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“Claire?” My aunt’s voice interrupted my reminiscing. “Hurry down, you need to get going.”
“One sec, Mags,” I called down to her.
Adjusting my sandy locks in the mirror one last time, as hopeless as it was, I tried to tell myself today was a new day and a better day – a homecoming of sorts. This cheerful tactic was something I tried every morning hopeful that the power of positive thinking would somehow manifest itself into my life and all would be perfect. I was still waiting for that to happen, though I vowed to keep an open mind.
Truthfully, I wished my first day of senior year was anywhere but Northfield. Due to the rumors about the ghost in our house, I was sure I would be all anyone was talking about. The rumors weren’t hushed any by the fact that my parents had scooped me up and disappeared in the middle of the night, all those years ago, with no explanation from our family as to why we left.
My parents never regretted their decision to leave Northfield. They had claimed with each move it was for my own protection – that I was special. Their overly suspicious nature had hindered my social life tremendously. I was allowed to make friends but they were not allowed to come to my house, and I was not, under any circumstances, allowed to visit their homes. I had often wondered if we were in a witness protection program on the run from the mob. It wasn’t as though my father would have been considered the shady type but he had been more than a little secretive.
I had frequently questioned my parents about why they sheltered me from so much of the world. They would never tell me, insisting I had to wait for some understanding. That request had infuriated me. As a young girl, how was I supposed to understand that sleepovers, birthday parties, and trips to the mall were out of the question for me?
In my opinion, my parents had been diluted with some theory that I had a ‘larger purpose’ in life and it was their duty to make sure I was safe. They controlled everything I did for my ‘protection’. I was sure they were as crazy as the townspeople always said they were, but I loved them in spite of themselves.
So, who was I? An awkward, insecure teenager? A loner? I supposed most teens felt this way, but I took it personally, feeling like if my parents would have allowed me a normal life, then I would be a more confident person. It’s true that all parents try to shelter their children, shielding them from dangers of the world, but mine had been over the top. They had never trusted anyone. If a stranger in line at a store had said hello to me, my father would grip my elbow and drag me from the store, abandoning our cart and its contents. Growing up this way, I learned not to trust anyone. Our frequent moves had been my justification for this distrust, and for not allowing me to have any meaningful relationships.
Despite all of that, I longed to see my overbearing mother beaming over me while I played guitar. I would even graciously accept her criticisms. My dad had taught me to play. As I got older, I had taught myself to play more – mastering the art. Now it was my one constant, my fingers on the strings, the sound, taking me to a place without worry. My “happy place” as I referred to it.
I loved classic jazz, like Charlie Parker or Freddie Hubbard. My dad used to play Jazz albums for me on an old record player, when I was growing up. I had loved the crackle in the speaker from the old vinyl as much as the music itself. Something about the crispy noises from the scratching of the needle had been soothing. My dad would laugh telling me he thought I was born in the wrong era. An old soul, he would say.
I was fond of some modern musicians as well. They were mostly singer songwriters, such as, Ed Sheeran and Tim McMorris. Whenever I tried to talk music with girls my age it was usually followed by a rude response, followed up with loud whispers. “She’s so strange.” I found it best to avoid this line of conversation when attempting to make friends. Instead, I chose to keep things a little more simple, keeping my distance. Having friends were overrated, anyway.
“Claire!” My aunt’s voice brought me back to reality again.
“I’m coming, Aunt Maggie,” I called down, grabbing my favorite blue sweatshirt from the post of the bed, and heading towards the door. Taking a deep breath, I whispered out loud over and over, “today will be different. Today
will be different. Today will be different.” I was still banking on the power of positive thinking. Hopefully, today I could finally cash out.
Making my way to the kitchen, I forced a self-assured smile. My aunt had been worrying over me so much since I arrived. She was genuine and caring. As sweet as Maggie was, it made me uncomfortable knowing how much she fretted over my grief. The thought of her feeling compelled to make sure I was happy all the time made me sad. Smiling whenever I was in her presence was something I thought eased her worry. That morning, I found it especially difficult as the anticipation of another new school was racing through my thoughts.
Searching through the chaotic cabinets, I looked for something to grab for breakfast. Aunt Maggie was not the most organized person. She owned a mounting collection of plastic ware, finding a home in whichever cabinet happened to have room when it came out of the dishwasher. I found a box of Pop Tarts behind a plastic colander that had been placed close to the stove one too many times. After a quick glance at the expiration date, I dropped the foil-wrapped fruit pastry into the front pocket of my backpack. I wasn’t sure I would be able to actually eat it. My stomach had been doing somersaults all morning as my nerves continued to develop.
I set my bag on the floor and snatched a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink.
“Are you nervous?” Maggie asked. “Nervous?” Aunt Maggie repeated herself a little louder.
I was wrapped in thought, not paying attention, even though she was standing right next to me. “Wha…What?” I stuttered.
“Nervous?” Maggie asked again.
“Uh…No…Not at all, Aunt Maggie. Really, I’m fine. I’ve been to how many schools? I’m good. Don’t worry about me, okay?” Maggie nodded. The crease in her brow however, told me she didn’t believe me. Her expression reminded me so much of my dad.
Maggie was my dad’s older sister, although she would never say how much older. She was a woman of small stature with dark-red hair. Large dimples on both sides of her smooth face made her irresistible. Just one smile from Maggie made you feel welcomed and cared for. She lived in this town her entire life and knew everyone. Yet, she rarely had visitors and mostly kept to herself. I was fine with that because it meant fewer visitors to the house that I would have to interact with.
Finished with my water, I placed the glass in the dishwasher. I scooped my backpack from the floor and slung it over my shoulder.
Deep breath, Claire. Today will be different.
“Claire, it’s okay to be nervous. I would be,” Maggie offered with an earnest smile.
“Okay, so, I’m a little nervous,” I admitted, holding up my index finger and thumb and pinching them together, leaving a small gap to show how much.
“Come here, sweetheart,” she said, yanking me in for a quick hug. She let go of me, and I leaned against the counter while Maggie set off rummaging through the pantry.
I loved this woman so much. I couldn’t imagine surviving the last couple of months without her. As much as I loved her, I wasn’t sure how long I would stay with her.
I liked Northfield, affectionately known as River Town to the locals and weekenders that hiked along the Connecticut River. Northfield was a quaint town that lay at the intersection of Massachusetts, Vermont and New Hampshire on both sides of the Connecticut River in the Pioneer Valley. It was plush, with rolling hills and miles of dense forest making it a beautiful spot. But I wanted to explore the world on my own, outside of town.
Before my grandmother died last year, she had lived in this house as well. She and my aunt had always been together. My aunt had never married or started a life of her own. She seemed to really enjoy living with her parents and taking care of them. My grandfather had passed away about a year before my family moved. I was always curious if Maggie ever met someone who later realized she was a package deal, so things didn’t work out. It was silly for me to think about it as Maggie seemed perfectly content with her life and choices.
