Idiosyncrasy: (n) a mode of behavior or way of thought peculiar to an individual.
I tried to wrap my head around what Alex had just told me. I wanted to help her; I just didn't know what to do or what to say. I hated everything at that moment. I clenched my teeth until they hurt. I began to dig my nails into my arms to try to tame my anger and distress and the plethora of emotions I was feeling. I didn't want to overwhelm her and make her regret telling me, because I'm glad she trusts me enough to be able to disclose such a big part of her life to me.
I never thought something like that could happen to anybody I know. Yeah, I knew it happened, but whenever I would think about all the bad things that could happen, I would imagine it happening about in a faraway land. I imagined war and famine. I never thought of it happening to people I know.
We sat in silence for a few more minutes before she got up from the bed, the sheet still wrapped around her, and went into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I heard the shower's water pound on the floor. She emerged sometime later, after I had begun to fall asleep, with her hair in a towel. Slowly, she drew back the covers and crawled into bed next to me.
"I don't want things to move too quickly," she whispered.
"Me either."
It didn't take us long to fall back asleep.
The weekend after we came home was business as usual. I spent my free time over at Alex's flat, I went to her tutoring sessions, and we spent most of our time together. The only difference is that we looked at each other different. Not different in a bad way, but different as in I feel like I've known her my whole life. It's only been a short while, but I feel like I know everything, even though I don't. We spend nearly every waking moment together. I know every nook and cranny of her flat. On the days that I stay the night, I can easily navigate through her flat in the dark, despite the mess, as if it was my childhood home. I know which floorboard squeaks and the way her kitchen faucet squeals if it's pushed too far to the hot side. She sleeps on her stomach with her right arm underneath her and the left arm glued to her side. Her mouth hangs open slightly, and maybe she drools a little bit. Sometimes she sleeps on her side with one arm holding herself and the other behind her.
Sometimes, in the boredom of the night, I'll go over to her flat to see if she's still awake. Every so often, I can hear her playing her violin or piano ever so softly. She even plays the cello, but she doesn't play that as often, it's too big for her. When I catch her doing this, I sit outside and listen to it. Sometimes she finishes in a few minutes, sometimes a half hour, sometimes an hour. However long it takes, I sit there and listen. It's like my own personal concerto. She hasn't caught me thus far.
"Earth to Chris," PJ grunted over the phone, which brought me out of my daze.
"Sorry, I'm just a little tired. Continue…" I sheepishly said.
PJ and his roommates were planning on making a very extravagant YouTube video. He wanted me to play the main character. Obviously, I agreed and he was explaining the details to me.
"I have the script written already, and we're putting the finishing touches on the set. Can you meet me at my house on, say, the Saturday after next?"
I agreed and quickly wrapped up the conversation. The first thing I wanted to do was tell Alex about my plan. So, I did. Once I mentioned that PJ lived in Brighton, she instantly asked to come with me. I asked her why.
"You have to promise to keep this between us," she whispered. I promised her, even though I have no one to tell even if I wanted to. "My dad lives in Brighton. I've never met him and I just want some closure. I just don't know if I'm willing to accept what will happen if it doesn't go well. I've been thinking about it and this feels like a sign."
I told her the details of the plan, since it's not like I could stop her, even if I wanted to, and two weeks later, we were on a train to Brighton.
Alex
"Wrong key," I scolded. Emily insisted on continuously hitting the wrong key. I even had the keys labeled so she wouldn't get confused, but she still would miss the notes entirely. I think she's doing it on purpose just to mess with me. "Okay, that's enough for today." Emily got up from the bench as quickly as she could and raced out of the room. I was packing up my sheet music when Chloe and an unfamiliar woman walked into the room.
"Alex, I have someone I'd like you meet," Chloe said. She nudged her companion forward. "This is Parvati Korrapati." She said it as if I was supposed to know what she meant. "She represents Yun Jing."
I don't know who Parvati or Jing is. But judging by the way Parvati is dressed, I can assume that she's here for business. She's wearing a pencil skirt, a nice blouse, and heels. She even has a brief case. That means she's official.
"Allow me to explain more," Parvati said. "Yun Jing is an artist and she is opening an art exhibition in about two months. At this exhibition, she wants a live ensemble. Piano, violin, the whole deal, just about every night and at special- "
"Long story, short," Chloe butted in, "they want you for the ensemble!"
"Hold on a minute," Parvati said. "You'll still have to audition like everyone else. We had auditions months ago, so you technically shouldn't be allowed in since that's only fair to the others. However, the Cardelli family has been friends with the family for years, so we were able to pull some strings. We were amazed by your background, so she's more than happy to make room for you."
Ecstatic. That's the only word I could use to describe myself. I had been trying to get into music programs for years, but something always went wrong or I missed the audition so I never got in. Eventually, I gave up. An opportunity like this only comes around once in a blue moon, so I jumped on it. Jing is only in London for the next few days, so I had to make the appointment for right before we left for Brighton.
I was dressed in my Sunday best. A plain red dress that falls under my knees and black heels. Parvati told me to dress nicely, so I did what I could. Since we're the same size, Chloe lent me one of her dresses. As we arrived, Chloe, her father, Chris, and I all filed out of the car and into the building. Other people were waiting when we walked in and the faint sound of Moonlight Sonata filled the air. I had expected to be the only one there. We saw Parvati and headed towards her.
"Jing thought it would be best to audition more people," she sighed. "Someone else is auditioning right now, but once he's done, we'll lead you back."
It didn't take long for them to finish. Parvati quickly escorted me through a pair of embellished doors, talking as she walked and leaving everyone else behind. Once through the doors, I was ushered onto a stage and I stood in front of a panel of five other judges. One of them stood up and introduced herself as Jing.
"Jing," Parvati said, "this is Alexandrine Lemieux. The one the Cardelli's recommended." This seemed to pique her interest. Jing got up from her seat to shake my hand and tell me how much she's heard of me.
"Alexandrine, is it?" one of the older male judges said. "Please tell us which pieces you have prepared for us this morning."
I nearly froze. I almost threw up. I practically fainted.
"For my piano piece, I have chosen Mozart's Piano Sonata number 11 in A minor," I said as loud as my voice could handle. I made my way back to the piano and began. Instantly, I regretted my decision. I chose this piece because it's complicated, so I thought that would show how well I can play. It turns out it's too complicated. After I had finished up on the piano, they asked me to play something on the violin, since I play both.
"Thank you, Alexandrine. You'll be hearing from us soon," Parvati said. She escorted me off the stage and back to the room that we first came into. "I thought you did great."
I've never met my dad. The story my mom tells me is that one day, he left her at eight months pregnant to go back to Manchester. She always says she went into labor on a Greyhound bus and that's why my birth certificate says I was born in a random city in Saskatchewan.
After he left, my mom had a major break down. She started using and drinking. She dated a few men who would hit her. During her years-long binge, she had my little brother, Jordan, when I was five. Everything I've ever done has been to protect him. After a few years of being in and out of rehab and jail, she realized that was no way for a child to live so she sent me away to live with family members. Canada is a large place, but I've lived so many areas. I started by moving in with my grandparents on our reserve. My mom is Chipewyan and most of her family lives in Manitoba, since that's our homeland, but a lot of her family moved south for more employment opportunities.
Soon after, my grandpa fell on hard times and they couldn't care for me anymore. I was sent away once again, but this time to Yellowknife and then Toronto and then to Winnipeg and so on. I tried my hardest to keep out of foster care until a family member could be located, but things didn't always work out. Sometimes I couldn't find anyone before I'd be "evicted" and we'd wander the streets until I could call my caseworker or another family member. Thankfully, this only lasted a few years and before I started high school, I was back with my mom's parents. My dad's parents would usually take us in over the summer.
Eventually, my mom got her life together and she moved me back home with her parents before we moved back to Yellowknife for work and met my stepdad. I lived there until I moved to London.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Chris asked me as I stood on the sidewalk in front of my dad's house. There was nothing on the outside that indicated that he lived there. There was nothing to prove that my dad even had another kid or grew up in Quebec. It was a normal, middle-class, suburban home in Brighton. I don't exist to him.
"No," I mumbled as I walked up the path and knocked on the front door of a white-picket-fence-house I will never live in.
"May I help you?" asked some white lady who answered the door. Behind her, the shrill voice of children demanded to know who was at the door. She ignored them.
She was the complete opposite of my mom. She was blonde. Yellow, dirty brown hair fell to her shoulders in a bob. She had on a flower-printed apron that bulged out from her pregnant belly. Judging by her laugh lines, she was older.
"Um, yes. Is Clarke Rice here?" I stammered out. My face scrunched up as I tried to stop myself from crying.
The woman said, crossing her arms. "May I know who's asking?" Before I could respond my half-brother, Xavier, walked past and waved to me. Xavier is my dad's son from his first marriage. He's only a few years older than I am. We met once at my grandpa's house at Christmas a few years ago. He's changed a lot—I barely recognized him.
"Hey, buddy," I said back to him before focusing my attention back to the woman.
"Xavier? Do you know this young lady?"
"Yeah, that's Alex," he said like it was obvious. The woman didn't feel the same way. Before he could respond, another person interrupted.
"What's all the commotion?" a man's voice said. Once he came into my peripheral, I instantly recognized him from the pictures my grandpa has in his house. He doesn't look like me at all. "Whatever you're selling, we're not interested."
"You may not recognize me but I'm Alex." He gave me a puzzled look. "Um, I'm Misty's daughter. You remember Misty, don't you? She had your baby and I'm that baby," I told him.
The nameless woman led Chris and I into the living room. There sat three children, the oldest was no older than 13 while the youngest couldn't be much more than five. While we were waiting, a boy that looked around 16 walked into the living room, spotted Chris and me, and left. We all sat in silence and watched the TV. They were whispering in the other room. A few seconds later, my dad walked into the room. We just stared at each other before either of us said anything.
"Brook," my dad said quietly, "can I have a moment alone?"
The woman, who I now know as Brook, escorted the three children and Xavier out of the room and into the kitchen. Chris followed them and shut the French doors behind him. This didn't give us a lot of privacy since the doors were clear, un-frosted glass.
"You're so grown up now," he said.
"Yeah. Twenty-two years really changes a person."
Despite what people may think, my mom isn't a horrible person. She just fell down the wrong path with the wrong people and ended up in a bad place. My mom cared enough to send me away so I wouldn't see her like that, as crazy as it sounds. A lot of bad things happened to me that probably wouldn't have happened if I had stayed with my mom, but I don't blame her for it. She did what she thought was best for us.
I don't hate my mom for sending me away. But I do hate my dad for leaving.
"What are you doing here? Did you come all the way from your Podunk town in Alberta just to see me here?
"No, I live here. Well, I live in London and my friend, Chris, was coming down so I asked to join to finally meet you. And I'm from Manitoba, by the way."
"You really shouldn't have done this." He didn't look happy or relieved to see me. Instead, he wrinkled his brow and was almost shouting.
"Do you miss me?" I asked. He didn't respond. "Did you ever think about me or talk about me?" Still no response. "Was I ever a concern of yours? You didn't even recognize my name."
"Of course I thought about you. You're my child for crying out loud!" he shouted at me. "Who do you think you are coming into my home and accusing me of not caring about my kid!"
"Could I even sit up by myself the last time you saw me? Or was it just an ultrasound picture? If you did care about me, you would've been there for me. You would've helped me or even just checked up on me. But you didn't. I needed you but I guess I wasn't important enough. You made your bed."
"There's a reason I didn't stay. I was scared."
"Yeah, you know who else was scared? My teenage mother. But I guess keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night."
I remember as I kid I always wondered why all my classmates had a mommy and daddy but I didn't. Some of my friends still lived with both parents and they all had mommies. I didn't have that. I visited my mom often, but it's not the same.
"You should leave," he barked at me. "Now."
"I turned out alright. I'm not a poster child that can be bragged about at the school meetings or at business dinners but I'm alright," I sighed. Without waiting for a response, I went through the double doors, told Chris we were leaving, and left. "I shouldn't have to beg you for a relationship."