straightforward. What I really want to know is how I’ll access information about other realities. You said I’m responsible for the month of March. I know what happens in my life, and I’ve got a few clues about April’s recent events. How do I get the rest of it?” I asked.

  “That’s the fun part! You’ll spend a month in each reality—as a visitor, of course,” put in January.

  “A month! You mean I’ll live the whole month of March as each of the other eleven girls that are in our group? Won’t that take forever?” I exclaimed.

  “You forget that we are outside of time and space. You could literally spend a year here and go back to your life tomorrow morning when you wake up,” replied April.

  That was intense. It also meant I could visit or try out any number of lives.

  “If we can visit our other realities, why do we need to go back and change something? Wouldn’t it be easier to look into it here in advance?” I asked.

  “Yes, it would. Right now, you imagine you’ll come here every night and check out all the possible scenarios and choose the best ones. However, eventually, you’ll focus on something else and it won’t be a priority. Or your frequency will drop for a while. Later, you might even learn the value of strife,” said the Teacher.

  “The value of strife?” I asked.

  “Yes. Solving problems, overcoming obstacles, or achieving goals is satisfying. It feels good. If nothing ever happens to rock the boat, it’s easy to fall into boredom. Food always tastes better when you’re hungry,” explained January.

  It all made sense. It was like a game. Sometimes you won, sometimes you lost. But you kept playing, striving for victory.

  “What happens if I like another reality better than mine?” I asked as the thought occurred to me.

  “For now, we need you to commit to viewing all eleven realities. Should you truly prefer one of the other realities, you could simply pop into it and continue from there,” replied the Teacher.

  “But what would happen to mine? What about the other girl who’s already living it?” I asked.

  “Your reality would continue as March. Your consciousness would merge with the other girl’s. Let’s say it was mine. You and I would identify as January, but there would only be one of us,” explained January.

  It was giving me a headache but I got it.

  “Bear in mind that it is highly unlikely that you will prefer a different reality. You will probably like different things about each reality and wish to integrate them into your own,” added April. I nodded. We all nodded.

  “Are you ready?” asked January, holding out a hand to me.

  I hesitated a moment, then grabbed her hand. It was January, I was sure I would have a great time.

  Chapter 12

  “Remember, Claire. You call me if there’s a problem, and I’ll come and get you,” said Mom, hugging me really tight. She was misty-eyed as she stroked my hair and put her hands on either side of my face. She was acting as if she’d never see me again.

  “It’s just for a week, Mom,” I replied, hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be fine.” I looked to Gary for help.

  “Come on, honey. We’re cramping her style. Can’t you see all her musician friends are waiting for her to ditch her parents?” He gave me a quick hug and pulled Mom towards the car. “See you next Sunday at four.”

  I waved at them and headed towards my friends—or I should say, January’s friends. She would be spending March break at Bandcamp. I cringed, dreading a week filled with organized group activities, and all musical, no less. January was stoked. So were the giggling girls who greeted me. I knew their names. Marisol played the piano, Allegra played the cello, and Daphne was a soprano singer like me, um, like January.

  Once the hugging and rejoicing were dispensed with, we headed for our dorm room and claimed the bunks. I got a top bunk, yes! I unpacked the things I’d need for tonight and plugged in my phone. This wasn’t my first time at camp.

  During the school year, I was registered in the music-study program. Three afternoons per week, I received private lessons here at the Music Academy in Orford. I spent a week here for March break and four weeks in the summer.

  As soon as I finished high school, I’d be able to audition for gigs or talent shows. My coach had been hounding Mom for years, but she wanted me to focus on my studies. She was not wrong. If I got a spot on a show or in a band, I’d drop everything.

  I was amazed that January had such good grades despite having to condense her time at school and spend so many hours per week practicing her singing and the piano. I was also surprised that I was so chatty.

  We were in a co-ed common room with a bunch of other kids. I recognized some of them from school. It was like a party. I looked around the room and saw that two adults were sitting on bar stools in a makeshift kitchen. Presumably instructors. They too were chatting animatedly, ignoring their charges.

  I got why everyone’s excited. We would be spending a week together, without parents, and loosely supervised. Some kids started playing card games and board games, others were jamming and singing acapella. I tuned out for a while.

  These were January’s friends and this was her scene. It felt completely alien to me, but I could see myself living this life. I remembered when I was a kid, I was always singing. A friend of Mom’s had given us her upright piano because it wouldn’t fit in her new apartment. I took lessons for a while, but I couldn’t be bothered to practice. Mom eventually sold the piano.

  At ten o’clock, our minders sent us off to bed. Classes started at eight, breakfast was at seven. So much for a week off.

  The week actually flew by, and I admit I enjoyed it. My favorite part was the daily duet rehearsals with Etienne. He w
as a sixteen-year-old hottie who went to one of the French private schools. He’s not a French-speaking student, he’s actually French. He spoke with an adorable Parisian accent, but he sang in perfect English. It boggled the mind.

  January liked his smoky grey eyes and his jet-black hair. Those were great. What got me was his ramrod posture and the fact that his breath was always minty fresh. We had to sing in the same microphone in a rather small booth. There was only room enough for a single music holder. Every day, we stood shoulder to shoulder for thirty minutes, sharing the same air while singing Italian arias from the opera Don Giovani.

  There was a concert on Sunday and we totally nailed it. Our rendition of Là ci darem la mano yielded us a standing ovation. I was so proud I could burst. Standing on that stage, Etienne squeezing my hand tightly, felt like the whole world was loving me.

  We took our bow and exited stage left. As overcome with emotion as I was, there were a number of equally appreciable performances during the show.

  Backstage, Etienne and I hugged quickly and he was talking a mile a minute in French. I got that he was happy we nailed it. The voice coach sent us an Italian ‘Bellissimo’ kiss as he ushered out the next duet.

  The final number had the whole ensemble singing September by Earth, Wind and Fire. It’s a great number, all the parents were clapping. When the show was over, the parents had cocktails and chatted with the faculty while the kids cleaned up. By five, everyone had tearfully gone back to their daily lives.

  Gary took Mom and me out for dinner to celebrate. We talked about our week and January shared that she might like to learn Italian. I rolled my eyes. How was she going to fit that in? Mom thought it was a fabulous idea, especially since I did so well in the duet. For Mom, having me perform opera would be a sight better than being in a pop band. Gary just winked at me.

  Gary’s so chill. Nothing ever phased him. I felt guilty admitting this to myself, but I liked him better than Mom in this reality. Where Mom was saying ‘go, go, go,’ he’s saying ‘take it one day at a time.’ It’s a nice balance.

  The following week, I got to experience January’s daily life. Every day, she was up at six. She drank a huge glass of water, popped a probiotic, and headed out for a twenty-minute jog. She listened to classical music as she jogged.

  Back at home, she did a quick yoga and stretching routine then sat in front of the patio door as she sipped a cup of hot water with lemon and honey. It’s soothing, the drink and the staring.

  Next was a shower, getting dressed for school, and breakfast with the parents. I searched her mind to figure out how long Gary’s been around. Five years. I had been in grade school. They had met at a summer camp concert. He had been there taking pictures for a magazine profile on the Music Academy. He worked as a staff photographer for a company that published a dozen or so trade magazines. Because he also played the piano, he had been instrumental in January’s artistic development.

  After breakfast, I did ten minutes of vocal exercises in front of the mirror in my room, packed up my school bag and hopped on the bus. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, I had class English Language Arts and math class, always with the same group.

  There were two groups for the music-study program. The first was for those at the school’s in-house music academy. It was a wind orchestra, and anyone could join, no musical ability required. The other group was for those of us with musical talent receiving instruction elsewhere. For the first three years of high school, most of us went to the regional Music Academy. For the last two years, the more promising students attended classes at the university in Montreal, if they could afford the tuition. Otherwise, they continued at the regional school.

  As soon as the bell rang, we grabbed our lunch bags and headed for the bus that would take us to our afternoon music lessons. It was a thirty-minute drive and the only lunch break we had. It was pleasant enough. I sat with Marisol and we chatted about the usual: exams, music, and boys.

  When we got to school, we were required to go for a twenty-minute silent walk on the trail that went around the campus. It occurred to me that this was our equivalent of the two weekly P.E. classes. I could get used to this.

  Upon our return, we split up by instrument and by level. Daphne and I were joined by three other girls for the soprano group. We spent the afternoon together with our teacher, but each spent thirty minutes alone, in turn, with the voice coach.

  At three-thirty, the bus took us back to school. We arrived just in time to hop on the bus heading home. I spent the fifteen-minute ride home listening to music and staring out the window. Though January was used to this and I could feel she was fine with it, I was mentally exhausted.

  She jumped straight into the math and English Language Arts homework. We had dinner with the parents then I headed back to my room to study. There’s a science test the next day. Bedtime for January was similar to mine, except that instead of scrolling online before falling asleep, she read. For fun.

  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she had Science and French (second language, lucky duck!) in the morning and Math and English Language Arts in the afternoon. Social Studies had been integrated into the English Language Arts Instead of enjoying her full lunch hour with friends, January spent it in her Math and Science teacher’s class getting remediation or getting a jump on homework.

  The next three weeks were more of the same. On weekends, her morning routine was the same. After breakfast, she hit the books. Saturday afternoons, she usually hanged out with her friends. Half the time, they were studying.

  On Sunday afternoons, she and her parents did outdoor activities like hiking or biking. Afterwards, they had dinner with Nana and her new boyfriend.

  Friday nights, she snuggled under a blanket and caught up on the TV shows she had recorded, while Mom and Gary were out for date night. Saturday nights, they went out to dinner and went to the movies or got take-out and watched one at home.

  It’s a well-organized life and not devoid of fun. But it’s not one I’d want to step into and take over. I was going to miss Gary though. I wondered if he’d pop up in another reality. Meanwhile, I thought I would dust off that midi keyboard and plug it into my computer. You never knew!

  Chapter 13

  I was back in the yellow room with a head rush. There were more girls in the sitting room now. I wondered if I had been here the whole time or if I blinked out while I was in January’s memories and only now popped back. I was about to ask if I’d need to hold hands with February, when the Gymnast sat down beside me.

  “How did it go? Are you ready for another?” asked the Teacher. In essence, I had just spent thirty days inside January’s life, or her memories. The process was still a bit fuzzy. But I felt like barely five minutes had passed.

  “It was great,” I replied. Then, to January I said, “Gary’s the best!” and she nodded with enthusiasm.

  February held out her hands, a question in her eyes. I took a deep breath and took hold of them.

  * * *

  I was instantly transported to the Sunday before March Break. This time I was in the car with Mom and her friend, driving to a gymnastics club in Montreal. It was the Elite Canada Seniors’ Competition and it’s the first time February was competing as a Senior. The event was the first of three annual competitions. The second was later in March and the last was in April.

  Should she qualify, she’d go on to the Canadian Championships in May. If things went well, she could apply to be on the National Team. Though she doubted she’d make it that far on her first try, the next step was the World Artistic Gymnastics Championships in October.

  February was best at bars, but she was required to compete in all four events, vault, bars, beam, and floor. Both she and her coach, which turned out to be Mom’s friend, were pleased with her performance.

  I was amazed at the strength and agility of this body. On the mat, I kept looking for a trampoline to justify the height of these jumps and flips, but there was none. She’s got springs for legs. And
she’s so focused. It’s loud and hectic in the gym during the competition, with two events happening at once and lots of cheering parents and team members. February blocked it all out. All I heard was her breathing. All I felt was calm determination.

  To avoid going back and forth every day, we would be staying in a nearby hotel. This was how I learned that Mom and the coach were a couple. As I was digesting the fact that Mom was gay in this reality, it occurred to me that she might be gay in mine too. I never asked and I don’t remember her dating anyone in a while, and she did see her friend Michelle quite often.

  Regardless, she was obviously happy with Shelley and that was all that mattered. I liked Shelley, both as a coach and a stepmom. It could have been weird, but it wasn’t. Though they had been together since I had started high school, Shelley didn’t live with us.

  Once the competition was over, we spent the weekend in the city to enjoy the hotel, do some shopping, and indulge in fine dining. February’s been so focused on the competition, I barely saw her speak to anyone all week. She found it hard to compete against her friends, so she tuned them out.

  I guessed they all did it because she met up with her friends while she was in town. They spent the day at the mall, gossiping about the other teams, and pigging out on junk food. It’s a rare treat. They were on a strict diet and had basically been almost starving all week.

  After brunch on Sunday, we headed home, and I spent the rest of the day and evening binge-watching TV shows. Mom even let me have dinner on a tray in the living room. I was still stuffed from lunch, but it was only baked chicken, steamed veggies, and plain yogurt. Gotta get my protein!