Infinite Clarity

one

[ one: so the Big Apple, eh? ]

I sat down on the piano bench that was paired with my upright piano and opened the cover so that all of the black and white keys were on full display in front of me. A breeze blew through the slightly opened windows, carrying the light colored curtains with it in a soft, carefree dance. Sunlight flooded through the transparency of the windows, giving the room an early morning, eerie feeling.

This was my space. No one else but my closest friends (Eli West for the most part), was allowed up here. Two years ago I convinced my father, James Clark, to finish off a small portion of the attic for me. This was an extension to the house that was right above my bedroom; I was happy to call it mine. It was just a little room to come to when I needed to get away from reality for a few minutes.

That's what my mother wanted for me: an area for me to go whenever I had to just be alone. She had one at our old house. Her's used to be a room where she spent a majority of her free time painting. Painting was her way of letting her emotions out. Every one of her paintings had a hidden meaning behind them, but she never quite told me what they meant.

This room was almost like a second bedroom to me. It had a lot of my important things in here; my piano, my acoustic guitar, song book, a bunch of old boxes, et cetera.

The walls were painted a pale yellow color with different pink and light green swirl designs and inspirational quotes painted on the walls in a dark purple color. Pink and white, sheer curtains hung loosely on either side of the one, extensive glass window with light filtering through them. In front of the window was a wooden window seat that was painted white. Pink and light green pillows were on it. My piano was also white with my name printed on the top lid in black, cursive letters: Adrienne Clark. My acoustic was on its stand, tucked into a corner of the room. Old, a hardly touched, ripped boxes that were filled with my mom's old belongings sat in another corner.

You see, my mother died of breast cancer seven years ago. I didn't know how bad it was back then. I was only nine, almost ten. All I knew was that my mother was "sick," as my dad had put it.

I'd hung up all of her canvased paintings on one wall of the room to form a large collage. They were all different sized, too. It gave the room a somewhat original design to it.

My mom even designed this room for me. That's really the only reason I carried out her plans after her death. I knew this room would've make her happy. Here, I could do all the things I loved: write songs, sing, and play my two favorite instruments.

I started playing Blank Page by Christina Aguilera on my piano as I sang along softly. But before I was able to hit the chorus, I heard my dad call for me.

"Adrienne! Come downstairs! They're here!" Dad said. I knew he was at the bottom of the staircase that led up to my private room. He wasn't allowed to come up here unless I was in a really good mood, and he understood why perfectly. It was a room where I could connect with Mom, and he was fine with it.

I stopped playing piano and singing. Before I exited the room, I covered the piano keys, took one last glance at Mom's paintings, and went down the carpeted stairs.

"Hey, Dad." I gave him a small smile and began rummaging through my drawers. "Who's 'they?'" I said absentmindedly, "I thought only Elizabeth's friend was coming."

"She brought her son, too."

I turned around slowly to give him an are-your-kidding-me look. "Dad, you could have told me that."

"Sorry, honey. I didn't know until this morning when Beth told me... I'm sorry."

It was bad enough that Dad had his girlfriend, Elizabeth―or Beth for short―living here with her two kids. Beth and I kind of had a disliking towards one another. It may be because when she first moved in, I called her a gold-digging slut. Okay, no, that's definitely the reason she hates me.