I was about to be offended, but her fried eggs were probably about to burn, so I hurried back to the kitchen.
The burn on my hand was starting to ache again, so I turned the tap on and put my palm under cold water. With my other hand, I put some bread in the toaster.
'Your eggs are ready!'
While she was eating, quite ferociously I might add, I poured myself some coffee and sat opposite to her. There's nothing like the sight of a pretty girl shamelessly enthusiastic about her food with your morning coffee, I decided.
She sighed with deep satisfaction and put the empty plate away.
'That was some great fucking fried eggs.'
I shrugged.
'They're eggs. I fried them.'
She smiled.
'Aren't you gonna ask?'
'Ask what?'
'What in the box?! What's in the fucking box?!'
Oh yes. I have completely forgotten about the huge box.
Claire looked at me expectantly.
'What's in the box, Claire?'
'Ha! Funny you should ask. It's a keyboard!'
'You brought me a keyboard? Like, an electric piano?'
'Sure!'
'... Why?'
'What do you mean why? You're in my band, dude!'
'I am?'
Well, that was a surprise.
'Of course! You signed up yesterday, remember? Right before you tried to strangle that homeless guy.'
The shadow ran across my thoughts when she mentioned him.
'Okay. I guess I did. Still... you got me a piano?'
'Oh don't be so serious. I didn't 'get' get it. I just borrowed it from my dad. You need to practice, man!'
'What do you mean you 'borrowed' it from your dad?'
'Don't worry, he has more. My dad was a musician way back then, you know? Well, he considered himself to be a musician, anyway. The world? Not so much.'
I sighed.
'Do you want to unpack it, Matt? Like, right now?'
She sounded so excited at the prospect that I couldn't help but nod.
'Cool! Let's do it!'
We returned to the bedroom. I had to move a bunch of books to clear the space for the piano while Claire was working on opening the box.
'By the way, what's with all the books? It runs against your cool guy routine. Aren't you suppose to ride motorcycles and bang hot chicks in your spare time?'
I think my ears turned red.
'Yeah, sure. It's just not motorcycle weather right now, so...'
'But really? And also, this is not your typical beatnik crap we pompous youths are supposed to rave about. The History of Madness by Michel Foucault, The Karamazov Brothers by... Fyodor Dostoyevsky? The Left Hand of Darkness? What the fuck?'
I shrugged.
'I like books.'
She gave me an exasperated look.
'Yeah, like you like puzzle cubes. But why? And why these books in particular? Come on, give me something.'
I had to stop for a few moments and think about it.
'Well. I guess there are two types of good books. One type is pretty self-explanatory: it lets you live a piece of life that you yourself will never get to live. And the more you're caged in by the diminishing amount of possibilities in your life, the more seductive these are.'
'Okay, I get that. Or the possibilities in your life seem less pleasant.'
'Sure. The second type of a good book gives you some sort of a better understanding. I like learning stuff about the world.'
'Curious much?'
'No, it has nothing to do with curiosity.'
'Why then?'
I raised my eyebrows.
'I mean... isn't it obvious? The better you understand the world, the better you can protect yourself against it.'
As I said it, I realized that no, it wasn't obvious for most people. Most people didn't have to protect themselves against the Disease, and the PA, and other people. They could just go through the motions laid out for them by society, and expect good results. I accidentally told her more about myself than I planned to.
'So, not curious much. Just paranoid, huh? I don't want to pierce your bubble of narcissism, man, but the world isn't planning to attack you. It has, you know, bigger fish to fry. Like polar ice caps and stuff.'
I smiled.
'Hey, you asked. Now... let's take a look at this keyboard, shall we?'
We stationed the keyboard on its base and plugged it in. Claire gingerly played a few notes, and the deep, melodic sound of a grand piano rang in my ears for the first time in many years.
It was a beauty. Slick, high-tech, and at the same time somehow almost classic. I touched the keys and noticed that they were weighted.
'Claire... this thing must cost, like, a lot. Are you sure that your dad is okay lending it to a complete stranger?'
She smirked.
'What do you mean 'a complete stranger'? We're best buddies, Matt! I mean, we almost killed a hobo together!'
Seeing doubt on my face, she sighed.
'Don't worry about it, Matt. My dad, he split on me and mom when I was a wee little baby. We have never seen a penny from him while I was growing up. Then, right about when I turned eighteen, he had a late midlife crisis or something and decided to reach out. Like, you know how they say "better late than never"?
I nodded.
'Well, that's complete bullshit. I would have been glad to never hear from that bastard again. But... with his help, I was able to move here, to the city, and afford university tuition. Point is, he's glad to throw money at me, makes him feel good about himself. I don't usually allow it, but this thing was literally gathering dust in his garage. So no worries, man. And besides, it's for a good cause.'
'Which is?'
'Making us rich and famous, of course!'
She played a couple more notes.
'I guess your neighbors won't be happy to hear you practicing, so get good headphones. Anyway. What about your old man? What's he like?'
I shrugged.
'He was never in the picture. I have his phone number somewhere, but never bothered to call.'
'And you mom?'
I pointed to a picture frame.
'That's her right there.'
Claire took the picture and raised it to her eyes. My mom was young in it, with long dark hair flowing gently past her shoulders, and a small smile on her lips. I was probably three or four when this photo was taken, but I remembered vividly the smell of that day: pine needles and tar.
'She's so pretty! Do you see her often?'
I shook my head.
'No. She passed away when I was sixteen.'
Claire put the photo back at the table.
'Oh. I'm so sorry, Matt.'
'That's okay.'
'So... did they send you to a foster home? Or to live with a relative?'
I smiled.
'No relatives for me. I had to jump through some hoops to get legally emancipated. More like unofficially emancipated, really, because these laws are... murky.'
I touched the keys, remembering. Pine needles and tar. Mom smiling into the camera.
God. The world was so innocent back then. How did it get so twisted?
'Actually, it was she who taught me to play.'
Claire put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly.
Her touch was supposed to reassure me, but instead, I felt dark thoughts crawling into my mind. Every wrong thing that happened to me lately started with Claire. After she started that conversation in the bar, I lost control during the test. Then she approached me at the lakeside. Did she really happen to be there by accident? And then the man with blue eyes was just waiting for me near the concert she had invited me to.
Was it just a string of coincidences? Or was there something sinister behind it? Was it possible that Claire was playing me? Could she be working for the PA?
If they suspected me...
'What? You're looking at me funny.'
No, I couldn't imagine Claire -- vibrant, inappropriate, foul-mouthed, childishly sincere Claire -- as some secret spy. Only a sociopath could have been able to be her, and then also be something else. But still, still. Could I allow myself to trust her?
'Hey, Claire. Can I ask you a weird question?'
She raised her eyebrows.
'Sure'
I paused for a second, nervous.
'Imagine a pyramid built of gold. At the bottom of the pyramid, slaves worship false gods. What is inside the pyramid?'
I was looking at her intently, waiting for any sign of recognition. A momentary shadow that would run across her face, a slight shiver of eyelashes, a sudden tension in shoulders. But all I saw was complete incomprehension.
'... What???'
I smiled.
'Nevermind. Just something stupid I heard on TV. So, when do you guys rehearse?'
She reached for her jacket, shaking her head.
'You're a weird dude, Matt, you know that? Anyway, we were going to rehearse today, in the evening. Can you make it?'
I looked up the time, gears shifting slowly in my brain, trying to predict how long the thing I decided to do before falling asleep will take.
'I have to do something before that, but it shouldn't take long. So yeah, sure.'
She grinned.
'Cool! I'll text you the address. Don't be late... weirdo.'