July 20th, 1950981Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnbqF09Qcio
I can hear the tapping of my feet against cobblestone as I waited patiently in front of a bright red door in this side of Barcelona. With the sun’s rays beating heavily against my body, sweat started forming on my forehead, seeping down my face and neck, and into the depths of my clothes. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I started squirming more in my red high heels and my brown form-fitting suit. I was afraid to look in the mirror for fear of what I would see reflecting back to me. Would I look like a bright eyed pretty girl, makeup still plastered on her face and everything in it’s place, including my hair? Or would I look like a deranged lunatic, with eyeliner and red color lip stick running down my cheeks and lips, my eyes swollen from the sweat and heat? The bustling sounds of laughter and movement made me suddenly become more aware of myself, self-conscious, of my appearance than ever before. 981Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtiNXQ5Rd2a
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Oh, what this woman will think of me when she sees me. I could picture her now, flying open the door only to see a disheveled teacher in her doorstep, exhaustion prevalent on my tan face. My gaze shifted toward the buildings around me. Such ancient architecture, reminding passersby and residents of times of old, of what was and what will never be. With the bustling crowd dying down, I could finally engulf myself into the dark and old beauty of this square. Cobblestones were not only etched onto the streets but expanded onto the buildings as well. Each building contained brightly varied colored doors, in hues of blues and blacks, yellows, and even pink. What an eccentric place I’ve come to. I could hear movement within the bright red door before me. I heard the lock being turned yet no one opened it. I stood there baffled. What was taking this woman so long to answer? What lies beyond this red door?
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“Senora Soto.” I looked up to see a petite woman standing on the balcony. The shear youth of the woman made me question whether or not I was even at the right location. Yet, she knew my name, so I was. Her smile was sweet, hinting a presence of a still innocent nature, yet stern. This stern was seen in most people who’ve witness events and experienced hardships one could not fathom. Her hair, as black as the night, flayed in the small wind. There was something magical about her. “Please, let yourself in. The door is unlocked. I will be down in a minute.” Before I could utter a word, she left. Her voice, like the sounds of birds singing still echoed in my ears.
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I watched as my own gloved hand vigorously turned the small doorknob and pushed the door. I walked into a sea of color. The stairs laid on my left, each small step contained every single color of the rainbow. Yet, what utterly chilled me the most was the many collections of mirrors etched upon each wall of this small foyer. Each with its own unique style. Some etched with designs of swivels and curves, while others were etched with angels and dwarves. Not a single mirror was plain nor ordinary. But nothing compared to the reflection, the shadow, that stared back at me in the mirror. I was a cross between disheveled and psychotic.
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I peaked around a corner, into what looked like the sitting room. It’s walls covered in paper flowers of white and red. The sun shined brightly through the ancient floor length windows. I slowly etched myself onto the cream colored sofa, its cushions almost absorbing my body into its depths. I, quickly, laid my purse and gloves on the coffee table before the sofa eats it. I could feel my heart beating so profoundly fast in my chest as I waited for the woman. My patience by then had become unbearably short what with standing out in the heat for a long time and all. I started twiddling my red polished fingers.
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“Senora Soto, it’s nice to finally meet you.” My heart jumped into my throat. My body jumped deeper into the sofa as the woman stood next to me, her body reaching close to give me a kiss on the cheek. She sat down on one of the small sturdier recliners. I hadn’t heard her come in nor come down the stairs.
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“It’s not Senora, yet. I am still a senorita.” I said, regretting immediately my own rudeness. Her smile became a little strained. She nodded, crossing her legs, and reclined back into the seat. A position that was too familiar for her. This felt a lot like two friends having a discussion on politics or fashion instead of two strangers having a conversation about the circumstances of her daughter.
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“Senorita Soto, I will not waste any more of your time than I already have. So let us talk. Inez informed me of your arrival. She would not explain to me what she had done this time but I am sure to hear it from you. Please tell me you have something good. I need good news today.” She laughed, it echoed throughout the room. It was a little forced and strained.
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I scooted onto the edge of the sofa, no longer bearing to be soaked into its clutches. I could finally breathe. “Senora LeBlanc, I must inform you of Inez’s performance at this school. As you know, Inez is a special girl. Brilliant and intelligent.”
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“A girl beyond her years.” She interjected. I nodded.
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“Yes. This brilliance and intellect, I’m afraid, does not show in her work. She hasn’t turned in any home work nor does she do her school work. Now, I know her last teachers, Senora Villa and Estevez, have let her pass on but now that I am teacher, I will not allow it. I want Inez to strive for greatness. I know she can do well in my class. And as for her interaction with others, it’s minimal. I also must confess, Inez is being bullied and teased by the other students. They take her books and throw them in the fountain. They hide her gym clothes. They even pulled her hair. And these are the boys. I cannot even tell you the many horrors the girls give Inez.” I took in a deep breath, hoping I’ve gotten through to the woman. My anxiety finally over. Even though her face showed a smile, I couldn’t quite tell of her emotions nor her reactions of what I’ve said. But before I could ponder on the almost coldness of this woman, a cat suddenly appeared, its tail brushing up my leg, its yellow eyes looked into my own brown eyes. There was something wrong with the cat, something unrealistic about it.
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“Sera, get!” She yelled, getting up to brush the cat away from me. For a moment, her face was etched with weariness and sadness. But only for a moment. Before that smile emerged.
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“I am so sorry, my dear. I seem to have forgotten to offer you some refreshments. Tea? Coffee? Water? You look parched.” Her voice was hoarse now. I shook my head.
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“Senora LeBlanc…”
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“Call me Rosa. Do you know why my last name is french?” I started to become numb, I was utterly shocked at the sheer audacity of this woman. But of course, I’ve heard of her, of her eccentricity. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I shook my head at the answer though I knew what she was going to say before she even said it.
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“My husband was a french man. Jacques LeBlanc. Ah, the passion of love, the fire of his kiss. I still remember him.” Her body dashes to an end table near the window and picks up a small picture. She plants herself next to me, shoving the picture in my hands. Jacques LeBlanc was a handsome fellow. His eyes told stories of war and peace, youth and freedom. Without the smile, I’m sure was looked plain, his features were none attractive. In this picture he wore a uniform. “Ah, but he is dead, Senorita Soto. He died from lung cancer. There was nothing we could do about it.” She took my hands, causing me to drop the picture, its frame shattering on the carpet.
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“Soto, you must understand. Her father dying affected dear Inez…”
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Fluttering. I could hear fluttering behind me and before I could turn around to see what it was, a flock of birds dived through the room. I screamed in terror and surprise. Rosa held my hands in her grip. I couldn’t break free from her. Her eyes were closed as the birds descended into the foyer, the sound of their flapping wings dissipating.
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“Where did they go? Where did they come from?” I finally budged my hands out of her deadly grip. I proceed to get up and walk toward the door when I felt the rough pull of a madwoman. What have I gotten myself into? They were all right. The headmaster’s words echoed tenfold in my mind. She’s delusional. She won’t listen to reason and logic. She thinks her daughter is fine. My heart beated faster and faster, my palms soaked with sweat.
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“I must tell you the truth. But you must promise never to tell anyone.” Her voice was soft, frightened. I turned around to see tears in the corner of her light brown eyes. Suddenly, her true age showed before me; a withering woman of thirty-eight, black hair stuffed into a messy bun, a hideously bright yellow sundress hugged her body. Most of all, the wrinkles already started to show. I could see the stress, the terror, the sorrow in her face. I nodded, speechless and curious.
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“What I am about to show you will stay with us. You do not explain to them what she can do. This gift. I know I haven’t been helpful. I haven’t even acknowledged what you were saying about my dear Inez but you have come at an awful time. I can’t get her to stop. She keeps on. I believe she’s doing it to impress you. She wants me to show you. She knows you will keep it a secret.”
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I stared at her stunned, my body tensed. What secrets lie within this house and why does it involve me? I suddenly started to regret coming here, to talk to people who are clearly delusional, eccentric as most people will call it. I call it crazy. Suddenly, her body loosened. The youth slowly emerged on her face, her eyes brightened again. She took a deep breath before taking my hand in hers. She lightly pulled me toward the stairs. Our heels clicked over the marble flooring before being snuffled by the red carpeting of the stairs.
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We stood in front of a door labeled ‘Inez’s Sanctuary’. Other than the sign, the door was surprisingly plain and ordinary. Slowly, the mother opened the door, without so much as a knock.
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Butterflies. Birds. The sheer beauty of what laid before me was almost too much to bear. I was in both utter shock and awe. My very senses was overwhelmed with everything that was happening. There were swans, their bodies laid on the girl’s bed with utter contentment. Butterflies, with colors so bright and so varied, swarmed around the room, seeping into every single crevice and crack. There were birds perched on the balcony. Their feathers rustling in the summer breeze that suddenly chilled me. She turned from her desk. Her light blue eyes stunned me for a moment. Warmth. That’s what was within them. I smiled.
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“Inez, my dear, you did it on purpose. You wanted her to see your gift. Well, I was right. Sneaky, that girl is.” She approached her daughter, planting a huge kiss on her forehead before closing the balcony window. “Please, we cannot let the neighbors see this.”
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“Madre, they already know. I’ve seen their glares and stares at us. Mama, did you know we are known as the butterfly house? Or was it the crazy ones? I can’t quite remember.” Inez finished up the last of her origami, folding the small pink paper to form what looked like a flower. And just like that, it morphed into an actual one. She stood up, smoothed out her brightly blue dress and placed this flower upon my hand.
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I could have fainted. I felt myself swaying a little as I felt the flower. It was soft under my skin. The smell of sweet and pollen filled my nostrils. I coughed. My mouth formed an oh from what I was seeing. This pink flower that I held in my hands seconds before was nothing but a sheet of pink paper.
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“I knew you were coming. I heard mama talking with you on the phone the other day. So I rushed over to the art studio at school and took as much colored paper as I could possibly hold in my bag and then rushed home just to make these…” She lifted her arms to the wonder around us.
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“Why are you showing me this?” I managed to say after a brief awkward silence overcame the three of us.
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“Because you are the only teacher that actually cares about her” Her mother’s voice was low, deep with angst.
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“This is the reason why she isn’t doing well in school. She feels the need to want to focus more on her origami than on what’s truly important. She feels that creating origami will bring her closer to her father.” Sorrow swept the woman’s face as she mention her husband, Jacques. “Senorita Soto…”
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“Maria, since I can call you Rosa it’s fair for you to call me by my first name. Maria.”
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“Maria, I think you can help her succeed in this world. I know I am her mother, I am doing the best that I can but she seems to like you. She looks up to you. So, will you be my daughter’s tutor? Will you help her change this world that still suffers from the atrocities of the war?”
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I nodded my head, even though I felt an overwhelmed and guilty at accepting such a heavy burden. I couldn’t have known what I was getting myself into. “I will make a deal with you. If she goes to school every day and on time and never talks back to an adult, I can help her. She can come to my home after school and on weekends. Or we can arrange for me to come to your home. I can tutor her then. But, Inez, you will have to control your impulse to create.” Inez dashed to her mother’s side, eyes wide with astonishment.
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“Mama, I don’t have to stop, do I? I love what I’m doing.” Rosa looked down at her young girl who was at shoulder length to her.
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Rosa nodded, “Only for a little while. We have to pull your grades up. Or they will kick you out again. They’ve given us many chances and, I’m afraid, this is our only and last chance we are going to get. So please, listen to her. You like her.” Inez nodded before approaching me again. I was suddenly aware of the pink flower still clutched in my hands.
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“Profesora Soto? Thank you for coming and thank you for understanding my plight. I promise I will be a better student, no not better, the best student you’ve ever had.”
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And just like that, they all started to disappear, the singing birds, the lazy swans, the flowers, and the butterflies, leaving a sort of emptiness in the room. A quietness that lingered way too long and was prevalent once we stopped speaking to each other. I could not linger with them any longer and we said our goodbyes and fair wells before I was shuffled back onto the cobblestone streets of old Barcelona.
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And so I headed home with a story I could not tell. But even if I did, all I would get would be boisterous laughter and a slap on the back for even coming up with such a fairytale. I lingered on excuses I could tell my boss and the other nosy teachers who’ve all heard of the eccentric LeBlanc family. But a promise is a promise, and so therefore, my lips are sealed. 981Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvsPslwOYl6
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