The Me You See Page 5

  I looked in her lap and saw she was holding a crudely made wooden box with bits and pieces of stuff inside. She fingered at a piece of pink lined paper in her hand, a note obviously scribbled on it. She folded up the paper and shoved it back inside the box.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. Are you the new neighbor from across the street?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I just moved in a couple weeks ago. With moving in and all the repairs, I haven’t had a chance to make a proper introduction. I’m Niles Connelly.”

  I handed her the cookies, which she took with a smile and set down next to the box of treasures.

  I extended my hand for her to shake.

  “And you are?” I prompted.

  She took my hand to shake it and I pulled her up into a standing position.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m Stefia.”

  “Stefia. Now that’s a lovely name.”

  “That’s what everyone says.” She smiled, cautiously.

  “I rather like it.”

  “I hate it,” she confessed. “I’d much rather have a normal name. Like Mary. Or Sue.”

  “I think you look like a Stefia,” I said. “Far too pretty to have a normal name.”

  She blushed.

  “In fact,” I continued, “I think Stefia is a name that just screams someone destined for great things.”

  “I was told it is a cross between Stephanie which means crown and Sophia which means wisdom.”

  “Interesting cross of names,” I pondered. “Why the combination?”

  “Because my father wanted his first born daughter to be named Stephanie and my mother was rooting for Sophia.”

  “Ah,” I said. “I guess I would I tend to side with your mother.”

  “I don’t,” she said quickly.

  “Oh?” I said, wondering why the abrupt dismissal.

  “She’s not here. I mean, my mom.”

  “Gone for the afternoon?”

  “No. Gone forever.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, taken aback. “I didn’t realize your mother had died.”

  “She didn’t. She left.”

  She bent to pick up a bright red leaf on the ground, twirled it around by the stem, and then let it fall back to where she’d picked it up from.

  “Where did she go?”

  “No one knows,” she said. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. We all move on, right? Thanks for coming across the street to help, but I guess I didn’t need it.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yeah. And thanks for the cookies. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  We stood there for a moment. I wondered what else I could say so I didn’t have to leave.

  “Are you sure everything is okay?” I asked.

  “Why do you ask?” she responded, without turning around.

  “You just look upset,” I said, slowly following behind her.

  “I’m okay.”

  “I don’t mean to pry,” I tried one more time, “but you really look like you’re upset about something. And I hate to leave someone if I can help them.”

  She turned around to face me.

  “I actually think the cookies are about the best thing you could have done. Russian teacakes are my favorite.”

  “I know they are traditionally a Christmas cookie, but I eat them year round.”

  “I haven’t had them in a long time. My mom always made them for me the Sunday before Christmas. That was our Christmas cookie baking day.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “So, thanks. I really appreciate it. It was…great timing.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise. I’ll tell my dad you stopped over.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t be a stranger,” she said. “Okay, Niles?”

  I smiled the warmest smile possible and walked back to my house.

  Be a stranger, Stefia? I wouldn’t have dreamt of it.

  **

  A loud rap on my front door a week later sent the dog barking and my two cats hiding. I moved the curtain in the living room to peek out and see who was standing on the front step.

  Stefia.

  I kicked at the dog to shush him and he retreated to his bed near the stairwell. I tucked in my shirt, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  “Stefia!” I said, “What a nice surprise!”

  “Hi, Niles. I just came over to return this platter you brought the cookies over on. Thanks, again.”

  I took the tray from her and grinned graciously. I caught her sneak a glance past me into the house

  “Oh gosh,” I said. “Don’t mind the mess. It’s just been crazy with the moving and…”

  “Don’t worry about it, Niles,” she said. “You’re in the middle of trying to fix up the house you just moved into. Besides, I would think you were a little weird if you kept everything totally spotless. Then you’d be like my mom. And that’s not how real people live.”

  That girl. She was something else.

  “Would you like to come in?” I asked. “I’ve just made some pumpkin bread.”

  She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, presumably to check the time. As if on cue, Magpie the dog, crept off his dog bed and snuck around the corner to us.

  “Aww, you’ve got a dog!” Stefia said, her voice rising into a squeal. She put her phone back in her pocket and bent down to Magpie. He got excited, jumped, and licked at her face.

  “Magpie, down!” I said, embarrassed that he was jumping all over her.

  “It’s okay, I love dogs. I wish I had one. What kind of dog is she?”

  “She is a he,” I corrected, “and he’s a beagle.”

  “I love his ears!” she said, running her hand down the length of his long flaps. “How old is he?”

  “Five,” I answered. “But he thinks he’s still a puppy.”

  Magpie stopped licking Stefia and ran to get his toy—a ratty old stuffed bunny— and dropped it by where she is knelt on the ground.

  “You brought me a toy?” she said to Magpie. “You want me throw this, huh? Do you, boy?”

  With Stefia and Magpie lost in a game of fetch, I went to the kitchen and sliced some of the warm pumpkin bread. I placed it, along with a stick of butter and a knife, on the same orange tray she had returned. It smelled absolutely delicious, even without its usual cream cheese icing. I left the kitchen carrying the tray and set it on the dining room table near the game of fetch.

  “I brought out the pumpkin bread, just in case you wanted to try some,” I said.

  “Oh, okay,” she said, as Magpie brought the bunny to her. He didn’t drop it in her lap, though. He wanted to play tug.

  “Give it up, Magpie!” she said to him, giggling and pulling at the bunny latched in his teeth. But Magpie didn’t release his clenched jaw. Instead he tore away, bunny still intact, victory his, and went to his dog bed to chew the bunny’s ear.

  “I guess he was done,” I said. “He’s kind of the boss of the bunny.”

  Stefia smiled, stood, and came to the dining room table.

  “The bread looks delicious,” she complimented.

  “Thanks. Have a seat. I mean…if you want.”

  She sat, folded her hands in front of her, and looked about the room.

  “You seem to be quite the wizard in the kitchen,” she said.

  “Why do you say that?” I said, and offered her a slice of bread with half a slab of butter.

  “Well,” she said, taking the bread, “every time I’ve seen you, you’ve got delicious food.”

  “We’ve only seen each other twice,” I reminded her. “It could be a coincidence.”

  “Not likely,” she said, and shoved part of the bread in her mouth.

  I took a bite of the bread, too, and was pleased that it tasted so good. The texture was soft and the flavor melted ont
o my tongue. It was rich and full and practically perfect.

  “Mmmm. This is really good, Niles,” she said. “You are a wizard in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Do you bake at all?”

  “Nope. My middle sister, Naomi, is kind of the kitchen queen now that mom is gone.”

  She chewed the rest of her slice of bread in silence; I suppose that she was thinking on her middle sister or her mother or maybe even how to make pumpkin bread. Then I caught her looking at the pictures I had framed all around the antique buffet opposite my dining room table.

  “Those are pictures from when I used to live in Virginia,” I said.

  “How long did you live there?”

  “Most of my life,” I said.

  “What brought you here?”

  “I surely don’t know,” I said with a chuckle. When she looked at me cockeyed, I said, “Who moves to Minnesota by choice?”

  “What’s wrong with Minnesota?”

  “One word: Winter.”

  Stefia laughed.

  “I’ve never lived anywhere else,” she said. “Minnesota winter is normal to me.”

  “You’re one tough cookie. Do you want another piece of bread?”

  “Can I?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay,” she said, and reached across the table for another slice. “I think this is the best pumpkin bread I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But seriously,” she said, swallowing. “Why Minnesota? There’s forty-eight other states besides here and Virginia. Why choose somewhere whose only claim to fame is the longest winter ever?”

  “Actually, that would be Alaska, I think,” I said, and reached for a second piece of bread myself. “And to be honest, most of what I heard of Minnesota before moving here was about the greatness of the Mall of America, and that you have a pretty amazing theater circuit.”

  She swallowed the bread that was in her mouth and choked a bit. She cleared her throat and coughed to help it go down.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, rising. “Do you need some water?”

  She nodded and I brought her a full glass from the kitchen. She drank the whole thing and then smiled uncomfortably.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I just swallowed wrong.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She nodded.

  “What were we talking about?” she asked. “Oh, yes. Minnesota stuff. I’ve never been to the Mall of America.”

  “Really? It’s right here in your state and you’ve never been?”

  “Nope. Way too big. I heard if you spent just ten minutes in every store or attraction at the mall, you’d be there for four days. And that’s without even sleeping.”

  “You’re not a shopper?”

  “Nope. I know, weird for an almost 14 year old girl.”

  I practically choked on my bread. Was she kidding me?

  “You’re only thirteen?” I said.

  “Yeah.” She pushed the rest of the bread into her mouth and licked her fingers. “Well, I’ll be fourteen in a couple weeks.”

  “Oh,” I said, swallowing hard. I had to look away from her. I had looked at pictures, the butter knife, the yarn coming off the edge of the rug the dining room table was sitting on. I looked for anything to distract me from the fact she was at least five years younger than what I’d originally pegged her as.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You thought I was older?”

  “I did,” I confessed.

  “I get that a lot,” she said, looking at the pictures again. “I had someone ask me where I was starting classes this year. I think they thought I was in college. I laughed and told them I was just starting high school.”

  “Could have fooled me,” I said, my head spinning in any direction it could to change the subject.

  “It’s an honest mistake, Niles. Don’t worry about it. I hear it a lot.”

  I had to change the subject.

  “I don’t think it’s weird that you’re not a shopper,” I said. “In fact, it’s kind of refreshing.”

  “I suppose you haven’t had time to go to the mall yet…”

  “Nope. I’ve only been here, what, three weeks? I’m still stuck wondering how to make it through one of your winters.”

  “You’ll be fine,” she said and giggled. “It will make you tough.”

  “Yeah, toughen me up, that’s what I need,” I said. “Anyhow. I chose Minnesota for a few reasons, but a big one was a friend of mine who actually doesn’t live too far away. James Harper. We went to college together.”

  “James Harper? Never heard of him.”

  “Really? I thought everyone knew everyone in a small town.”

  “Is this a small town?”

  “I think it is.”

  “Nah, a small town is Fletcher. They’ve only got a population of like, sixty people. That’s a small town.”

  “That’s not a small town…that’s a family reunion.”

  Stefia giggled and shoved the last of her second piece of bread in her mouth.

  “That seriously is the best bread I’ve ever tasted,” she said. “Did you go to college for kitchen wizardry?”

  “Nope, I just like to bake. I went to college for stage wizardry.”

  “Huh?”

  “Theater. But not really the acting part. More the backstage stuff. Lights, set design, things like that. My friend that I mentioned, James Harper, he was there for acting.”

  “Was he good?”

  “He liked what he did, and I think that was the important thing.”

  “So he wasn’t good?”

  “He had passion.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s kind of why I moved here, though. James is trying to start up this little community theater, kind of between here and St. Cloud? I’d been through some junk out in Virginia, life changes and all, and he tossed it out in the air that I should move here and help him start it up.”

  “I see.”

  “I think he kind of meant it as a joke at first. One of those jokes where you toss it out as an idea, not thinking anyone will actually bite, but then they do, and you’re glad they did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, that’s kind of what I’m involved in now. Getting the theater up and running.”

  She had suddenly grown quiet. She looked off out my front window towards her house. Towards that tree I saw her sitting by and searching underneath a week ago.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Here I am babbling along, telling you boring stories about old friends and silly dreams. Let’s talk about you for a while.”

  She smiled. And for an almost fourteen-year-old, it seemed to be a smile that showed wisdom beyond her years.

  But it also showed something else: ambition.

  “I want to be an actress,” she said, suddenly.

  “Oh?” I said, surprised at the irony in her confession. What were the chances?

  “Yes.”

  “You’re interested in the theater?” I could hardly breathe, my heart was beating so fast. Stefia…an actress?

  “I take that back,” she said, seemingly involved in a conversation more with herself than with me. “I don’t want to be an actress. I’m going to be an actress.”

  Her announcement changed everything. There was a conviction in her voice; a conveyance of eagerness. An unquenchable zeal. A ravenous appetite for something just out of reach. Something I could tell she would pull into herself and accomplish.

  “You like to act?”

  “I do. Doesn’t everybody?”

  “Only the crazy ones,” I said with a smirk. “How many shows have you done?”

  She looked straight at me and answered unapologetically.

  “None.”

  “What?”

  “None.” Her serious, defiant eyes made me believe that it almost didn’t matter. “But don’t worry. The fact I’ve never been on stage makes no diffe
rence. I’m going to be an actress.”

  “There’s an audition coming up in a month for the first play that the Crystal Plains Theater is putting on,” I said, hardly believing my luck. “I could help you prepare an audition piece. I mean, if you wanted.”

  “Really? You could?”

  “I’ve been around theater all my life. I could give you some pointers.”

  “Really?” Her voice turned upwards into a squeal that brought Magpie back over to her feet.

  “Sure,” I said. “Not a problem.”

  “Okay! When can we start?”

  “How about in two days. I can start with helping you find a monologue.”

  “Sounds awesome,” she said. “Thanks, Niles!”

  “Anytime.”

  Stefia was so excited she bolted out of her chair, and went for the front door.

  “This is gonna be great!” she said to Magpie. “I’m going to be an actress and people are going to come from miles around to see me perform.”

  “You think so?” I said.

  “People are going to remember my name, Niles. I’m gonna prove it to you. People will not forget me.”

  And something about the manner in which she moved, the way the light soaked into her face, and how her rich voice wrapped around the words she spoke, made me believe what she had said. People wouldn’t forget Stefia. Of that I was absolutely sure.

  **

  Two days later, Stefia was on my front step with a Kindle full of monologues, wanting me to help her choose which ones were best. I told her not to go with something the director would have heard a hundred times at every audition he held.

  “Find something different. If do the same thing as everyone else, the director will assume you’re like everyone else. And you’re not.”

  “Okay.”

  “That goes for the audience, too. You have to give them something different, otherwise you just fade into their memory as being in a show that was just like every other show they have ever seen.”

  She looked through the monologue books and couldn’t find anything she liked so I went through my stash and gave her a copy of a piece from Patient A.

  “Try this,” I said. “It’s pretty deep. It will set you apart. And they will never guess you are only thirteen.”

  “I’m almost fourteen.”

  “Yeah,” I said, tasting the saliva that had collected in my mouth.