I don’t remember ever walking down the street before, although I’m sure I have, because from what I’ve read, the typical two-year-old child is able to walk, and mom did not start isolating me until that age.
Rocks… rocks! I never expected them to be so perfectly round and grey and lovely. And dirt? Why had no one ever told me what a perfect colour of brown it is? And the little children playing cricket, in their bonnets and straw hats - why had no one ever told me that there were such beautiful things to be seen? Certainly, I’d read about such things, but in the books and pictures they all seemed relatively un-phenomenal. So ordinary and bland.
But to see it, to really, truly see the world, and not through the glass window in the parlor, everything is so grand. The colours are so much brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. So bright, in fact, that they’re making my head ache just from looking at them. Perhaps that is bad, but I’ve never felt such a wonderful ache in all of my life.
In the distance, hiding behind the tall houses and buildings, and even behind the tall trees that are scattered around, there is something I’ve never noticed before, “Mountains,” I whisper, “In all the time I’ve looked out the window, I’ve never seen you.”
Troy grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the cream-colored house, “Never xdid agree that your mother raised you correctly, hiding you away from the world as she did,” he frowns down at me, “and I suppose now that you’ll be staying with me, as it seems, we’ll have to get you adjusted to society. I shan’t have you secluded from society as your mother had. It just won’t do. You must learn to deal with your… difficulties. There won’t always be someone to take care of you.”
I nod blankly at him.
“But for now, we don’t have time, we need to make some calls and get your mother buried. Once everything is settled, then I shall begin to teach you how to be… well… functional.”
I nod again, “No one ever told me that the world was so bright,” I say softly, “And I never knew how lovely it was.”
“Of course not,” he says gruffly, “With Anastacia keeping you holed up in that horrible, dark house the way she did, what can one expect?”
“Um. I don’t know.”
“Well, close your eyes so you don’t get distracted, and I’ll guide you to the house.”
I blindly let him lead me to the house, where he proceeds to pick up the phone, send me to explore the rest of the house, then talks on the phone. I’m assuming that he’s calling whoever it is that one calls when someone dies. Or when someone suddenly finds a homeless child. Either is probable.
I slowly walk through the house, memorizing as much as I can, so perhaps I won’t have to keep my eyes open every time I walk through. After all, mom always said that it was best if I simply didn’t see anything at all, so that I couldn’t fall in love with anything. That’s why we lived in a house with only one window, and only one door. That’s why there were no lights on in our house, ever. And that’s why I may as well have been born blind.
Blind so that I couldn’t see that quilt, or that bowl of soup, or that window. I walk over to the window, not to look outside, but just to look at the window itself. I never really thought about windows all that much, moreso what was outside of the window, but now to see one, so neat and clean and beautiful - so unlike the one at home - I can’t help but notice it. How beautiful it is and how nice and… just so clean.
I close my eyes, and turn around before I open them again. I never knew that houses looked so different. I suppose I never thought that there could be so much light in a house - a window - sometimes two - in every room! And lamps and candles everywhere.
I wander back around to the room with the telephone, where Troy is still discussing important things, I suppose.
“…not sure that this would be the best arrangement for the girl,” Troy pauses, probably listening to the person on the other end of the line, “Of course. I understand,” He pauses again, “No, nobody knew about the girl! We all thought that her mother had, well, you know.” I realize that he hasn’t noticed I have entered the room, so I slip back around the corner and lean against the wall, listening.
Perhaps it’s wrong to eavesdrop, but, after all, it seems that I am the person they are talking about, so it only seems fair that I know what’s going to happen to myself. I close my eyes and pay attention.
“Of course. For now I have no problem with keeping her here. I may as well let her know. She’s at least sixteen now, she deserves to know the truth.”
“What truth?” I cannot help myself.
Troy looks up at me and nods in recognition… he has such a lovely little nod… so wonderfully shown off by his purple bowtie.
“I have to go,” Troy says into the phone, “She is here. Goodbye.”
“What truth?” I ask again.
“Sit down, child, and try very hard not to fall in love with anything.”
I nod solemnly and blink, then carefully avoid focusing on anything, “Yes, sir.”
Troy motions to a table surrounded by three wooden chairs, “Sit,” he says again.
I slide into one of the chairs. They’re dark and shiny and quite pleasant, actually. I shake my head, “No,” I whisper, and close my eyes.
“Is that what your mother taught you to do?”
“What?”
“When you fall in love with something, just to avoid it, close your eyes?”
I nod.
“Your mother’s not here anymore.”
“I know.”
“Open your eyes.”
I obey, and carefully don’t look at anything too long.
“What do you know about me?” Troy asks.
“Nothing, really,” I reply, “Just that mom said if I was ever in trouble, I should call you. That is all.”
He nods, “All right. Fair enough.”
“Why?”
“Because I think it’s time that you know the truth. How old are you, Abbey?”
“I’m sixteen. Nearly seventeen.”
“Yes. That’s right,” he leans back in the lovely wooden chair, “Abbey, why don’t I start at the beginning?”
“That sounds alright.”
“Good. Then I shall tell you a story. Your mother was once very young, as all once are, of course. And back then her name was not Anastacia. It was Ann. Plain, simple Ann. Her mother and father were very simple folk, and raised her right here in this town. Ann loved her father very much, but she and her mother never got along. When Anne was twelve years old, her father died. She became very strong willed and selfish, and did a great many disreputable things. This increased after her mother remarried. The man was, perhaps, a very selfish fellow, and he and Ann did not get along at all. And perhaps that is why Ann left. She lived with a young man for three years, during which time she had a baby,”
“Me?” I interrupt him.
“Yes,” he continues, “When the young man realized that you were, well, how you are, he left. Ann was only fifteen years old at that time. She went insane. She did very much love him, I believe, and didn’t know what to do without him. She moved back in with her parents, started putting on airs, calling herself ‘Anastacia’ and wearing fancy gloves all the time. She began to take all kinds of drugs. Then came the doctors, one after another, prescribing anything under the sun to ‘cure’ her.”
“Mom was crazy?” I whisper.
He nods, “Yes. You probably never noticed, since she’s really all you ever knew, but it is true.”
I nod, “Okay. What happened?”
“She finally became angry with her parents when they stopped paying for the drugs the doctors prescribed, and moved into that big yellow house. And no one ever saw you again. We all believed that she had killed you.”
“My father’s not dead?” I gasp suddenly, “Mom always said that he was dead.”
“No, he is not dead.”
“Where is he?”
Troy frowns, “I can’t tell you yet.”
“So what is going to happen to me?”
“You’ll stay with me, for now.”
“Why?” I blush, “I mean, I’m not meaning to be rude, I’m just curious as to how you know my mother, and why you’d be willing to keep me even for a time. I wouldn’t want to keep me - why do you?”
He sighs, “Because I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I was married to your grandmother, and I loved her until the day she died. And after her death, I suppose I tried to correct all my wrongs - to make things right with Ann, and perhaps to see my granddaughter again.”
“You’re my grandfather,” I whisper.
He nods, “Yes, I am.”
“She wouldn’t let you see me?”
“She told me you were dead.”
“She lied.”
“Yes,” he frowns, “she did. But we’ve all made our mistakes, and I’ve done things worse. Hearing from you today, it was like hearing from a ghost. My word, but you don’t look a thing like her. You look just like your father, you know?”
“Who was he?”
“That is a story for another day,” the elderly man stands up and pushes the chair back into the table, “I don’t agree with the way your mother raised you, but then again I don’t agree with the way I raised her. I can’t change the past, but I suppose I can do my best to change you.”
I shake my head, “No one can change me. Mom said that no one ever could. She said I’ll never be normal.”
Troy cocks his head, reminiscent of the pictures of those sad hound dogs I’ve seen in pictures in books, “Perhaps, Abbey, it isn’t all that important to be normal,” he walks over and places a hand on my shoulder, “perhaps it’s just important to be you.”
“But I can’t be around people. I can’t do things. I can’t be me.”
He frowns, “I wonder what gave you that idea? I think you’re fantastic. Of course you’ll have to learn to control yourself,” he grins crookedly, “Don’t think I didn’t see you hugging the dresser in the parlor.”
I blush, “I’m sorry, I just, I couldn’t -”
“No worries, child. I’m just saying. You’re not bad. You’re you. And that’s okay.”
“It was never okay before.”
“It is now,” he turns to walk away, and then stops, “Why do you call yourself by your middle name?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your middle name, Abbey. Why do you not use your first?”
“Abbey is my name.”
“No, it is not,” he turns to look at me.
“That’s what mom told me. She said that was my name. She always called me Abbey.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose that makes sense,” he turns to walk away again.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“Do you want to know?”
“Of course. I just found out today that most of my life’s been a lie. I got to see the world as it really is - not just out the window. And you say it’s okay to be me. So I guess now that I’m finally figuring out who I actually am, I should know my actual name, too.”
“Your father chose your name,” Troy smiles, “Dawn.”
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