The Larsen Sisters 3: All that Jazz

  “Whoa…what uhm…what happened?”

  “Uhm…I…lost someone.”

  “Someone?”

  “Selina. The girl I was in love with in Florence.”

  “Oh, that’s really awful, I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be, you didn’t know,” He said, “besides, it’s good to talk about it to someone, you know, one who won’t judge or anything…”

  “What happened to her?” I asked.

  “Skiing accident,” He said, “We went to Scotland one Christmas break and…we were skiing, she jammed her foot into a pole, fell in this snowhill and hit a tree…it was really bad. I didn’t think she’d die though. I didn’t think she could die just like that. But the doctors said she was already dead when I brought her to the hospital. I wasn’t able to handle it well. I couldn’t even…I didn’t go to her wake, or her funeral, I can’t, “He paused and then, “I loved her a lot, you know? So, for quite a while, I didn’t’ know how to handle my pain so I turned to alcohol…And then I realized I was throwing my life away so I checked myself in to rehab.”

  “That must’ve been really hard.”

  “It was,” He said, “Still is. I still have those nights when I think about her, think about that day and what I could’ve done…You know, maybe if I was able to bring her to the hospital sooner, she would still be alive, she might even be here with me right now.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Maybe,” He said, “But sometimes it just feels like it.”

  Silence and then I spoke, “So…have you gone to her grave already?”

  He shook his head, “No,” He said, “I really don’t think I can…I left Florence wanting to leave everything behind there. It’s all just too painful. Death’s not really the hard part, grief is. It’s like this big thing hanging over your head, reminding you of what went wrong, of what you’ve lost, of what you still think you could keep. And sometimes, it’s not so easy.”

  “I’m sure it’s not,” I said, “But at least you’ve managed to build your life up again…”

  He smiled a bit, “I’m trying,” He said, “Just taking things a day at a time.” He paused and, “So enough about me…What about you? How are you and your dad now?”

  “I…uhm…I really can’t say we’re okay, we’re fine but, I don’t know…I haven’t seen him in two years.”

  “Oh. I’m sure it’s hard for you both…”

  I nodded my head, “We were really close. I was a daddy’s girl.”

  “I’m sure he still loves you,” He said, “Maybe, you’re just both afraid to you know, talk…Both of you have no idea where to start. By the way, you’re not really from here, are you?”

  “Oh, no,” I said, “I’m from New York. NYC.”

  “We’ll if you’re from there, you sure could make it everywhere.” He smiled.

  I laughed a bit, “Yeah, well…I like it here,” I said, “Auntie Muriel’s really wonderful, everything’s so artsy, it’s perfect.”

  “Sure is,” He smiled, “But don’t you miss New York?”

  “Well, honestly, I do,” I said, “I miss my sisters, and my brother…”

  “And your dad?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I said, “I’m just not sure if he wants to see me.”

  “Of course he’d want to,” He said, “He may not be your real father but you grew up with him so I’m sure he misses you, and that he wants to talk to you, too.”

  “We’ll see…”

  “Are you planning to go back to New York soon?”

  “Actually, yes,” I said, “I promised my sister, Leigh, that I’m going home soon…Maybe in a week or two. Belinda and Dan are coming with me.”

  “That’s cool,” He said, “Well, not really, coz, you know, you’re leaving and we just met…but anyway, there’s always communication, right?”

  “Of course,” I smiled, “And besides, you’re not really gonna miss me, you have your life out here, this bar, your friends…”

  He laughed, “Nah, seriously, Mindy, it was nice meeting you, talking with you here…To be quite honest, I haven’t been friends with anyone since…since Selina died. I kept myself closed off and all…”

  I smiled, “I know how that feels.”

  “So, uhm, when you get back to New York, what are you planning to do?”

  “Well, Belinda and I are planning to start an art shop there, same as what she has here…”

  “Awesome,” He said, “I should be there when it opens.”

  I smiled, “You sure must be.”

  “And…what about your real father? Are you planning to look for him?”

  “Oh, that, no,” I said, “I honestly couldn’t care less about that person. First, I don’t even know him, and secondly, why would I look for him if he left me in the first place?”

  “He’s still your father…”

  “But he’s not my dad,” I said, “Never gonna be.”

  He just nodded his head, but I have no idea if he agrees with me or not.

  “So have you been singing for a long time now?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” He answered, “Since grade school. Music has always been my passion.”

  “You’re good at it.”

  “You’re sweet.” He said.

  “Nah, I’m serious, I’m surprised why you haven’t got a record deal yet.”

  He laughed, “I haven’t really been thinking about that,” He said, “What matters is I’m happy with what I do, coz you know, if you’re not, then what’s the matter, right? You’ve got to do what your heart tells you to do.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow?”

  “I just never thought people like you still existed,” I said, “But well…New Orleans proved me wrong.”

  He smiled, “By the way, I’m serious, when are you gonna show me your paintings?”

  “You really wanna see them?”

  “Of course,” He said, “Why won’t I want to? Will you be at your aunt’s place tomorrow? Can I come by sometime in the afternoon?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, “Just don’t laugh when you see them.”

  “You’re sounding too humble,” He said, “I’m sure you’re great.”

  I laughed, “Well then,” I said, “You shall see.”

  5

  “She grew wild, wild yet innocent…”

  -Keith Urban, “Stupid Boy”

  “So, this is your room,” Paul said the next day as he went into Auntie Muriel’s house where I was staying. I led him to my room for he wanted to see my paintings. To be honest, I was kind of scared, my paintings have always been rather personal, but I felt like sharing them with Paul was a good thing. After all, he was also an artist.

  “Yes, it is…” I answered.

  “The mural’s beautiful,” He said, pertaining to the mural on my wall. Auntie was kind enough to allow me to do anything I wanted with it. Paul went on, “The flowers look real…they’re wild and all, just like you,”

  “Wild? Do I look wild?”

  He laughed, “Sorry,” He said, “I meant, you’re like a wildflower.”

  “Oh,” I said, “And why is that?”

  “Well,” He said, “For starters, you’re not like anyone else. You’re beautiful, and fragile, yet you have this very strong aura in you. You look tough, but inside, you’re this little girl. And you go with the wind, even if sometimes you falter, you get back on track…At least, that’s what I see.”

  I smiled, “You didn’t tell me you were a poet, too.” I said.

  He laughed, “I’m not,” He said, “you, however, are a very powerful painter.”

  “Powerful?”

  “Seeing this mural, and those paintings you have right there, I think you know how to speak your mind too well. And that’s good. Not all people have that talent.”

  “Can you understand what my paintings mean?”

 
“Well, we artists do have our own interpretations, don’t we?” He said, “But I sure could try…”

  “Let’s see,” I smiled, making my way to one of my paintings. It was this little girl looking at a house. It was in oil, and the girl was painted in black, like a shadow. “So,” I said, “What do you think about this?”

  He looked closely and then spoke after a few seconds, “Well,” He said, “I think this painting is about you. You’re the little girl and she looks shadowy because you feel like you’re shadowed by what happened in your past. You’re looking at the house because something inside is something you want, something you need to get back to. In this case, maybe it’s your dad, your family, you want to get back to the old days…”

  Wow. It was like he was reading my mind. How did that happen? “That was good.” I said, “I made that recently,” I said.

  “It’s beautiful.” He smiled.

  “Do you know that one time I had this black, white and red mural back at home? The words “pain”, “I’m sorry” and all those stuff were on it?” I said, recalling my mural at Leigh’s house.

  “I assume that was during one of your lowest moments?”

  I nodded my head, “During those times, I felt like I didn’t know how to go on anymore. I felt like a helpless child, like I was just waiting for anyone or anything to save me from the pain I’ve been feeling. And…I was sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For being the way I am,” I answered, “For disappointing them. For turning to alcohol—“

  “We all have crosses to bear,” He said, “And, as humans, sometimes we can’t help but waver.”

  I smiled a bit and took a deep breath, “So, let’s move on?”

  He nodded his head and pointed to another one of my paintings. “I like that one,” He said, pertaining to my painting of a face torn in half. The left side is this beautiful girl, looking like a child, looking innocent, while the other half looks much like a punk star, wild hair and all. He went on, “I think that depicts you.”

  I laughed, “Well, yeah, sort of,” I said, “There’s always two sides to a person, right?”

  He nodded his head. “I think I’m a bird and a man.”

  “A bird and a man? Interesting…”

  “Can you guess why?”

  I bit my lip and then, “Hmm…Could it be because you fly off too much?”

  He laughed, “Could be.”

  “You know a lot about art,” I said, “I won’t be surprised if you’ve done a few paintings of your own.”

  “Well, I did.”

  “You did?”

  “In Florence.”

  “I knew it!” I exclaimed, “I must see them.”

  “I want to, but unfortunately, they’re all ashes now…”

  “Ashes?”

  “I burnt them,” He said, “I couldn’t…keep ‘em.”

  “Oh,” I muttered, “Why?”

  “Because,” He paused and, “Most of them are portraits of Selina…”

  “Oh,” I muttered, “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” He said, “I just…I can’t keep them. I cannot be reminded of her. No, that’s bull, she’s still in my thoughts…What I meant was--”

  “You didn’t need any reminder of her in your face?”

  “Yeah.”

  I nodded my head, “No one wants that.”

  “Well, I think I still haven’t heard about your lovelife…” He said as he plopped down on the bean bag near my bed, “Well?”

  “Well, there’s nothing to say, really.”

  “Really?” He said sarcastically.

  “Okay, two boyfriends, back in high school, but they were both jerks, and I was more in touch with art so it never worked out, and then a hook-up while in rehab…No, make that some hook-ups.”

  “Juicy.”

  “Shut up.” I laughed as I sat down on bed. Talking to him felt like talking to a long lost friend. I know, I know, you’ve all heard that before, that’s the core of every story out there, but really, that was how it felt.

  “So, you’ve never really fallen in love?”

  “Never.”

  “Really?”

  I sighed, “Fine, there was this one guy, back in eight grade…We were twelve, I was infatuated…and then he got himself an older girlfriend.”

  He laughed, “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Well, they’re married now.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Hot stuff, huh?”

  “I bet he doesn’t look too hot, though.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, “He actually grew up to be one fat, greasy guy.”

  “And fat greasy guys don’t deserve true artists like you.” He smiled.

  I smiled back. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You just did.” He said.

  I laughed, “Don’t try to channel Dumbledore. What?”

  “Fine, ask away.”

  “What was…Selina like?”

  He looked at me for a couple of seconds without saying anything.

  “I’m sorry, you don’t—“

  “It’s okay, you asked,” He said, “Well,” He went on, “She was a nice woman. She loved music, she sang with me in Florence, she’s very smart, a math wizard, if I may say, but she’s very timid when it comes to that. She always enjoys a good laugh, is very sweet, loves macaroons, and has this cute Italian accent. She has blue eyes, the color of the sea… My parents loved her, especially my mom…” He paused and I can tell that this was making him emotional.

  I held his hand, “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  He shook his head, “I never really loved anyone before her. I was gonna ask her to get married, you know? After we went skiing, I was supposed to propose to her. And then…and then she was gone, just like that.”

  “I’m sure she’s looking down on you right now and she’s proud of what you’ve become.”

  “What?” He said, smiling a bit, “The part that I went into rehab?”

  I smiled, “The fact that you got out of it and that you’re trying to get your life back.”

  He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for being an emotional wreck,” He said, “I just…I never really talk about that with anyone.”

  “It’s alright,” I said, “You can talk to me.”

  “Thank you,” He said, “So, well…I almost forgot, tomorrow’s the Cove’s anniversary, would you wanna come? There’s free food and loads of jazz artists…Oh, and my parents are gonna be there, too, they’re coming home from Florence, as well…”

  I smiled, “That’d be cool. I’ll be coming.”

  “I’ll pick you up around 8:30, would that be okay?”

  “Perfect.” I smiled.

  6

  "sweet like candy to my soul

  sweet you rock and sweet you roll

  lost in you, i'm so lost in you

  and you can come crash into me,

  and I into you..."

  -Dave Matthews band, “Crash”

  The festival was in full swing. Singers took turns on stage, some of the audience members were dancing in their complete flapper gears, heaps of food were on the big table…”This really is a feast!” I told Paul happily as we went to a cocktail table.

  “Sure is,” He smiled, “Oh God…” He muttered.

  “What?”

  He pointed his lips onstage, “Those are my parents…” He said.

  “What?” I muttered and then turned to look up on the stage, too. I saw his parents, and noticed the big resemblance. Paul’s dad looked very much like him, except with gray hair, and his mom was beautiful—Paul obviously had inherited her eyes. She had long brown curly hair flowing down to her waist, and she was wearing a pretty blue dress and big chunks of necklaces. They were singing “All that jazz” from the movie Chicago. Both of them had wonderful voices. I found myself clapping and cheering for them. Soon after, they went down the
stage, and found Paul and I. They kissed Paul on the cheek.

  “So, mom and dad, this is Mindy, she’s Muriel’s niece, and she’s also an artist,” Paul introduced and his parents gave me warm smiles, “Mindy, this is my dad, Reed,” Reed shook my hand, “and my mom, Cecelia—“

  “Chi-Chi, dear,” Cecelia said as she shook my hand, “everyone calls me Chi-Chi. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you, too,” I smiled, “And you were really good up there. No wonder why Paul has such great talent.”

  She laughed a bit, “You are too nice,” She said, “You know what? You look a lot like Muriel when we were young, we were classmates in high school…”

  “So I’ve heard,” I smiled.

  “You’re an artist, too?” Reed asked, “I assume, a painter?”

  I chuckled a bit, “You and your son are both psychics!” I joked and they all laughed.

  “She’s a painter,” Paul said, “A good one, at that.”

  “Wow,” Cecelia said, “that’s good to hear…I’ve always been telling Paul to start painting again, but—“

  “Mom,” Paul said.

  “I’m sorry.” Cecelia said.

  “Uhm, I think dad and I should get some drinks…and food, we’ll be back,” Paul said and left with Reed.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Cecelia said, “He’s still affected about—“

  “Selina?”

  Cecelia nodded her head, “So, he told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He never really wants to speak to anyone about her. I guess there must be something in you, and that’s good. He’s never gotten friendly with anyone after Selina died…”

  “He loved her a lot.”

  “Yeah, and I know Selina did, too,” She said, “But it’s good that he’s finally trying to move on. Can I ask you a favor, sweetheart? I mean, I know we just met but—“

  “It’s okay,” I smiled, “What is it?”

  “Keep an eye on my son, okay?” She said, “He really has been through so much the past year and…and it’d kill me to see him fall apart again.”

  I nodded my head, “I understand.”

  “Thank you,” She squeezed my hand. “So, I’ve never really seen you before…You’re not from here, are you?”

  “Oh, no,” I said, “I was born and raised in New York…I just moved here after uhm…well…I’ve been in rehab so…”