Alone (10 page)

“
Can I ask you something?” Sara asked a couple hours into our visit. It was the way she always started before she was about to ask something big, something too personal. I nodded, wondering what there was left to reveal about myself. “I actually don't know if you know the answer or not, I'm just curious. Your name, Willow, it wasn’t very common in the eighties. I was just curious why your mom chose that name.”

Ah, yes, that was definitely something new to reveal. I took a deep breath in to calm myself. “My mom was not in a very good relationship when she became pregnant with me. She said it was the saddest time of her life. She said that the Weeping Willow Tree was a good representation of how she felt, so she thought it was only appropriate to name me Willow. Basically, I was named after the saddest tree on earth to represent the saddest time in her life.”

“
That's kind of depressing and quite a burden to hold your entire life. Have you ever thought about changing your name?”

“
Never. I actually like my name. When I was in high school, I did some research on the Willow Tree. It's quite artistic in nature. The bark is used for charcoal drawings sometimes and the tree itself has been depicted in very early pen and ink paintings in China and Japan. The tree has even been a main character in stories as something holding wisdom and truth. So obviously my mother had not researched the Willow before choosing it as my name.”

“
That's quite beautiful. I can see why you like your name now. It fits you quite well.”

Sara didn't disappear tonight, she actually said goodbye this time. She had to meet some friends, so she said, but I wasn't sure I believed her. I worried about her the second she walked out the door. I wished she would tell me something about what she does when she's not with me so I felt a little better while she was gone.

Of course, Sara left me deep in thought the way Mrs. Schneider seemed to do at every encounter. I decided to go to Open Mic. Sara was right, there would be a lot to take pictures of.

I called Miss Morgan when I woke up the next morning to tell her how the meeting with Jace went. Of course, he had already contacted her to go over the details once again. She was elated that I wasn't just letting this opportunity pass me by. She told me not to be nervous and to enjoy the experience.

In the late afternoon, I went to the woods to take a picture of the trees. I really did like the camera. I felt a certain kind of power when it was in my hands. I lay under my tree and took a picture of the leaves from below. About half the leaves were off the tree already, but I still thought it might make a neat photo.

I walked through the city taking pictures of random things. Street signs, abandoned buildings, St. Mary's, it didn't really matter to me what it was. I just wanted to get used to the feel of the camera in my hands. I didn't make it back home before I saw a crowd of people surrounding the blues club where Open Mic was taking place. I decided to skip the trip home and join the crowd.

When I walked into Open Mic it was total sensory overload. It was dark inside, but the neon signs and the strobe lights on the stage and around the bar were blinding, disorienting. As if that weren't enough, the noise was even more maddening. The music blaring was completely distorted and drowned out by the number of people squeezed into the small space all yelling to hear over one another.

I felt myself getting hotter by the millisecond as panic began to set in. I wanted to run home and hide in my familiar apartment. I'm not sure what kept me here, hopes of seeing Sara or curiosity of the event. I went to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. Instant relief washed over me. I was able to compose myself enough to rejoin the chaos outside the bathroom doors.

I took out my camera, remembering that I did have a purpose for being here. I found a spot against the wall, fairly close to the stage. I stood there feeling completely ridiculous knowing that I did not fit in even a little bit. I felt someone put their arm around me and I defensively recoiled in my spot.

“
Hey Willow!” Aaron yelled just inches from my ear. I relaxed a bit at the familiarity of his voice. “What a surprise it is to see you here. I didn't really think this was your kind of thing.”

“
It's not,” I wanted to add that I was persuaded to come but it felt so uncomfortable to have to yell just to hear my own voice.

“
Do you want a drink or something?”

“
Actually, yeah. Could you get me a bottled water?” I reached in my pocket for money

“
It's okay, I've got it. Be right back.”

While he was at the bar, I let my eyes wander around the sea of faces, searching, halfheartedly, for Sara. She didn't exactly say she wasn't coming so I still hoped. Aaron returned with my water and he was waving to a friend as he handed it to me.

“
Mike has a table. Want to join us? It's close to the stage, there will be some good shots for sure,” he said gesturing to my camera.

“
Um...” I wasn't sure, but before I could respond, he was dragging me along with him through the crowd.

“
Mike, this is Willow,” Aaron shouted to his friend.

“
Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Or a lot about your art anyway.”

I smiled uncomfortably and sat in the seat Aaron pulled out for me. It was definitely a better shot at the stage, and for that much I was grateful.

I saw Mike, from the corner of my eye, holding Aaron's hand. Aaron was gay? How did I not know that? I've known Aaron for almost seven years and never knew that part of him. How much had I missed out on while I secluded myself? For the first time ever, I realized I was missing out on life.

I started taking random pictures of the stage, neon lights, people I didn't know, and when they weren't looking I took a picture of Aaron and Mike's intertwined hands.

Then, all the lights dimmed, the music stopped and there was a steady spotlight on the stage. The loud talking was now hushed whispers until Jay Hunt, the owner of the club, greeted the spectators and introduced the first performer.

Just as I had expected, there were some pretty embarrassing performances where I had to give them credit for having the guts to get on stage. The dreadful performances were always what kept me from going to Open Mic in the past, but they actually made the night more entertaining. There were also some pretty good acts, more than I had expected. I laughed and smiled that night more than I had in quite a long time. It felt good to be carefree and I never wanted that feeling to go away.

Sara seemed to always feel carefree and now that I knew what it was like, I really envied her. I know it may seem strange to envy someone who had obviously been beaten, but it was how she handled the situation. She didn't turn to a knife like I would have, she seemed to persevere over the negative in her life, and that was what I admired most about Sara.

When the acts were all done performing, I was almost sad to leave. It was nice just hanging out with friends and laughing with the crowd, forgetting about everything that was bothering me. I couldn't believe how easy it was for me to lock myself away in my apartment when there was so much fun going on around me.

“
So, how did you like it?” Aaron asked now that we were outside.

“
It was different, that's for sure,” I said, my head still in a haze.

“
You think you got some good pics?”

“
I hope so. I used enough film, there should be something I can use.”

“
You're so pessimistic Willow. You never give yourself any credit.”

Was that what people thought of me? All this time I thought I came off confident.

“
Photography is a new genre for me.”

“
I have an idea,” Mike chimed in. “When you get those developed, have the place make a CD for you. You can come over to our place and we can Photoshop some stuff.”

“
Photo-what?”

Mike laughed, “You're kidding right?”

“
You add special effects to your photos with a computer program. It's nothing that Miss Morgan would let into the gallery. However, it is your show. Surely you can break the rules.”

I smiled at that. “Alright. I'll be getting them developed in the morning. You guys busy tomorrow night?” I asked.

“
Not at all. Meet me at the gallery at closing and we'll go to my place from there,” Aaron said.

“
Sounds good. I guess I should get going. Thanks for letting me sit with you guys.”

“
Do you want us to walk you home? It's pretty late.”

“
That's okay, I'm just up the block. Thanks anyway. I'll see you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 8:
HAPPY
THANKSGIVING

The next couple weeks were pretty quiet. I spent some more time bonding with my new camera. Mike and Aaron showed me some neat tricks on the computer. We created a couple pictures I was planning to use in my art show. I was torn on that decision at first. Using a computer to tweak something awful into something great, felt like cheating to me. Mike and Aaron assured me that Photoshop was an acceptable form of art and I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a couple prints in the show.

I tried my hand at watercolor again. The paintings were fine and after much convincing from Sara, three of the five I made were going to be in the show. The process was still nothing I could actually enjoy, I couldn't get past how soft the strokes felt.

The last week or so I was able to get serious again and focus on my specialties. However, it felt like nothing I was creating was good enough for the upcoming event. I was getting frustrated, like I was letting myself down. As the date of the show grew closer, it became obvious what my distraction was. My mother was going to be here tomorrow. I tried, more than once to tell her that I had too much going on. I was even rude about it once or twice to get my point across. She didn't care, she was still determined to come.

Sara came and went as she pleased from my apartment. I got used to it pretty quickly. I loved having her around actually. She was my best friend, exactly as I was hoping although I still wasn't sure I deserved her companionship. She was really bringing out a side of me I forgot existed. Or maybe it didn't ever exist before she came along. Either way, I was more carefree and relaxed than I had ever been. Aaron and Miss Morgan noticed the difference in me as well. They thought I was getting more excited about the show and I let them believe what they wanted.

I went and visited Mrs. Schneider while she was playing the organ one afternoon. I caught her up on what was going on in my life. She was more excited that I was letting Sara into my life than the she was about art show. It was obviously important to her that I was sharing my life with a new friend. She had seen too many years go by talking with me, without any mention of friendship.

I was actually letting more people in my life than just Sara. Aaron and I were becoming good friends as well. I hung out with him and Mike occasionally, at first it was just to learn Photoshop, but we went to the New York State Museum in Albany together and had dinner once at The Italian Bistro. I invited Sara to come along with us, but she was always busy. She would ask me a ton of questions about our outings and seemed to love the stories I told. I think she was happy that I had more than just her, maybe it took the pressure off of her trying to make me happy all the time.

My mother, I knew, was on her way to see me. Driving the three hours from Rochester to New Jollie, for a wonderful family Thanksgiving. Most people would be excited to be spending the holiday with family, I was dreading being under the same roof as her again. I couldn't help but think about my childhood the morning of her arrival. I had a few more hours to spend dreading the moment she knocked on my door.

I tried to remember a time where there wasn't any conflict between us, but I came up with nothing. She was nineteen when she had me and I think she resented me for taking her away from the things she enjoyed. I had seen pictures of her from before I was born. She was obviously into the party scene, I don’t think there was one old picture of her where she wasn't holding some type of bottle in her hand. There were people in the background of some photos who were smoking something out of various sized pipes. I took that all away from her, and I think she hated me for it.

When I was really young, she would dress me up like a life sized doll and parade me around at different boyfriend's houses. For the most part though, I was ignored when she wasn't showing me off. I don't remember her telling me she loved me. I don't have memories of her pushing me on a swing or scaring away the monsters from beneath my bed. I grew up quick, never really getting to enjoy the games of pretend as so many other kids did.

I was probably ten when my art teacher sent home a note saying that I had great potential. My mother then showed my art off to her friends that came by the apartment. That made me feel good, I felt like I was finally doing something good enough to have my mother's attention again. I put a lot of effort into all of my art projects then. A few years later though, she was jealous of my talent and the attention I got because of it. In junior high, I had won a few art contests even having a painting displayed at the Saratoga Racing Museum for a time. She didn't care.

In high school, I joined the Art Club and concentrated my time on creating a portfolio that was strong enough to get me into college with a scholarship. My mother hated that too and ruined it for me. She made a personal appearance at my school and spoke with my art teacher. She said I was no longer allowed to stay after school to participate in the Art Club activities.