Shut Your Eyes

“Etes-tu sûr que vous ne voulez pas venir?” (Are you sure you don’t want to come?) Max asked anxiously.

I lazily nodded. This was the third time he’d asked. Max was about to leave for morning skate before the Rangers game that night and he was more than a little nervous about leaving me at the condo by myself. Even though the condo had a security system and I had a new cell phone he’d insisted he buy me, Max was still uneasy.

I couldn’t blame him though. Max had been on edge since Gavin’s phone call, always making sure I was in his sight and banning me from opening the door. Something as simple as leaving me for morning skate was giving him fits, even though he’d only be gone a couple of hours.

“Max, je serai bien.” (Max, I’ll be fine.) I assured him quietly as I brought another spoonful of cereal into my mouth. He paced back and forth in front of the bar, settling for a moment against the counter only to start moving again a second later.

“Tu allez porter un trou dans le plancher.” (You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.) I warned softly. Max stopped pacing and stared at me. I was perched in my usual spot on top of the island, legs crossed and feet bare.

“Je n'aime pas cela.” (I don’t like this.) He deadpanned, leaving me to roll me eyes.

“Max, si tu êtes en retard, Dan vais te tuer et je vais tu tuer moi-même si tu n'arrêtez pas me poser des questions, aussi tu pourriez tout aussi bien quitter maintenant.” (Max, if you’re late, Dan will kill you and if you don’t stop asking me questions I’ll kill you myself so you might as well leave now.) I placed my cereal bowl down, hopped off the counter, and began ushering Max towards the garage. At the door, he turned around to protest but I grabbed his jacket and keys off the hook and shoved them into his hands before he could say anything.

“Il suffit d'aller, Max.” (Just go, Max.)

He stared at me with a defeated expression and turned to go get in his car, taking a few steps before looking back at me. “Etes-vous sûr que vous ne voulez pas-” (Are you sure you don’t want to-)

I shut the door before he finished his question, locking it behind me and setting the alarm system to ‘STAY’. Wandering back to the kitchen, I climbed back onto the island and finished my bowl of cereal.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

They were mocking me.

The beige walls had to go. While Max was at morning skate, I decided to get started on the painting the condo. Since Max still couldn’t make a decision on colors for a couple of rooms (mainly the living room, kitchen, and his game room), I could only paint the guest room and the foyer.

Max had given me free reign with the guest room, only requesting that I didn’t make it too girly. I’d picked out an olive green paint for the walls that matched the black furniture and the light gray, almost white bedding that Max already had in there perfectly. I’d bought some black picture frames in a variety of sizes, and planned on hanging some black and white photos I’d taken of Pittsburgh.

Once I’d pulled all the furniture away from the wall, I laid down a drop cloth and began painting. It was medicinal. I didn’t have to think about anything but my own brushstrokes, and I felt myself relaxing more and more each minute. Free to be myself, I could focus all my attention on something other than keeping up the façade I’d created for myself.

That was partly the reason I’d stayed home from morning skate.

When I was in the condo, I didn’t have to hide under a layer of makeup or wrap a colorful scarf around my neck. I didn’t have to dodge questions about my personal life, or look over my shoulder every five minutes to see if Gavin would be standing behind me. Holing myself up in a fortress of beige paint and hockey memorabilia, I felt safer here than anywhere else.

It took me about two hours to paint every wall. I set down my roller and stood back to admire my handiwork. It needed something. Something extra. Climbing over furniture, I ventured into the garage and dug around until I found a can of black paint. I carried it back into the guest room, found a small, thin paintbrush in the bag of stuff we’d bought at the paint store, and set to work on my something extra.

A silhouette of a tree, naked winter branches sprawling out like fingers. It stretched across most of the wall, reaching up almost to the ceiling. I chose to work on the driest wall, the wall off to the left of the door and my bed. This wall faced the windows, allowing a perfect amount of light to cast itself on my project.

Caught up in painting, I didn’t even hear the door creak open as someone walked inside.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

I didn’t want a sister.

My parents had brought us all into the kitchen and sat us down at the table to tell us the news. A sister. Franck was happy, but reserved; he was eight and had welcomed two siblings before, a sister was nothing he couldn’t handle. Will was ecstatic. He was six and another sibling to play with, boy or girl, was welcome. I, on the other hand, was less than thrilled. At four years old any girl was bad news, especially a sister. My father assured me that I would have until Halloween to get used to the idea. That was when the baby was due.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like that I had to share a room with Will. I didn’t like that my mother was too busy folding baby blankets to play in the yard with me. I really didn’t like it when they painted my old room pink. Will told me that when the new baby came, I wouldn’t be the baby anymore. I didn’t like that either.

My parents couldn’t have been more thrilled. My mother finally had someone she could take to ballet classes and teach to sew. She was excited to have another girl on her side in a house full of boys. She’d have someone who wouldn’t come home covered in dirt and track mud all over her carpets. Much to her dismay, my father was set on teaching the new baby to play hockey. He even found a pink hockey stick and tucked it away for when she’d be big enough to use it.

She was born on November 5th. My mémère (grandma) came and picked Franck, Will, and I up from school to take us to the hospital. When she asked me if I was excited, I wouldn’t answer her. Our father met us in the waiting room with a huge smile on his face.

“Elle est parfaite.” (She’s perfect)

Those were the first words that came out of his mouth. I held onto Franck’s hand as my father spoke with my mémère. Twisting my head around in every direction, I tried to find my mother, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. When I looked back and my dad and mémère, they were both staring back at me. My dad whispered something to her, and she grabbed Franck and Will by the hand.

“Allez les gars, allons voir ta maman.” (Come on boys, let’s go see your mamma.) She suggested happily, tugging them away from me with a smile.

I’d tried to hang on to Franck, but my father had grabbed me up and held me under his arm like a football.

“Pas si vite, Max. Venez discuter avec moi.” (Not so fast, Max. Come talk with me.) He sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, and pulled me into his lap.

“Est quelque chose de mal, Max?” (Is something wrong, Max?) I didn’t answer his question, but a four year old isn’t that hard to read.

“Je pense que je sais ce dont c'est à peu près. Tu n'êtes toujours pas heureux d'avoir une petite soeur.” (I think I know what this is about. You’re still not happy to have a little sister.) I shook my head and he nodded. “Ce que je pensais. Je pense que vous pourriez changer d'avis quand vous la rencontrez, si.” (That’s what I thought. I think you might change your mind when you meet her, though.) My father looked down at me with knowing eyes.

I shook my head like the stubborn little boy I was and he leaned in real close. “Elle a ta yeux.” (She has your eyes.) He whispered.

This caught my attention. Both of my parents, as well as Franck and Will, had brown eyes. Knowing that someone else in my family had blue eyes like me made me excited, but I quickly hid the smile on my face. She was still a girl.

My father stood up and put me down on the ground, grabbing my small hand in his large, rough one and leading me down the same hallway than my mémère had taken my brothers earlier. We walked in silence for a while before coming to a stop in front of a door. My father nudged it open slowly, pushing me inside before following me in.

The room was dark except for the light that came in through the window. My mémère wasn’t in here, neither was Will or Franck. My mother was in bed, holding a pink bundle in her arms. She smiled when she saw me, patting the empty space beside her on the bed.

“Venez rencontrer ta soeur, Max.” (Come meet your sister, Max.) Pulling my hand from my father’s, I climbed up into the bed with her and leaned over to try and see what she was holding. My father had to pull me back a bit by grabbing the waistband of my jeans so my mother could shift the precious cargo in her arms.

“Max, de rencontrer ta soeur Margaux Amandine Talbot.” (Max, meet your sister Margaux Amandine Talbot.) She spoke softly, pulling the fluffy pink blanket back a bit so I could see what was wrapped inside like a present.

My father wasn’t lying.

She stared up at me with big blue eyes just like mine. Dark brown tufts of hair grew out of her head, and I could see a tiny hand peeking out from her blanket. She looked so peaceful, staring up at me in silence. I reached down and touched my fingers to hers. They wrapped around my thumb and grabbed on tight.

I liked her.

She had that same peaceful look on her face as she painted. Only now, she was bigger. Her dark hair was longer, and it was thrown up in a messy bun on her head. Her blue eyes were focused on her work, her still tiny hand skillfully tracing lines of black paint onto the wall.

Obviously she didn’t hear me come in. I didn’t say anything though, Maggie was too caught up in her own little world, and I wasn’t gonna be an asshole and interrupt it. Wincing, I caught sight of her bruises. They were starting to heal, slowly turning from purple to a dark greenish gray color. Eventually they’d turn yellow and fade, and the only wounds left would be below the surface. But for now, she looked like a human canvas, covered in purple splotches from head to toe. My sister was a tragically beautiful piece of work.

She was wearing her ‘painting clothes’: an off the shoulder top made from an old Def Leppard t-shirt she’d stolen from me and a pair of athletic shorts that were way too short for my liking. I’d tried to hide them once when she was in college, but she’d found them again and took them back. Turns out the hamper is only somewhere I wouldn’t look.

I waited until she had pulled her hand away from the wall, I didn’t want to scare her and make her mess up. I knocked lightly on the door. Quick as a cat, her head shot in my direction, blue eyes wide behind the glasses she only wore when she painted – a tortoiseshell pair of classic Ray-Bans. She visibly relaxed when she realized it was just me standing in the door.

“Tu m'as fait peur, Max. Ne fais pas ça.” (You scared me, Max. Don’t do that.) She scolded me gently, like a mother would a small child.

I walked into the room, taking in the brand new layer of paint on all the walls and gave her my signature grin. “Désolé.” (Sorry.)

She smiled back at me before rolling her eyes and turning back to her painting. It was an impressive sight to behold.

“Que pense-tu?” (What do you think?) She mumbled quietly as she traced more of the outline.

“Je l'aime. Pourquoi un arbre?” (I like it. Why a tree?) She shrugged and continued painting.

“J'aime les arbres.” (I like trees.) Maggie stated and I barked out a laugh.

“Qu'est ce que tu vas faire avec un immense arbre sur ton mur?” (What’re you going to do with a huge tree on your wall?) I asked with amusement. She stepped back beside me to appraise it. Cocking her head to the side, she lazily pointed at the branches.

“Je pense que je veux pour accrocher des souvenirs à ce sujet.” (I think I want to hang memories on it.)

I looked over at her, confusion marking my features. “Pourquoi?” (Why?)

Maggie turned her head and looked at me, blue eyes mirroring my own. A small shrug lifted her shoulders up and down. “De nouveaux souvenirs. Quelque chose pour me rappeler pourquoi je me déplace en arrière.” (New memories. Something to remind me why I’m moving back.)

Her small finger trailed up the trunk of the tree and traced a few braches in the air. “Je vais commencer par le bas et me frayer un chemin vers le haut. Et comme je croître, l'arbre va croître.” (I’ll start from the bottom and work my way up. And as I grow, the tree will grow.)

We stared at the wall for a moment in silence. After a moment or two, Maggie spoke.

“Un nouveau départ.” (A new beginning.) She breathed out the barely spoken words and I looked over at her. She was disheveled and covered in paint, but I could see the determination behind her eyes.

A new beginning. She’d gotten one on November 5th, and now she would get another. Unlike before, I’d be with her from day one.