The Moment Keeper (9 page)

Olivia chews her lower lip. “OK. I’ll try harder.”

“That’s all we’re asking for, Libby. That you work on it,” Tom says. “We don’t expect you to become a silent wallflower because that’s just not who you are, but we do expect you to be respectful.”

To me, Olivia was a forget-me-not with its five blue lobes and a bright yellow center. After you met her, you never forgot her. She had a contagious energy that endeared her to others and made them want to be her friend.

I was a wallflower. Unlike Olivia, I never got in trouble for talking too much. In fact, I didn’t talk enough. My teachers thought something was wrong with me. They put me through a bunch of testing. Turned out I was smart, just quiet. Besides Rachel, I didn’t have any friends.

I envied girls like Olivia who were so happy and carefree and outgoing. Just the other day I watched Olivia walk into the ballet studio and all of the girls rushed toward her. It was as if she were the queen bee and they were the worker bees. They couldn’t help but be attracted by her sunshiny optimism. Grandma told me once that I wear a frown like a piece of favorite clothing. She was right. I wish she had been wrong, but she was always right.

Elizabeth loads Olivia’s costumes into the back seat of their tan Mercedes Benz. Tonight is Olivia’s dance recital, and she’s performing in numerous numbers – jazz, tap, ballet, modern.

Olivia’s smile takes up most of her heart-shaped face. With her hair pulled back in a tight bun and eye shadow and mascara on, she looks older than nine.

I’ve watched Olivia dance since she was three, and I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s on stage. And, as her moment keeper, I feel the greatest joy at these moments. I’m filled with intense warmth, not the fleeting kind that comes and goes, but a warmth that hangs on like a summer haze.

Olivia and the stage are like a lock and key – they fit perfectly. When opened, everything else falls away except for Olivia, a whirl of movement so beautiful that it grabs your breath before you know it’s been taken. I have never seen someone dance as naturally as she dances. It’s no wonder that her parents have decided to enroll her in the most prestigious dance academy in the state. Even if it does require them to travel more. Olivia is that good, and they know it. All she wants to do is dance. That is her dream.

I’ll never forget the time Rachel talked me into participating in the talent show. We were in fifth grade. It was the one and only time I was on a stage. I hated being in the spotlight. I was more comfortable hiding in the dark wings, out of view.

“Rachel, you’re next,” Grandma said.

I stepped to the side so Grandma could measure Rachel.

“You girls are about the same size,” said Grandma, rolling up her yellow tape measure. “Are you sure you like the material?”

Rachel and I nodded. Grandma was making us matching outfits for a skit/dance number that we, well, mostly Rachel, had choreographed. She was making us red pants with elastic waistbands and short-sleeve white tops with red polka dots that tied in the front. She found the material on the clearance rack and picked it up for pennies.

“Well, OK, then. I should have your outfits done by the end of the week.”

Rachel and I hugged Grandma. By the night of the talent show, we had practiced our number so many times that even Rachel’s dog left the room when he saw us moving the furniture so we had room to dance. Normally, that shaggy mutt wouldn’t leave Rachel’s side.

That’s why I could never figure out what happened the night of the show. Maybe it was because Grandma had a severe case of bronchitis and couldn’t come. Maybe I was nervous because we followed Tracey Carmichael, who wore the most beautiful ballet costume I had ever seen. It was pink with sequins and pearls on the bodice and a tutu with four layers of heavily gathered tulle.

I’m not sure what it was, but I froze. I couldn’t move. So Rachel did what she always did. She covered for me. She danced around me and made it look as if I was supposed to just stand there. I didn’t know what to do. But I had remembered that Rachel had told me that if I got too scared, just to smile and pretend I was enjoying myself. So, that’s what I did. And eventually my brain believed that I was happy and I began to move. A little. Then more until I mirrored Rachel’s movements. People thought I was supposed to be a doll that came to life, and Rachel never told them any different.

Chapter 16

“Mom,” Olivia shouts. “Can I play the flute?”

“I’m in the basement,” Elizabeth yells. “I can’t hear you.”

Olivia walks down the basement steps. Elizabeth looks up from the box she’s packing with old Christmas decorations to take to the Goodwill store.

“Can I play the flute? Can I? Can I?”

“What in the world made you ask to play the flute?”

“We got this paper today in school about learning to play an instrument. If I play the flute, I can be in the band.”

“And you think that you have enough time in your busy schedule to play the flute?”

Olivia nods.

“Let’s talk about it tonight when Dad gets home.”

Olivia sighs. “OK. But I really do want to play.”

Grandma wanted me to play the violin. She had an old one that had been in her family for years. She took it to an instrument repair shop and struck a deal with the owner. He would put new strings on it, rehair the bow, and throw in a cake of resin and a chin rest. In exchange, Grandma would alter a couple pairs of pants that no longer fit him since he had a gastric bypass. Everyone was happy, most of all Grandma.

The teacher who directed the junior and high school orchestras gave lessons to third-graders who were just starting out. I was in a group with three other students. We met once a week during the afternoon recess in the music room.

My heart just wasn’t into playing the violin. I wanted it to be. I wanted to make Grandma proud. I thought that if I played the violin and got really good at it that it would give Grandma something to brag about to the other ladies she worked with at the bridal shop where she did alterations. But I stunk.

“Sarah,” Miss Wagaman said one day. “Can you stay after class for a minute? I’ll write you a pass to return to your class.”

I packed up my violin, taking my time so that the other kids had a chance to leave. I felt my face heat up. I thought Miss Wagaman was going to yell at me.

“Come, sit beside me.”

I sat on the cold metal folding chair next to her.

“Do you like playing the violin?”

I looked down at the tan speckled floor streaked with black shoe marks. “My Grandma wants me to play. This violin has been in her family forever.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to play?”

“Well, I practice all the time. Every day.”

“Sarah, look at me.”

I stopped looking at the floor and looked at Miss Wagaman.

“Do you want to play the violin?”

I bit my lower lip.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. It’s OK whatever the answer is. I won’t be mad.”

I shook my head no and started to cry. “But Grandma wants me to play and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“It’s OK, Sarah. Playing the violin isn’t for everyone. Just like playing a sport isn’t for everyone. Hopefully you’ll find your passion one day and when you do, you won’t practice because you’re told to but because you want to. And there’ll be a big difference in the outcome.”

“How will I know what I’m good at?”

“By trying different things,” Miss Wagaman said. “You tried the violin. You’ve tried for nearly a year now and it’s not for you. And that’s OK. So, maybe it’s time to try something else. Not because your grandma wants you to or I want you to but because you want to.”

“But how will I tell Grandma? I don’t want her to be mad at me.”

“Just tell her. Sometimes what we fear the most is what we should fear the least. Your grandma doesn’t love you because you play the violin. She loves you for you. And, adults are pretty smart. They often have things figured out way before kids do.”

“Was I really that bad?”

“I could just tell that your heart wasn’t in it and I’d rather have you find something that your heart is in.”

“What if I don’t find anything?” I asked.

“You will. Life has a way of leading us down paths that we didn’t know were there.”

“Dad, Dad.” Olivia runs to greet him at the door. “Can I play the flute?”

Tom looks at Elizabeth.

“Hey, Libs, let me at least get in the door.”

Olivia follows her dad as he hangs up his overcoat, sits his leather briefcase in his office and grabs a cup of black coffee.

He pulls out a kitchen chair and sits down. “Now, what’s this about the flute?”

“We got this paper today about playing an instrument. Emma’s going to play the flute and I want to play the flute, too.”

“Because Emma’s doing it or because you want to do it?”

“Both.”

“Do you think you have enough time to play the flute and dance?”

“Yes.”

Tom looks at Elizabeth. “Remember last year when you wanted to play the viola and quit after a few weeks?”

Olivia nods. “But that was different.”

“How so?”

“It made my arms tired and my chin hurt.”

“What about the time you wanted to play basketball? And soccer?”

“I had to run too much.”

“Here’s the deal, Libs. Your mom and I want you to try new things. We understand it’s part of growing up. Heck, I tried a lot of different things when I was a kid. But we don’t want you to do something because your best friend is doing it. We want you to do it because you want to do it. Don’t be a follower or feel pressured into doing something just because other people are doing it. And, I don’t like you starting stuff and not finishing it. That’s a bad habit to get into.”

“Your dad’s right, Libby.”

“But I really want to play the flute.”

“How about you think about it for a couple of days? If you still want to try it then, we’ll talk about it again.”

Olivia hangs her head. “OK.”

I thought about my talk with Miss Wagaman the rest of the day. By the time I got home I had rehearsed my speech to Grandma so much that when I opened my mouth the words gushed out as if they had been held hostage and couldn’t wait to be freed.

“Gram, I know how much you wanted me to play the violin because it’s been in your family like forever but I stink at it and it’s just not for me and I’m sorry because I want you to be proud of me even if I don’t play the violin like you wanted me to.”

“Sarah, slow down,” Grandma said. “Come here and sit with me.”

I followed Grandma to the couch. She eased herself down into the flattened cushion. I could tell that her knee was bothering her.

“Knee OK?”

“Just a little arthritis. Nothing to worry about. Now, let’s talk about the violin.”

“I stink at it and I wanted to be good at it for you but I don’t like it and—”

“Stop, my sweet child,” Grandma said. “First, it’s true. I wanted you to play the violin, but I thought you wanted to play it, too. And, if you don’t, you can stop. The last thing I want is for you to do something you really don’t want to do because you think it’s expected of you. If I told you to jump out our fifth-floor apartment window, would you?”

I shook my head no.

“I’m old, Sarah. I’m not going to be around forever.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Well, it’s true. You got to learn to make your own choices and not decide something based on what you think I want.”

“But what if I make the wrong choice?” I asked.

“That’s part of growing up. Heaven knows I’ve made plenty of wrong choices. But when you make a wrong choice, learn from it. If you fall, get up. That’s what we Ross girls do. We keep going because it’s all we can do. You can’t go back and change the past, but you can learn from it and make better decisions in the future.”

“So you’re not mad?”

Grandma kissed the top of my head. “I’m not mad. And, I’ll be honest, I’m not gonna miss that screeching. It gave me a headache. I think I’ve taken more aspirin this past year than I’ve taken my entire life. I happen to know the neighbors will be happy, too.”

We both laughed and I realized that Miss Wagaman was right. Sometimes grown-ups are pretty smart. They figure things out way before kids do. And the things we fear aren’t nearly as scary as we imagine them to be.

Elizabeth picks Olivia up after school to drive her to the dance studio. She’s now in company at the dance academy, which means practices four times a week, a lot for a ten-year-old. Olivia eats the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Elizabeth has packed along with a yogurt. She decides to save the banana for later.

“How was school today?” Elizabeth asks.

“OK. Everyone was talking about being in the band.”

“I see.”

“Mom,” Olivia says. “I don’t think I want to play the flute after all.”

Elizabeth glances at Olivia. “But just last night you wanted to. What changed your mind?”

“Well, I thought about what Dad said. About me always wanting to try all these different things and how I need to make sure it’s what I want to do and not do it because everyone else is doing it.”

“And?”

“And what I love most is dancing. So, I’m going to stick with dancing and work on it and be the best dancer I can be.”

Elizabeth reaches over and squeezes Olivia’s hand. “I’m so proud of you, Libby.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth says. “My little girl is growing up.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Elizabeth smiles. “It’s a very good thing.”

Chapter 17

Olivia drags her purple suitcase out of her walk-in closet that looks like a mini department store. She has so many clothes that you can’t even see the racks they hang on. Boxes and boxes of shoes are stacked along the sides and purses of every sort spill out of a red plastic tub in the corner. The wire shelf that hugs the closet walls is packed with stacks of sweaters and sweatshirts and other clothes that didn’t fit on the racks. It’s piled high with so much stuff that the weight is making the bracket connecting the shelf to the wall come loose. I see the screw has worked its way out and I wonder if Olivia sees it.