"No, I'm fine." Caitlin gave her default response after having had multiple seizures the night before. I sensed the fatigue in her voice as she gathered her teaching materials together. She hid her leg braces underneath a long, loose skirt, took up her bag full of rescue medications, and proceeded to go about her day as normal. A mysterious, constant state of sadness seemed to surround her no matter what her mood was at the time; her void black eyes spoke the volumes of emotions buried within her like diamonds in a mineshaft. "Are you?"
"Not good. I didn't get much sleep." The rest of my words stayed within my head and clumped like a stale mundane potion. As if reading my mind, Caitlin wrapped her little arms around me and tightened her grip with a motion that I mistook for a flinch, but her intentions were clear.
"I hope your state improves. Good luck with the bands. My class will visit in a week to learn about the instruments, so make sure they practice." With that, she left for Mindcrack. I drank a second cup of coffee to make sure I had the energy to lead Mindcrack's band and guitars, then I made my way to the shower. The hot water ran over my head and body and washed away the grit from the day before and allowed me to start fresh. My mood quickly faded when I saw a residual trickle of blood that resulted from Caitlin hitting her face when she started convulsing in the shower just last night. I had to use the rescue medication she kept on her nightstand and monitor her breathing. Thankfully, she came to in a more or less okay state and woke up the next day in good spirits, but I still was rattled from the incident.
The Mindcrack beginning guitar players awaited my instruction. After warming up their fingers, I taught them how to play five basic chords: A, D, E, G, and C. Emilia Roth managed to produce a dissonant clashing of strings; Trevin Albright strummed with a naturalness and ease that even I could not match. The others fell somewhere along that spectrum; I strode towards Emilia, a girl of about twelve or thirteen wearing a Mindcrack cheerleading T-shirt and disheveled blond hair. Her guitar playing sounded nothing like a guitar, just a dissonant clashing of strings
"What was that supposed to be, Emilia? I thought you were playing guitar, not torturing creepers."
"Sorry, Mr. Lowell. I'm tired because my mom dragged me to the hospital to see Riley and Adrian. Riley's in the hospital nearly half the time, which is normal for her, but seeing Adrian that sick was new to me." The latter name piqued my interest. Caitlin took a particular interest in Adrian, though I was never sure why. He seemed a nice, quiet kid, but unremarkable. What Caitlin saw in him I never did. Emilia looked at me intently and went on. "Adrian was miserable. He didn't say anything or even seem to know me. The nurses hurried around him like bats. They asked if he ever needed anything and he said 'No, I'm fine' every single time, even though he wasn't. I just wanted him to ask for something to make himself feel better."
"That must be hard." I strummed my guitar. I had more to say, but I could never say it. "Play that." Obligingly, Emilia somehow played the bright chord with a plaintive air as if crying through her instrument for her brother. The phrase "No, I'm fine" took me back to this morning and several incidents throughout my life with Caitlin. If she could say nothing else at the moment, she'd say "No, I'm fine" and ask me to leave.
"Now, play the A chord." She faltered again and again, then set her guitar down and threw up her hands.
"I can't do this! It's too hard."
"You can. Try it again and again until it happens." The girl tried and tried again; she still produced the same sound. I left her to master the chord. When I went on my computer, I found these messages:
ar5679@mindcrack.net: Bonjour. Je m'appelle Adrien. Je suis onze ans. Ça va mal.
ar5679@mindcrack.net: I meant that for my language teacher! Sorry.
I disregarded the messages. Adrian was not one of my students. I turned my attention to the class and led them in a song. It sounded more or less good, so we advanced into the guitar method. Within minutes, the class complained that their fingers hurt; I told them to shut up and get on with it. They sighed and obliged, playing halfheartedly. When the period ended, they placed their guitars on the racks and headed out. My phone rang with this text:
Caitlin: Make sure you remember to take care of yourself and your students, mon petit copain.
Reluctantly, I let my eyes fill with tears, which receded as quickly as they came. I noted the way Caitlin dragged her feet as though her body weighed as much as a stack of iron blocks, the feeling of her small, delicate hand gripping mine as she steadied herself to ascend stairs without handrails, how she quickly rummaged for her inhaler when she needed it, but, most of all, how she would drop these needs for anyone and would not allow anyone else to take them up, not even me.
As the day progressed, my stomach churned. I drowned my reading sickness bag in lava and packed up to go to brass band rehearsal. Caitlin waited for me outside the school and leaned on her cane with a straighter, taller posture usually reserved for performance. She tied her hair back and beamed at me. Enthusiasm painted her pale face; her eyes danced and seemed to reflect light for the first time. I hurried over to meet the new woman, but my foot had other plans in mind.
I felt my ankle contort and twist beneath the force of my stride. The injured ankle hurt me, but seeing that pain reflected in Caitlin's face pierced my heart like a sword. She went over to me and paused, unsure what to do. Several times she breathed in to say something and then gave up. Unable to say anything myself, I screamed a slew of incoherent insults.
Caitlin's eyes filled with tears. She hid her face and retreated into the building. Several students from the track team flocked to comfort her, but she never seemed to notice them. I wanted them to dry as quickly as they came, but she went without a word.
I lay there to fester in my pain. I hate being unable to run and fight almost as much as I hate seeing anyone I love hurt. As if on cue, Caitlin strolled out with ice and bandages. She deftly wrapped the bandage around my foot and placed ice on it.
"I'd let you rest, but we have to get to rehearsal," she said.
"Well, thank you for twisting the sword in my heart." I complained. "I can't walk with this foot." Without a word, Caitlin extended her cane and handed it to me. I started to protest, but she stopped me.
"I've done without a cane before and I'll do it again if it means sparing you any pain." With that, we set off for rehearsal.
When we finally got there, we parted to go to our sections. I warmed up my trumpet and carefully moved around the stand so I would not knock it over and make a scene. I took out my music and led the other trumpeters in a B flat scale and noticed that one of them, a certain man I recognized from the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra, breathed every two measures.
"You shouldn't breathe so much, Kent. And dude, you look horrible!" I noted the green tint on his face.
"I know. May I sit down?" He still panted after playing the simple scale.
"No. You can stop playing, though." Grudgingly, Kent obliged. I heard the French horns and flugelhorns through the wall playing mellow long tones. Suddenly, the lowest tone disappeared from the sound and a thud followed. My heart raced.
"It's that simple! Just stand." Landon, the principal hornist, went on about the importance of professional appearance. Caitlin flushed with indignation as she tried to get to her feet, but fell down again. As usual, she said nothing while her face spoke volumes. The others looked at each other uncertainly, but did not help Caitlin or call Landon out. He said, so to that she could hear "I thought spazzes weren't allowed." At Landon's comment,my blood boiled so hotly I had to grip the door frame to prevent myself from charging and attacking him. Out of nowhere, Caitlin's eyes glimmered like torches.
"First of all, I have ataxic cerebral palsy, not spastic. Secondly, I don't know why you treat me like this or what you have against me. I've put up with your cutting remarks for too long and I won't do it any longer." She propped herself on the chair Albert retrieved and scrambled into it with the ardor of a sniper climbing into a tree. As much as I admired her strength, I hated to see her have to be that strong. Before Landon could say anything more, we congregated as an ensemble.
Halfway through "Anyway you want it", I heard a flugelhorn frack. Mark cringed and massaged his hand, which bent itself into some painful positions. I asked if he needed anything. He muttered "No, I'm fine," and sank into his seat sheepishly. I was so frustrated I punched a hole in the wall, much to the conductor's alarm.
"Mr. Lowell, control yourself!" How could I? I didn't even think to raise my fist! "Leave if you must." I stormed out of the room enraged. Behind me, I heard a light, halting tread.
"Are you okay?" Caitlin looked up at me with concerned eyes. "Do you need anything? I can't walk too far because my asthma is bad this time of year, but I can still help." Why, Caitlin? Why do are you always so self-sacrificing when there is so little of you to sacrifice?
"No. I'm fine." I sank to the ground in defeat and fumed.
"I can tell you aren't, but, if you insist, I won't do anything. I'll be with Alex if you change your mind." Caitlin left for her vocal student after she puffed on her inhaler. "Hang in there, Steve. I know it's hard, but you're strong." Strong? How could I be? How could she see strength when I was at my lowest? I groaned when a call interrupted me.
"Hello." It was Alex.
"Hi. Is this Steven Lowell." Ugh! I switched "this" and "is". I thought I outgrew that when I was ten. Alex giggled.
"Oh, hi! I'm on my way to see Miss Caitlin, only the best, nicest, most perfect person in Minecraft! I miss having Adrian going with me since he is in middle school, but the local villagers help me on my way, so I'm surviving."
"She is already on her way." I intended to hang up, but an impulsive word slipped past my lips. "Aren't you a little young to walk by yourself all that way?"
"Everyone asks that! I suppose I am, but I have a sword and I'm on good terms with the local villages, so I can manage." Poor Alex. She's so young and is so independent, like I was. Since me and my three brothers were in a room together, I sometimes left and camped outside the house because I couldn't stand Trevor and Dylan fighting. Cory would sometimes intervene if he wasn't already asleep. He could sleep through a creeper storm. He would say something like "Guys, stop. You're upsetting Steven" and then help me go to sleep. They would stop, apologize to me, and go at it again in the morning. Alex hung up impatiently after getting in a witty last word while demanding that I say something.
I made my way to the house along the path. My ankle shot pain everywhere as if to remind me not to walk on it. Suddenly, I felt an arrow penetrate my back and the clanking of bones. I heard three skeletons. They all closed in and one arrow whizzed at my head and would have hit me squarely in the head and another in the heart if not for the two archers above me. Their arrows pierced the skeletons' with a precision only few have achieved. Two crutches hit the ground. I picked them up and fumbled around with them afraid that I would injure myself further. After crushing my bad foot, I winced in pain. No one responded. I stubbornly tried to figure out the crutches when I just ended up tripping over them and stumbling around like a sixth grader trying to play the flute.
The archers descended. The older of the two, Mindcrack senior Brendan Albright, helped me to my feet and taught me how to walk with the crutches: with my good foot on the downbeat and the crutches on the upbeat. The younger, after descending, gave me an ice pack. If they had not noticed, I would have been in pain a good while longer. Then, I saw the younger pull off her mask to reveal another familiar face.
"Emilia? What are you doing here?"
"I thought I'd have a test run with a new archery technique. Miss Netherfield sometimes uses this technique and seems to have a great deal of success with it, so I thought I'd try. The nurse finally got Adrian to eat something. He's doing so much better. I think Alex would like to hear that."
"I think she would. By the way, I finally figured out how to play a G chord that sounds like a chord." With that, we parted ways. Emilia was known widely for stubbornly plowing through obstacles in order to get what she wanted, like me.
I came home to find Alex running up to me with her bright, sunny face. To my surprise, she held a note that said Vocal Rest. Can't speak. So excited to perform my solo. Can't wait. written in pink glitter gel pen on lime green paper so bright it seemed to glow. To my surprise, it did not bother me as much as black writing on white paper. Alex asked me why I was on crutches by writing on the notepad.
"I got hurt during combat," I lied. Luckily, Alex seemed to buy it. She went on her way, but only after she gave me a flyer for the Creative Fun choir bake sale: All proceeds benefit the Creative Fun music program, it said. I pocketed it and strolled straight home. I never planned on going to the bake sale before, but, when Alex asks for something, resistance is futile. She can charm the most coldhearted creeper into not exploding. I saw Caitlin on the path and she waved to me. She did not have her cane with her, most likely because she does not use it around the house.
Caitlin got back to me and told me dinner was ready. She put one arm around my shoulder and another on my waist, and, as she leaned in, her phone sang something in French. She pulled away and answered. Jilted, I I could vaguely decipher the words on the other end.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur. Ça va?"
"Ça va, Mademosielle. Où est Alex?" They went on talking in English and in French. When Caitlin hung up, she repeated her gesture, and I readily took her up in my arms. She buried her face into my shirt and stayed there. To my surprise, she started to cry.
"I'm so sorry for what you had to put up with last night. I can't help it and I have never been able to. I know it taxes you so much and you'd probably want me to go off in the woods to die because I've been a burden." The last words shocked me. All those years of putting up with the Ender Dragon for a master and she thinks I want her to die? That was absurd. She looked up at me tearfully, half-hiding her face as if ashamed to be noticed.
"Caitlin! No! I wouldn't want you to die. It hurts me when you think that." Hurt wasn't the right word to describe the anguish and agony I felt whenever pain afflicted Caitlin. It felt like a thousand swords entering my heart at once and having each of them slowly twist. She led the way into the house, but lost her balance and tripped on the threshold. After slipping several more times in her futile attempts to right herself, I attempted to do it out of sheer impatience. Instead, she fell forwards and cried more, insisting that I leave. I offered to assist once more. "I'm sorry about that. Do you want me to help you?"
"No, I'm fine." She eventually found a handhold and, using the climbing techniques she knew so well, eventually got to her feet. "Dinner is ready," she said. On busy days, she will heat the furnace so it is barely warm and roast some meat and carrots. She retrieved a loaf of bread from the chest and sat down offering me the bread. With that, we sat down to dinner. Realizing how hungry I was, I wolfed down two steaks, a loaf of bread, four carrots, and guzzled a bucket of milk. I noticed nothing else, just my ravenous appetite. When I was done, I noticed that Caitlin chewed tentatively and swallowed small amounts at a time instead of swallowing one mouthful at once. Seeing as how this peeved me, I asked her to swallow everything at once. After shaking her head, she returned to nibbling a carrot slice. When she finally finished, she rose and started E-mailing her students. She sang under her breath while typing away.
It was clear that she wanted to be left alone, so, taking up my sword and my pickaxe, I headed to the mineshaft. It was a siren's call I could not resist. I breathed in the cool, humid air at the entrance and descended into the depths of the cave. When I mined, I did not think, I just did. I struck the stone in the hopes of finding diamonds. I had no such luck, though I did find coal. Deeper and deeper my pickaxe took me. I heard the moan of a zombie, the twang of a skeleton's bowstring, and breathed in the cold, humid air. My skin prickled with delight. A drop of water hit my head as I looked into the expanse before me. Like my younger self, I impetuously sprinted a random direction, not caring whether I would return or not, and I mined away.
My pickaxe struck the stone with a satisfying clack. I cleared a path for myself looking for the light blue treasure much coveted everywhere in Minecraft: diamonds. However, I did not just want any diamond. I wanted the perfect diamond, one worthy of resting on Caitlin's finger. She needed this, but not as much as I did. My foot screamed in agony, so I just found cold water to quell its cries in. I heard a hiss behind me and, luckily, my sword hit the creeper. Thinking I would need the gunpowder for later, I stored it in my inventory. Suddenly, Everything's Alright started running through my head. "Short steps, deep breath. Everything is alright."
It led me further and further in. My intuition guided me. I just plowed through stone after stone. Without any conscious thought, I moved as fluidly as water. Each limb bent to my will as easily as my enchanted diamond sword cut through my enemies. Everything around seemed to blur, leaving me with my thoughts, until I bumped into what I thought were two zombies. Instinctively, I held my sword and held it towards the figure. The larger of the two shrunk away and yelped, so I lowered my sword. The figures slowly crept into the light. One was Alex, a girl with a red ponytail and lively green eyes that darted around looking for opportunities to strike. Knowing she was on vocal rest, I did not engage her. The other, who had black hair and pale skin, I did not recognize. Her eyes had a kind of rainbow effect. Ender particles floated around her. Alex prodded her and the other girl introduced herself.
"I'm Emmeline Netherfield, the sixth of the Netherfield sisters. After the Ender Dragon was slain, my kind was displaced. Do you know the slayer of the Ender Dragon?" That was wrong. She was the eighth. Vivienne died fighting the dragon and Caitlin was with me.
"I am the slayer and...what do you mean by displaced? And..." I had a million things to say. Just who are you? Why are there Ender particles floating around you? How did "displacement" work? Why are you with Alex?
"And what?" Emmeline grew impatient. She twirled an arrow in her fingers while Alex pursued a creeper with her sword. "What is someone of your kind doing instead of worshipping the Ender Dragon? Actually living a life with an individual identity and not serving an evil dragon like she's supposed to?"
"I didn't mean it like that! I just wanted to know who you were and why you're here at this time of night. How old are you?" I meant to leave that last part off.
"Alex told me there were seven Netherfield sisters, not six. She said you claimed the sixth as your own, that her name is Caitlin, and that she is a music teacher.... I'm not sure. I'm fifteen years old if that helps. I only trust this kid out of sheer desperation, so I hope what she says is true." Alex stood eagerly at Emmeline's side and wrote something down on another sheet. Alex's words were true. However, I didn't want to wake Caitlin to introduce her to some random girl that claimed to be her sister. On the other hand, although Emmeline and Alex could fare well without me, I kept them close by. There are worse things than mobs in life and I didn't want either girl to fall victim to them.
