Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story (28 page)

My mother has always been beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my mother. She’s one of those women that everyone watches when she walks into a room, ice-blue eyes, hair the color of new snow. The difference is that I can always tell when something inside her has changed. The shape of her smile shifts ever so slightly, just enough to remind me of how things once were, the possibility of small miracles.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when my mother was truly happy, when you could see it warm her from the inside out. I remember being four years old, sitting on the grass in our backyard, my father’s arm draped across her waist, as she taught me to sing “It’s a Small World” in French. I can still taste the way the foreign words rolled off my tongue, see the way they looked at each other, the love that once existed.

For some, the word “family” is a relative term, but for me, it’s always been measured in days. Most days she’s unreachable, but when she finds her way back to the surface, it’s like a poem you want to freeze, reread until the page blurs, bottle up and live in it forever. A smile that descends into the darkness, reappears when you’re not watching. Except that I’m always watching. Watching and waiting for the next small miracle. Sometimes I feel as if it’s all I ever do.

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“
Two roads diverged in a wood,” said Mr. Tracy, pacing in a circular motion in front of the classroom. “And I – I took the road less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.” He shut his literature book and surveyed the sea of student faces, casting a wave of silence after the conclusion.

Sixteen year-old Mia Marchette crouched down in her seat and stared at her English book, hiding herself from the teacher’s view. Mr. Tracy walked through the rows of desks, stopping abruptly in the far right corner, his gaze zeroing in on a tall blonde seated in the front row.

“Ms. Meyers,” he said. “What do you think Robert Frost meant when he said that the road less traveled has made all the difference?”

Gretchen Meyers, at a stunning five foot eight inches, had hair the color of sunlight, perfectly sculpted cheekbones and eyes like a cat. She carefully applied a thick layer of pink lip gloss before replying, her eyes cruelly appraising Mr. Tracy’s crooked tie, faded loafers, mismatched socks.

“I think it’s a statement of independence,” she answered. “He didn’t want to take the other road because that was the road everyone else traveled. He took the road less traveled to be different. To be a leader, not a follower.” Gretchen leaned back in her seat and toyed with her curls, waiting for the teacher to speak.

The teacher arched an eyebrow and nodded slowly, as if he was considering her response but still seeking something more. His eyes circled the room and landed on Mia. “Ms. Marchette,” he said. “Do you agree with Ms. Meyers?”

Mia felt every pair of eyes in the room turn their attention on her. Roads, she thought, were like a chess match. You could analyze all day about which direction to move, but sooner or later, it always ended up being the wrong one.

“Yes… and no,” she answered. “I agree that he didn’t choose the road most traveled for reasons of independence, but I also think the underlying meaning of the poem is really about choosing your own path in life.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Mr. Tracy’s mouth. “Care to elaborate?”

Mia fell silent. How could she begin to explain the truth in that? That the decisions people made were as deluding as flowers, only fully revealing themselves once time had been stretched out before them.

“Well, I think that there is never one right or wrong answer to any decision in life,” she continued. “And sometimes doing things your own way, without following the advice or expectations of others, can work out in your favor.”

“Very good,” Mr. Tracy said, returning to his position behind the podium. “Now, with that in mind, I want each of you to write up your own analysis of the poem for homework tonight. It should be no less than three paragraphs long.”

His assignment instructions were cut short by the sound of the bell, indicating that there were only forty-five more minutes until the school day was out. Mia gathered up her books and made her way through the hall, pushing through the zigzag of students. She headed up the stairs to the second floor, ducked into the bathroom next to the science labs. On the opposite side of the door stood Gretchen Meyers, her shoulders resting casually against the back wall.

“Hey.” Gretchen propped herself up on the windowsill and removed a pack of Marlboros from her purse, offering one to Mia. “You smoke?”

Mia stared at her with a look of uncertainty, as she wasn’t ordinarily the type of girl that Gretchen sought for a seventh period smoking partner. Gretchen ruled the popular platinum foursome that dominated Hingham High School’s junior class, a rarity for her or any of her Blondeourage replicas to venture outside their inner circle.

Mia nodded and removed a cigarette from the package.

Gretchen cracked open the bathroom window and leaned back against the pale green tiles as she lit the end of her cigarette. The walls were a depressing shade of olive, the windows tinted just enough to make it appear dark even in the daytime. Mia looked at the wall to her right, studying herself in the mirror. She swapped glances between Gretchen and her reflection, feeling overly inadequate. The two couldn’t have been more opposite in appearance. Mia was about five inches shorter, with long straight black hair and eyes the color of copper, a complete paradox to Gretchen’s curly golden locks and clover colored eyes.

“You smoke up here a lot?” Mia asked, as Gretchen passed her a lighter.

Gretchen nodded. “Almost every day. The teachers never come in here during seventh period. My last class is study, but I never go. I really don’t understand the point of having a study during seventh period. It’s like, why not just let the kids go home and do their homework there, you know?”

Mia nodded, handing the lighter back to Gretchen, then jumped when she heard a loud noise out in the hallway.

Gretchen laughed. “Don’t be so nervous,” she said. “What’s the worst that could happen? They call our parents?” She shrugged. “Who cares?”

“True,” Mia agreed. “I could get expelled and my mom probably wouldn’t even notice.”

Gretchen raised the cigarette to her lips, exhaled a ring of smoke into the air. “Workaholic?”

Mia shook her head. “Manic depressive,” she said, surprised to hear the words spoken aloud. It was easier to keep reality hidden behind a front, to make people believe you were someone you weren’t. The only problem was that truth was as destructive as a virus, you eventually freed it before it broke you.

“Some days she’s fine,” Mia continued. “But other days… she just stays in bed all day. She doesn’t answer the phone, or get the mail, or talk to anyone. Not even me.”

Mia remembered when she was young, her father would refer to them as “good days” and “bad days,” the bad always apparent by his expression. A searing tone would creep into his voice, like the edge of a sharp knife. His eyes would go wild, seeing a life that once belonged to him, a life now as far away as the stars that hung in the sky. 

Then one afternoon, when she was six, her father had had his share of the bad days. His entire demeanor was aging, deteriorating. She remembered him sitting her down, kissing her on the forehead and whispering, “You take care of mommy for me. She needs you.” That was the last she heard from him. With the exception of the occasional birthday card that came bi-annually.

Gretchen nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I hear you,” she said. “My dad works so much that I barely ever see him. I feel more like his secretary than his daughter sometimes.” She let out a light laugh. “But he promised to buy me a Lexus for my eighteenth birthday in August, so I guess he’s good for something.”

“What about your mom?”

“Died when I was eight.”

A flicker of sadness shimmered across Mia’s eyes. “Does it ever get lonely?” she asked. “With your dad gone all the time?”

Gretchen shrugged. “It’s sort of nice, because I don’t have to worry about certain things that my friends do. Carolyn has a curfew, Brooke’s parents ground her if she gets below a C on her report card, and I don’t have to worry about that stuff, you know?” She traced the edge of the windowsill with her cigarette until the red flames turned to ash, then flicked it out the window. “But on the other hand, I do miss having him around sometimes. Someone to eat dinner with, someone who asks how your day was…” She forced a smile. “But I guess you can’t have everything right?”

Mia fell silent, and a brief moment of understanding passed between the two. Even as a child, Mia had always felt alone, the sole survivor of growing up with an absentee parent. She’d envied the stream of minivans that flowed in and out of Esten Elementary, the way the mothers took genuine interest in their children’s lives, their thoughts. But never once had it occurred to her that Gretchen Meyers, of all people, would be in the same boat.

On the outside, Gretchen appeared to have it all, but Mia was beginning to see her in a new light. It was like walking by a clothing store with beautiful designer dresses in the window, only to discover that inside the store, the shelves were empty.

Mia tossed her cigarette out the window and turned again to face the mirror opposite her. Only this time, as she studied her reflection next to Gretchen, she realized that maybe the two weren’t as different as she’d initially thought.