Kire9
Despite the long years that had passed, I could still remember Amelie Batiste's shy smile and gentle gaze as we sat side by side.
She had been a good memory, one of the few I had coveted in my youth. Unfortunately, I could not think of her without recalling what had happened in the days following our encounter.
In the course of a night, my hope of being normal rather than an outcast had been renewed, and in a heartbeat, in less than a day after I had found acceptance, my life wrenched back onto a dismal path.
As the years faded, as new scars and nightmares replaced the old, I had forgotten her name and her face. Bitterly, hopelessly, I had convinced myself that no one would ever treat me as kindly—and she had done so because she never saw my face.
What had been an extraordinary night turned into a taunting recollection of a night I would never experience again.
"Erik?" Julia whispered. "What is it?"
Her voice jolted me from a wisp of daydreams and I blinked. "Nothing," I mumbled as I started to tie the strings together once more and discard the old gift.
Julia placed her hand over mine. "No," she argued. "I can tell by the look in your eyes that this is important. Please tell me what's in the box. Please."
I took a deep breath and turned the bag over, depositing the ivory comb into my open palm. Two of the teeth were missing, but otherwise the beautifully carved ivory appeared the same as the last time I'd seen it.
For a long moment I stared at the gift Amelie had given me so many years ago, the token I had returned to her by post along with several valuables I had stolen back from the gypsies.
"A gift," I said at last, my voice hollow, my chest aching as I recalled the ornate gift's origins. No one had ever given me a present, especially without expecting something in return.
Amelie had been unlike anyone else I had ever encountered—and in less than twenty-four hours she had bestowed a taste of friendship and trust upon me. "A gift I had returned to her long ago," I sullenly added.
"Her?" Julia grinned at me. "Who was she?"
"A swan princess," I mused. At the age of thirteen, she was undoubtedly the most perfect girl I had ever seen. She was lovely; coy yet still radiant. The tone of her voice, the graceful sweep of her hand, the small steps she took while dancing…these were notes in my mind, a symphony of beauty set to music I had tried to recreate in my head.
Julia looked thoughtfully at the comb in my hand. "She sounds wonderful."
"She was," I said, still unable to find my full voice. Unexpected emotion forced me to pause and swallow the lump threatening to strangle me. "In a single night, one person showed me more kindness than I had experienced for most of my life," I said, each word trembling off my tongue. "She owed me nothing, we had no relation, and yet…"
Julia stayed quiet a moment. "Do you remember her name?"
"Amelie Batiste," I answered without a moment's hesitation. I had tried so hard to forget her, pretend she had never existed. Somehow thinking of her and knowing I would never see her again proved painful and suffocating. It was easier to ignore the past than dwell.
Saying her name aloud made me grunt, and I realized my nose had started to run and my eyes turned cloudy with unshed tears. Turning away, I grabbed my handkerchief and took a deep breath.
This gift was a meaningless part of my past, a memory that had no bearing on my life and yet I couldn't bear to look at the comb without a rush of emotion.
"That was a long time ago," I said gruffly, attempting to once again bury the thought of her.
"Where did you meet her?" Julia asked, sounding overly curious.
I considered stuffing the comb back into the box and changing the subject, though I knew Julia would continue to badger me until she had sufficient answers. I suppose I couldn't blame her for questioning me considering how my affection for Christine had ended.
But Amelie was nothing like Christine. I had been a different person then, a young man still hoping to live in peace, to find a place of my own.
In silence I ran my thumb along the spine and studied the dove carved into ivory.
Thirty years had passed since Amelie had told me to open my hand so that she could give me a remembrance of herself. Strangely I felt once again reduced to my awkward childhood, ashamed for possessing such beauty when I felt I had none to return.
"We were only passing through for a night," I said at last, giving in to my desire to think of that night again. "Only a bed and a meal, nothing more."
But it had been so much more than passing through a nameless town. I had found a friend and acceptance, neither of which I had experienced from a stranger—and a girl no less.
Julia placed the note between us and settled her hands in her lap. She smiled and nodded but didn't interrupt, obviously expecting a story.
"There was some type of celebration taking place, a festival of sorts with everyone wearing masks they had made. My uncle paid for us to enjoy the feast." I smiled to myself, remembering the lanterns strung across the town square, the tables lined up and the small, wooden stage where her sister Marie performed.
"There was more food than I had ever seen in my life," I continued. "And children my age milling about. My uncle forced me into speaking with her."
Julia raised a brow. "Forced?" she questioned.
"He wouldn't allow me to hide," I explained. "And he said one day I would thank him." Again my throat tightened, the list of my regrets laid out before me once more. "And I played."
"Played what?" she questioned.
"The violin. On their stage."
Julia put her hand over her mouth. "You did? Oh, I bet you were wonderful."
I shrugged. "It was a small stage," I said, discarding her compliment.
"You are far too modest. And your uncle was correct, wasn't he?" Julia said. "You do thank him for encouraging you to participate rather than looming in the distance. He must have been very proud to see you playing on the stage."
"And dance," I added.
Julia's eyes widened. "Now that I would pay to see," she said lightly.
In hindsight, I felt as though I had wasted the majority of my life looming in the distance, hiding in shadows. One night of happiness seemed insignificant in decades of misery.
"I have spent a lifetime forgetting when I should have thanked him—and Amelie as well."
Julia studied the comb, which I handed to her. She traced the design with her index finger and looked up at me. "How old were you at the time?" she asked.
"Thirteen," I answered as I rubbed my hand along my arm. The bite wound had healed so well that there was hardly a scar remaining, but I could still feel the indentations left by canine teeth.
"What is it?" she asked, eyeing me closely.
"We were staying outside of a larger town earlier in the day and my uncle left me briefly. Men discovered where we had made camp. I found myself in a bit of trouble and…and they shot my dog."
Julia's lips parted. "Why?"
"She went to protect me and…they tossed her into a pit with me. She was badly wounded and started thrashing about."
Julia gasped but averted her eyes. In silence she reached out and placed her hand on my knee, an invitation to continue or stop if I so desired. My hands shook and I couldn't bear to recount the horrors of that day aloud. At last, I settled on an abridged version.
"Girl—the dog—bit me in the arm when I tried to save her. She didn't mean to, but…she was dying and I didn't know what to do for her. There was so much commotion, and when she was gone, I wanted to kill all of them," I admitted. "I wanted revenge and then…then my uncle returned for me. He kept them from killing me and me from doing something foolish.
"We walked for what seemed like an entire night and then we were within this village. As much as I wanted to slink away, we were suddenly surrounded by masks and the music. For once I was no different. My uncle called me his son and suddenly I felt like just a boy, not a monster."
"You were his son," she sniffled.
I had very much wanted my uncle to be my true father. Even if our time together was only a few months, I wanted desperately to believe he was secretly my father, a man who loved and accepted me regardless of my appearance.
In my mind and my memory, he would always be my father, regardless of who had sired me. In every way that mattered, he had been a loving parent.
I missed him dearly and I knew time would never change that.
