Smiling at Everything

Jazz looked out at the garden past the terrace, watching the gardeners tend to the mass amount of plants, trees, and bushes. Of all the things in her stepfather's house, she loved his garden the most. It was setup to resemble the Cretan Labyrinth that the Minotaur of Greek mythology resided in. In the center was a statue of the Minotaur. Jazz spent most of her time in the Labyrinth for the year she lived in the house. It was where she went to cry most of the time. No one besides the gardeners knew how to get to the center. Jazz would curl up in a ball at the base of the Minotaur statue and let everything out, the past bombarding her thoughts.

She should have told someone when both sets of incidents happened. She should have gone to counseling. She should have done anything besides staying quiet.

"So, Jazz, how's the band?" Robert asked, pulling her attention from the garden.

She looked at him, smiling slightly. Sometime during her stare down with the garden, one of the waiters brought the food to the table. Jazz put a small serving of eggs and fruits on her plate before responding.

"The band is doing great. Album sales are high. We're leaving for tour tomorrow," Jazz replied.

"Another last minute decision?" Robert asked.

"Well, our manager had it planned before he told us. He does that a lot."

"We should go see them perform," her mother slurred, taking a sip from her wine glass.

"That is a wonderful idea, Clarice," Robert said.

"Why would you come watch us?" Jazz asked, taking a bite of the eggs in her plate.

She didn't want them to show up at any venue. No doubt they would wind up getting a backstage pass somehow and would want to meet her friends. If her mother did it, her father would do it too. Her friends would know about her rich background; her parents would know that she wasn't a perfect angel on stage.

But Jazz would still be the only one to know her biggest secret. That was the only one that truly mattered.

"We've never seen you perform, Jezebel. You should let us support you in what you do," Robert said.

Jazz never understood why Robert insisted on acting as a parent when neither of her real parents ever did. Her mother was just suggesting they show up because she was drunk. The woman would have ignored the subject completely if she was sober.

"Our performances aren't exactly your cup of tea," Jazz stated, "There are a bunch of teenagers jumping around and screaming. Not something I see you two enjoying."

"We could manage. Right, Clarice?"

Jazz's mother nodded happily, her brown curls bouncing. Jazz couldn't help thinking her mother would regret agreeing to this in the morning. It didn't bother her that her mother didn't like getting involved in her life. She never was part of her life; neither was her father. Besides the money they shelled out to buy her things, both of her parents just existed in the house. They never noticed Jazz unless she did something wrong. And Jazz didn't care. She didn't feel like an abandoned child. In her early adulthood, she still didn't care about how the treated her.

Their lack of care didn't have to bother her.

"Then it's settled. We'll fly out to see one of your shows," Robert said.

"Let me know which show you decide to go to in advance, please," Jazz said.

"Need to prepare in advance to see us?" he joked.

"You have no idea," Jazz replied.

"Don't worry. We won't embarrass you. I'm down with the music scene."

Jazz chuckled, taking another bite of her food. Robert was so awkward. She remembered when she just wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. She had been afraid he would be like the men who ruined her life in middle school and high school. She realized quickly that he was harmless and actually loved her mother.

"That's terrible," Jazz's mother slurred, reading the newspaper over her stepfather's shoulder.

"What's terrible?" Jazz asked.

"Another teacher was accused of molesting a child. Its ridiculous how often this is happening," Robert replied.

Jazz's fake smile dropped, her eyes widening. Her heart beat escalated, pounding against her chest in an unnatural rhythm. Her breathing quickened. Memories jumped from the recesses of her mind. She could see their faces, their perverse smiles. She could hear them telling her to stop crying, to be a good girl and stop moving. Her skin burned where they had touched her. There was an ache in-between her legs where they had been. She could feel it; she could remember everything.

"How could someone touch a child like that?" Jazz's mom asked, "They're children."

Jazz snapped out of her daze, the memories hiding in the back of her mind again. This wasn't the time or place to be thinking about that. There was never a good time to think about it. There was never a good time to remember. The helpless feeling of being pinned down to a desk and having her sanity torn from her wasn't something she planned on reliving.

"I know. It's disgusting," Robert agreed, "It's never okay for an adult to touch a child in a way they're not comfortable with. Don't you think so, Jazz?"

"Of course it's not okay. There's a reason it's against the law," Jazz responded.

The shake in her voice was disguised. She wasn't smiling; it was inappropriate for the topic at hand. Not to mention she couldn't make herself smile now. The flash of memories killed off her ability to fake smile for the moment.

Her stepfather folded the newspaper, shaking his head, "Some people make me sick."

Most people made Jazz sick. Only if they touched her, of course. Her stepfather was the only man she could ever hug. Even then, it was so he wouldn't think there was something wrong with her. She couldn't hug her own father or her friends, never willingly. No one seemed to notice her lack of physical involvement. Zack was the only one who knew something was wrong and that may have been a lucky guess.

Jazz had been thinking about Zack since he made the statement about her attitude. She couldn't help it; she was slowly warming up to the idea of him. Part of her wanted to tell him everything so she could cry in his arms. She wanted to be comforted for once. She wanted someone to see how bad she was hurting. She wanted someone to tell her it would be okay.

"Are you done eating, Jazz?" Robert asked, "You've barely touched your food."

"I'm meeting my father for lunch today. Can't eat too much here," Jazz responded.

She honestly just felt like vomiting after the memory trip.

"You're seeing that scumbag today?" her mother slurred.

"I have to mother."

"You're an adult; you don't have to do anything."

"He's my father."

"He did absolutely nothing to help raise you. He was too busy screwing that secretary of his to give a damn about anyone."

Jazz rolled her eyes, holding back a rude comment. Her mother did nothing to raise her either. She glanced at the clock on her phone, noting she could get to her father's home early if she left now. At any moment, Jazz's mother would go on a rant about her father. The keyboardist didn't want to stick around for that.

"If you're done bashing your ex-husband, I need to get going," Jazz stood, "It was nice seeing you both. Thank you for brunch."

Robert stood, as did her mother. Jazz kissed them both on the cheek before leaving the house. The caffeine was slowly wearing off; her steps were a bit more sluggish than they had been earlier that day. She needed to get coffee on her way to her father's house or she wouldn't last through lunch without passing out in her soup.