Fates: Chapter Thirty

Margaret

I stared at him as my thoughts were brought back to all those mystical nights where I saw him smiling at me, beckoning me to come to him. It was difficult for me to tell him of my dreams not because it was embarrassing but because I was afraid.

I feared of its truth.

I feared of what I would do if it was really true.

And I feared that he might mean more to me than just a mystery.

I blinked. No. What could I have been thinking? He’s a friend of Grampa’s. That’s all there is to it. But then, was it really that simple?

“…merman,” his voice penetrated through my muddled thoughts.

It made me a bit disoriented and I stared blankly at him before I could summon a croaking, “What?”

“I am a merman.”

His face looked pained yet impatient at the same time, as if he hadn’t wanted to repeat what he just said. And then his words clicked. I am a merman. My eyes wandered toward his, slowly widening in confusion and surprise. I sat there frozen for as long as…I had no idea.

I am a merman.

I am a merman.

I am a merman.

His voice kept ringing and ringing until I felt a headache coming on. He was staring back at me, his breath held back and I knew that he was waiting for me to say something.

He’s a merman.

If that wasn’t the most ridiculous—

“Pfft.” And then my shoulders began shaking.

“Margaret?”

I had no idea what came over me but when I thought of how outrageous his statement was, mirth bubbled in my throat and escaped my lips. I laughed and laughed and laughed until I thought my chest was going to explode. I caught a glimpse of his face—furrowed brows and pursed lips. He most likely didn’t find the same kind of hilarity that I did and my laughter slowly began to wound down. Although not completely.

“You know, I don’t think I can ever understand the way your sense of humor works but that one was easy,” I told him in between smirks.

“I’m not joking, Margaret.”

His fists were clenched quite tightly and there was urgency in the hard glint of his eyes. I still felt like laughing at his absurd declaration but his intense expression was enough to persuade me to try to sober down. I grinned at him, the kind where my eyes twinkled in amusement and all of my teeth showed.

Maybe sometime soon, he would finish his joke.

So I waited.

But the ending to his unbelievably funny story never came. Instead, he looked serious.

Very serious.

Every bit of amusement evaporated from my face. I stood, went to the window and stared at the blurred picture of drenched roofs and wet streets. The rain had stopped its harsh beating and started falling in a spray of water droplets.

“You are not a merman,” I told him as forcefully as I could. Or maybe I told myself, I didn’t know.

“Marge—”

“Stop calling me that!”

“What? You mean ‘Marge’?”

He looked innocent and startled but I didn’t care. It was not the first time he called me by my nickname and I realized that it practically meant he knew me more than I thought he did.  It made me snap because I wanted him to act like the stranger that he should be. He was still confused and I glared at him even more.

“I don’t know you and you have no business calling me ‘Marge’. Only my family and friends call me that. You’re neither.”

Another flash of pain crossed his eyes. It was annoying. The fact that he would so generously show his emotions to me was like an attack to my conscience. I refused to let it bother me. I refused to let him bother me.

“I see.”

“No. You don’t,” I countered, “I don’t want a stranger calling me Marge and you’re not telling me you’re a merman, either! My dreams have been confusing me for weeks already and you’re not making it a whole lot worse. I won’t let you!” I didn’t know why it happened but a sob surged out of me and never stopped. “You are not a merman! Mermaids aren’t real and my dreams aren’t true.” And then I whispered, “Mermen aren’t real.”

He was on his feet and had hugged me the moment the first hiccup came. I let him wrap his arms around me even though I knew that feeling thankful for his embrace was traitorous to my words. Somehow, the reason for my tears had become my source of comfort.

“This is all too confusing. I can’t think,” I said, my face still buried on his shoulders.

“I know. I’m sorry.” And then he pulled back and laid his hands on my damp cheeks. “I told you who I really am not to confuse you but to give you the opportunity to accept the truth.” I stared at his now gentle, green eyes and found that he was also upset. “But I don’t have time, Marge. I can only give you one week.”

I tried not to notice that he had called me ‘Marge’ again. He was still waiting for my answer.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only one who can help me.”

There was something fierce in his voice and I wanted to know what he meant. How could I be the only one to help him? I didn’t even know him. I was about to ask him more questions when he dropped his hands on his sides.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow. For now, sweet dreams, Marge.”

*****

I dreamed about him, all right. Although I still wouldn’t admit that it was sweet. Not even when in this particular dream, he was no longer just floating in front of me. This time, the merman had his arms around me and I had mine around him. We were both smiling and seemed to be content just holding each other.

I wouldn’t call this dream ‘sweet’ because it couldn’t possibly be. How could it when this time, I had a tail too? I shivered as I remembered how I looked. Red hair, silver-blue tail and jewels. And lots of glitters.

If that wasn’t the most disturbing dream ever, I didn’t know what was. Some people might enjoy seeing themselves as some fantasy character but not me. I didn’t even have a tiny bit of belief in myths.

Not like Robert.

Ever since he found out about the merman and mermaid in my dreams, he had asked and discussed them with me as curious as he was. I liked the idea of having someone to talk to but sometimes, he got so enthusiastic about it that he overwhelmed me. Besides, his fascination was making me doubt my conviction about mermen being myths. And yesterday, I found out that he really might be correct. I shook my head, clearing it of the thought of Seirra’s confession. I really couldn’t afford to start believing in legends or fantasies.

It was too frightening.

The last bell rang and the students began scrambling out of the classroom towards freedom. Having Values Formation for last period was the worst kind of torture to any student in Grassfield High. Aside from the fact that our elderly teacher spoke too soft and too slow, the lessons were as boring as a silent film about the movement of clouds. I replaced my notebook into my shoulder bag and went on to the music room.

The concert was on Friday and I would be singing three songs in total: On My Own from the Les Miserablés musical, Sarah McLachlan’s Angel and Mandy Moore’s Only Hope. My parts would be every after three sets of performers and I was the only soloist. It made me terribly nervous but remembering my performance the day of the audition for Lancaster always managed to boost my confidence. All my life it never occurred to me that I could sing as heavenly as that and the fact that I continued singing that way since then had made me happier than I ever could be.

I stopped in my tracks as someone’s voice echoed through the hallways in the vicinity of the music room. Several students had stopped to listen as well while others crowded by the doorways, curious about the owner of the voice. He was singing one of the more famous songs from the Phantom of the Opera musical, Music of the Night and just like the music genius, his voice was hypnotic; promising the night with wonders, luring you to listen and believe and do as he bade you to. His voice was surreal and I was sure that I wasn’t the only one who was in a half-daze.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication

Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

To the power of the music that I write

The power of the music of the night

I listened to him sing in a cappella and it wasn’t until after the last of the clapping hands had stopped and people started dispersing that I managed to move my legs again, rushing to find out who had been singing.

I should have known it was him.

He was standing by the grand piano, answering everybody’s questions with a patient smile on his face. I walked inside without anybody noticing my presence.

“Where did you learn to sing like that?”

“Can you sing for the concert?”

“What other songs can you sing for us?”

“Will you give me tips about singing?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

His eyes seemed to have turned inward as something sad probably entered his mind but he answered the last question.

“I wish.”

That prompted more questions of a personal nature and he began to evade until he was able to stir the discussion towards safer waters. Hannah was there too and some of the girls had barraged her with questions about Seirra, with the obvious intention of knowing whether she was being courted by their handsome visitor. She had blushed and denied the possibility but it was clear to me that she was flattered to even be thought of in that way.

And then Hannah saw me standing nearby. “Marge! Hi!” she exclaimed.

Seirra’s eyes immediately flew to where I was, surprised and relieved at the same. He probably thought I wouldn’t want to see him ever again. The fact that I was there and willing to be in the same room as him spoke in itself. To be honest, I didn’t really want to hate him for telling me he was a merman but if I could avoid another private conversation with him, I would.

“Hi. We meet again,” Seirra greeted.

“Hello.” Everybody seemed to be expecting me to say more so I said, “You never mentioned yesterday that you could sing.”

Hannah chuckled at my comment. “That’s true. But then, we never got around to asking about his talents when we were all so enamored of Italy.”

Boyd, the president of the Nightingale Club, asked, “You know him, Marge?” When I nodded, he continued, “Splendid! That would make it easier for us to sign him on for the concert!” Everyone in the room agreed and began grinning at me and Seirra. Nobody noticed that both of us never nodded our agreements.

It was Seirra who wheedled us out of the absurd situation. “I don’t think I could do it.” Disappointment was almost tangible because of the number of people who frowned so he hurried to add, “I mean, I’m only here for vacation and I wanted to see the concert instead of becoming a part of it. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Hannah. I refused to model for her and singing for the concert instead seems rude somehow. I hope you understand.”

We all ended up looking at Hannah, waiting for her opinion. She shrugged and said, “I have a huge feeling he was simply being nice at his rejection.”

Seirra winced at her words but she was smiling and it made everyone more forgiving.

“I guess we can’t push it if he didn’t want to,” Boyd conceded. And then some idea seemed to have come to him and he beamed. “If we can’t have you for the concert, will you oblige us again and sing a duet with Margaret?”

“What?” I blurted out. Really, of all the ideas that could come to him, this had to be it.

“Well, you’re the best singer in this room and perhaps, today would be a good time to film our club’s part for the documentary clips they would be showing for idle moments across campus,” Boyd answered me.

“We don’t have practice and I really don’t think—”

“Oh come on, Marge. It’s just one song.”

Yeah but it would be enough to make me think of him even more than I did. And I already did quite a lot of thinking if I may say so myself. Everyone was staring expectantly, however, and right now, I couldn’t summon up any believable reason not to sing with him. I looked at Seirra and he seemed to be expecting my agreement too because he smiled a little and didn’t offer to give us an excuse.

I sighed. “Okay. I guess it shouldn’t be a problem.”

In all intents and purposes, I’d say we make wonderful music together. Our voices blended well and both seemed to have the dream-like quality that apparently put our listeners under a spell as we sang Only Hope accompanied by the piano. Even I would easily admit the beauty of our version of the song and I almost wished that we really could sing together in the concert.

The song ended and while everyone was cheering and clapping, we stared at each other in obvious wonder. I couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking but in my head, I was listening to our voices again. How could he possibly have such a beautiful voice? And then it occurred to me again that he admitted to being a merman. I almost frowned in annoyance. He was earning all this recognition because of a voice that all members of his species seemed to possess while I had to train and practice all the time just to be able to sing a song perfectly.

No. I mentally shook my head, disgusted at myself for being so envious. It wasn’t his fault that he was a merman and to be angry at him because of his voice was not fair at all. I tamped down my envy and tried to smile at him and everybody. I really should stop making a big fuss out of my singing voice. I sang almost as well as him a while ago and that was enough for me to realize that I shouldn’t be feeling resentful at all.

“Wow!” Hannah exclaimed, “You two sounded like a merman and a mermaid!” That got her some chuckles from the group and she continued, “Not that I’ve ever heard them but if anybody asks me who I think sounded like them, I’d point you two.”

I sighed inwardly. If only she knew how nearly accurate she was.

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Surprise, surprise! There's another author's note. I don't know if this is such a late question but what do you think about Margaret? Is she a worthy heroine? Somehow, I couldn't erase the thought that I might have made her a bit too Bella-ish (you know, the damsel who's always hopelessly in distress? *Sorry to her fans! I read the books too, don't worry, I know what I'm talking about.*). So...comment away! Love you guys! =)