Chapter One: Something Shared

I woke up very early, as usual. I lay in bed for a moment, listening to the sounds of the morning. A few birds had woken up outside, making low noises as they whispered to the others nearby. The ticking of my bedside clock was quite loud in the relative silence. I glanced at it, noting that it was just after five. A loud snore interrupted my tranquil state and I laughed. My father snored so loud, I could hear him down the hall. I threw off my warm covers and shivered in the cool air, feeling the hair on my arms raise.

"Good morning," I smiled, looking at my mother's picture on my bedside table. I picked it up and kissed the glass covering, something I did every day, before heading into the bathroom to shower.

My mother, Ilona Laaksonen, died a few weeks after I was born. My father found her when he came home from work. She was lying on our couch, with her shirt half unbuttoned and me next to her. My father said I was sleeping soundly and probably didn't even witness her death. I was too young to form memories even if I had witnessed it but I'd like to think she was sleeping too. We both dozed off and only one of us woke up. Apparently, she had a heart condition and it suddenly gave out on her one day while I was nursing. The doctor said that it was quick and painless. I guess that was meant to comfort. I don't want to think of her like this though; I'd rather focus on her life.

I have no memories of her, no real ones anyway. Sometimes I'd make up happy memories of us together. Her pushing me on a swing or chasing each other or laughing while making cookies. Kind of sad, huh? I got to know her through old pictures and home videos; there was actually one with me in it! She was singing Kehtolaulu, a beautiful song, while rocking me in her arms. It used to make me smile but now, I can't watch it without crying. Looking at us, you couldn't tell we were mother and daughter. She had beautiful golden blonde hair that bounced and curled perfectly but I got stuck with my father's mousy brown hair. I had his eyes too, a light brown that almost looked hazel in the right lighting as well as his eyebrows which were a little too thick for my liking. I wish I had my mother's green eyes. I tried using color contacts before but it just didn't work well.

I've tried imitating her many times on many different aspects but none worked out. Her graceful way of walking was impossible for me to copy. I ended up looking very stiff and awkward. It didn't help that I was a total klutz. I loved her laugh that I heard so many times in the videos. It was soft and airy and almost sounded like she was singing. My attempts sounded like a dying goat.

One thing I did pick up was her love of music. She was a professional at playing piano and gave lessons on the weekends. My fingers couldn't move fast enough on the keys to play complex pieces but I could play simpler ones easily. I think she'd be proud at my efforts. I was much better with string instruments. The violin and cello are my favorites. My father encouraged me to join my school music group but I kept making excuses. I got too nervous around people and would forget the basics of playing.

After my shower, I dressed in my school uniform. Typical navy knee-length skirt and tie with a white blouse. Since it was a chillier day, I wore my navy blazer and thick stockings. The typical private school uniform that I swear is in every country. I live in Finland, by the way, hence the overly unique name. We live in the capital city, Helsinki. In case you were wondering, this isn't a translation from Finnish; it's the real deal, straight from the horse's mouth! Nearly everyone in Finland knows English as their second language if not their first. I've only met two people that weren't fluent in English. Pretty surprising, huh? Say yes!

As I went down the stairs, I heard my father yawn and the springs of his mattress groan. I smiled. I was halfway done my breakfast when my father's heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. The front door opened then closed a moment later. He grinned at me as he entered the kitchen area, today's newspaper tucked under his arm.

"Good morning, Leena."

"Good morning," I said with a mouthful of eggs.

He merely shook his head, chuckling at my table manners. Pouring himself a cup of tea, he settled in the chair opposite from me and scanned the front page. I looked him over quietly as he read.

My father, Klaus Laaksonen, was an accountant. As I said before, his hair was brown. He always had it parted off to the side and neatly gelled down. Perched on his nose was a pair of thin wire glasses which really made him look like a dork, which he was. He was in his self proclaimed lucky suit which was a dark gray that he had offset with a blue and purple tie that I had given him for his birthday. He probably had a hundred bright and silly ties, thanks to me and my attempts at making him look less boring. I don't mean to be critical but I'm not sure what my mother saw in him. She was this fantastic person and he was, well, average.

"Wait for me after school, Leena. I'll give you a ride," he said, setting the paper down.

"Oh, thank you," I said, surprised that he offered, "I thought you were working later."

He paused, taking a sip of tea. "I am. I need to balance Mrs. Jokela's accounts. It'd be nice if you kept her company while I was there."

I rolled my eyes. "You mean keep her from talking your ear off so you can concentrate."

He furrowed his brows, a sign that I was correct, and took another sip from his cup. "No, that's not it. She's just lonely and some friendly interaction would do some good," he gave me a slight smile, "She makes great pastries."

I sighed. "Alright, I'll go,"

By the time the last bell rang, I had completely forgotten about my promise so I was surprised to see my father parked outside of the school.

"Ah…" I said to myself, "Right."

I threw my schoolbag in the back and hopped into the front seat. "How was school?" my father asked, pulling out of the spot.

"Okay, I learned to play Fur Elise on violin."

"That's nice," he said, paying attention to the road. Music really wasn't his thing.

I didn't take his lack of interest personally, just like he didn't take my lack of interest in accounting personally. He loved math and numbers and all of that stuff. For me, math was evil, my worst subject in school. I used to think he was just plain weird for being so obsessed with numbers but now I get it. Before it was a sort of hobby but now he uses it to fill a void in his life, the empty space where my mother used to be. I do the same thing, even though I never properly met her, I can still feel that something's missing. I fill that void with music, of course. I challenge myself to learn harder pieces and then get to smile at my accomplishments, knowing that my mother would smile too if she were here.

"We're here," father said as we pulled into a gravel driveway. "Remember to smile. Oh, and don't stare."

"Something tells me she wouldn't notice." I said softly so he couldn't hear.

Mrs. Jokela was blind since birth. Luckily for her, she was very pretty, in her younger years of course. I vaguely wondered what I'd look like when I was ancient like her.

Father knocked at the door and waited politely, his briefcase in hand. Mrs. Jokela answered a moment later. "Yes?" she answered in Finnish.

"Hello. It's me, Mr. Laaksonen," father told her, also speaking in Finnish.

"Oh my, you're right on time."

"I've brought my daughter, Matleena, here with me."

"Oh! How lovely. Come in, come in." she stepped aside, letting us pass.

My nose was assaulted with that classic old person smell, only it was mixed with perfume and garlic. It was a decent sized house but all of the furniture crammed in made it look small. The whole place looked old fashioned but still gave off the impression that it was classy and rich. To be honest, I was surprised she didn't have forty cats walled up inside. She seemed the type.

"Everything is in the dining room," Mrs. Jokela said in her worn voice.

"Alright, thank you," he replied, leaving us alone.

I stood there uncomfortably under Mrs. Jokela's blind gaze. She smiled. "Matleena, was it?" she asked me. I nodded then realized she couldn't see me. "Yes," I said evenly.

"Take a seat, dear. Can I get you something to eat?"

"No thank you, I just had lunch."

"I made some cheese and fruit pastries the other day. I'll go get you some."

"Oh, that's not… okay."

Mrs. Jokela was already in the kitchen, making noise. She seemed to navigate well for a blind person but if I lived in a house for nearly eighty years, I'd know the place pretty well too. I wasn't sure how she got on with baking and not burning the house down though. Or finding matching clothes. She came back in carrying of tray of food.

"Thank you," I said as she set it on the table in front of me.

"Eat, eat," she ordered, "Now tell me about yourself, Matleena."

"Well, I'm seventeen years old and in my third year of high school." I replied, taking a small bite of a pastry. It was pretty good.

"Go on,"

I thought for a moment, listening to my father ruffle papers in the next room. "Uh… I like to play violin and cello."

"Oh that's wonderful, you'll have to play for me. Will you?"

I looked at her and felt sad. I could see the underlying hope on her wrinkled face; it was so apparent, I swear I could feel it. Mrs. Jokela wasn't just some blind shut-in looking for attention and ways to show off her fortune; she was just a lonely person.

"Okay, yes, I'll bring them over some time," I said softly and she beamed.

I fidgeted slightly and ate another pastry. I was about to tell her that I liked them when she spoke up. "What time is it dear?"

My eyes landed on the tall grandfather clock in the corner. "It's ten after…seven?"

"Oh, not that clock, dear, it hasn't worked since 1962."

"Oh," I said lamely and checked my watch, "4:21."

"Thank you,"

I was still staring at the clock. "Uh… I can fix it for you," I offered.

"You can?"

"Yeah, "I stood up, "I'm pretty good with mechanics."

It really wasn't hard to fix the clock. There was a weight imbalance, messing up the pendulum rhythm as well as a main gear that got knocked out of place. Ms. Jokela was ecstatic when I finished. She kept saying that I was a special young woman and so on, I almost blushed. I bet she'd appreciate Fur Elise on violin too.

She went into story telling mode from then on. Talk therapy sure does work. She spoke about a bunch of things, her late husband, Eliel, and her favorite music, some of the recipes that were her specialty, and (ah ha!) she did have a cat! It was one of those hairless ones. It came trotting in, wearing a knitted sweater and nearly scared me to death. After I got used to him, he was pretty cool and less creepy. She named him Frankie, after her favorite singer, Sinatra.

Mrs. Jokela was telling me about her time in a concentration camp; somehow all old people stories lead back to some war. She was only a teenager at the time and had stayed with her mother and two sisters. She and her younger sister survived Auschwitz but she told me a really weird account. When she first arrived and was being sorted, she remembered it was raining heavily.

"But I could hear over the rain and shouts of the soldiers and the cries of the people, one voice. A little boy, screaming for his mother. He sounded younger than I, maybe ten or eleven. But then… something strange happened," she paused a moment, "I could hear the iron gates groaning loudly, louder than anything I've ever heard…"

I leaned forward slightly, completely engrossed.

"My sister told me that she saw the gates twist in on themselves as if God's hand was crushing them. But it was the boy, I think. His cries held a power," she smiled, "A strength behind them that the Nazis didn't have."

"What… happened to him?"

She blinked her milky colored eyes and shook her head. "I don't know. He was taken away. Anja said his mother was taken later too. I can only assume they were killed."

"Oh," I said quietly.

Reflecting on the tale, I started to think she was just making it up or was exaggerating. Maybe she just jumped to conclusions; it was probably the wind making the gates creak. I didn't really think about it after that day.

"Alright, all done, Mrs. Jokela," my father said, walking into the room.

We both stood. "You have such a talented daughter, Mr. Laaksonen! She's promised to play violin for me."

My father raised his brows at me, clearly surprised. "Oh… well, that's very nice. I'll be back next month… or sooner, if Matleena needs a ride for your miniature concert," he chuckled.

"Thank you for the pastries, Mrs. Jokela, "I said smiling, "It was nice meeting you."

"Of course, child."

I went to follow my father out the door but stopped, feeling sad again. There she was, being left alone and lonely. Then I did something that surprised both of us. I hugged her. I squeezed my eyes tightly, unsure of why I felt so emotional about a total stranger.

"I'll come back tomorrow," I told her, pulling away.

I heard her gasp. "Matleena!"

I opened my eyes and… wait, I opened my eyes and… What the hell? I couldn't see anything! My first thought was that all the lights went out then I realized how stupid that was. I really couldn't see! Everything was a deep impenetrable black. I was completely and totally blind.

AN: Sudden blindness what's that all about? This was basically a character background and introduction. What do you think of Matleena, so far? Nothing? Getting onto the cooler stuff next chapter! Oh, and anyone know who Mrs. J was talking about at Auschwitz? Of course you do. Let me know what you think!