CHAPTER FOUR
Fractured Beginnings
I almost left, that first day. I mean, there was no reason for me to stay, no justification I could have used. The library was small and rundown, hardly worth the space that it took up on the lot; if I wanted a book, there were many other places I could have gone, places guaranteed to have what I wanted and not just a ragtag assortment of worn out paperbacks.
And she was leaving, opening the door to James' VW camper and stepping out; she didn’t need me.
James was already worried, no doubt.
I really should have gone.
But, just like before, there was something about her, a depth that I knew I would never truly and fully understand. Like a shiny penny to a curious toddler, Roza intrigued me with an almost obsessive intensity, and I found I could not just let her leave.
Then again, her utter fragility was so obvious, even then, that I might have restrained. If not for her own hesitance. I just needed a sign. A single show of weakness.
And then she paused.
~Claire Pia
*March 19, 2013 7:14am*
It only took me a few moments to determine that Claire was different.
She’d seen me relapse. She knew something was wrong with me; after witnessing me at one of those times, it was impossible to continue on in ignorance, however slight the instance might’ve seemed to me. And yet, her reaction was so...wrong. Not wrong in a bad way, just...confusing. She acted as if nothing had happened, as if I was an old friend whom she hadn’t spoken with in ages, her mouth running on as if without any effort. She filled the silence with an incredible ease, creating a hum of noise that I found oddly comforting. She spoke of her life, of her family, of the things that had happened to her in the past week. And, for the first time in quite a while, I found myself listening.
Claire was a dancer and she absolutely loved it. The current routine she was working on was geared towards the song In The Arms of an Angel by Sarah Mclachlan and it was much slower than she was used to. She had a dog named Theo. Her dog loved to sing along whenever the music came on and the howling totally interrupted her practicing. She couldn’t figure out what to do with him. She had a boyfriend and he was her world. He had given her said dog. The list of topics went on.
The conversation, though one way, was so meaningless and yet, the tone was not indifferent. The opposite, in fact. Though her words went on tangents with topics completely aside, her voice was carefully soft.
Josephine couldn’t have pulled that off if her life depended on it; neither could her mother. Mrs. Bransen came close sometimes, but she could never pretend the true carelessness that Claire put forth. Then again, Claire didn’t really know. She’d seen my fear and trembling, but she didn’t know the cause. So maybe her carefree character wasn’t all that improbable.
But she was so nice.
For a little while I was able to ignore my doubt; I wanted to pretend that it was real, pretend that she cared, pretend that I could have a friend. A normal, good friend. But, by the time we had pulled into the parking lot of West Markel’s Public Library, I couldn’t let it go.
I didn’t understand it, couldn’t comprehend.
If Claire were a man, the false kindness would have made all too much sense, but as a woman?
No one was kind without cause. I’d learned this time and time again. Sure, there was Mrs. Bransen, but I’d resigned myself to that inconsistency long ago. And Josephine was her daughter, so it made a weird kind of sense that some of that phenomenon would have seeped over into her. But anyone else? It just wasn’t feasible.
