Agnes and Isobel

Agnes and Isobel

Piano music, played with intense emotion, if not great technical skill, reverberated in her ears as soon as Isobel Thomas opened the front door to the small clapboard house where she and her sister, Agnes had lived for the last fifteen years. Just the two of them.
For fifteen years. Day after day. Week after week. Year after year. For fifteen-long-years. Isobel hitched the paper grocery bag higher on her thin, bony hip and struggled to shut the door without losing her grip; on the grocery bag or her boiling temper. The music was heavy, sensual, played in a minor key that snaked down, deep inside you, to a place where all the lost dreams and forgotten desires had been long ago folded and put away forever. In spite of herself, Isobel was instantly wrapped in the seduction of the music; amazed by the way her sister could manipulate and master not only the instrument, but also the audience, which was always oblivious of Agnes' imperfect technical delivery. The passion for the music itself was the secret. "There has always been music surrounding her," Isobel thought. For just a moment, she allowed herself to be wrapped up in the tones, and timing of the haunting melody. The ringing of the telephone abruptly brought reality crashing in and Isobel felt the previous tide of anger and humiliation flood over her, wrenching the few seconds of peace completely away. The music stopped immediately at the sound of the telephone, and Isobel heard, "I'll get it, Sissy." Isobel went into the small tidy kitchen and began to store the items she had just purchased. Slamming cabinet doors forcefully, banging cans sharply down on shelves, and crushing now empty grocery bags helped to take the edge off her anger, but Isobel was still upset enough to explode. Isobel heard Agnes's footsteps on the hardwood floor of the hallway outside the kitchen, and braced herself for yet another confrontation with the person who had completely mystified and infuriated her for the last fifteen years of their lives.
"Agnes for Pete's sake!! What have you been doing this time! I swear, soon I won't be able to go to any shop in this whole blessed town!" The words exploded forcefully from Isobel's mouth like lava gushing from an erupting volcano. The look of complete serenity on the face of her sister just further incensed Isobel. "Agnes Natasha Genevieve Seripha Thomas! Do you deliberately set out to make my life difficult, or are you actually going senile in your old age??!!" Usually the mention of senility would ignite a twin fire of anger in Agnes, but today all that resulted from the rifle crack delivery of the insult was a slight lifting of the corners of her mouth in that stupid smile Agnes displayed at the oddest times. What Isobel had never noticed, as had in fact very few people, was the fact that Agnes's initials spelled 'angst'. Agnes always felt that fact was one of the most wonderfully quirky things their mother had done in a life ruled by non-conformity. She was in her 'I- have- to- find -myself' years when Agnes had arrived, and it was reflected, at least in Agnes' opinion, by the way the first letters of her entire given named spelled the word most associated with their dear departed mother. MaMa not only suffered from herself, but also had the amazing ability to inspire in others, after even short periods of time in her presence, great 'ANGST'. Sometimes Agnes missed MaMa almost more than she could bear. Even after all these years of being without her, the pain was still as strong as the first day after MaMa had been removed from their lives. Maybe some day MaMa would let them know where she was and Agnes could see her again. Now, isn't that a lovely thought! The odd little smile grew into a full fledged, tooth baring, eye crinkling grin that was the final affront to self-righteously indignant Isobel, who unfortunately, was not privy to the thought processes of Agnes, and so therefore, could not actually be held accountable for what happened next. Well, that is, in Isobel's opinion she could not be held accountable, not entirely anyway. Sometimes people and events just conspire to bring about certain actions, and the participants seem to be actors following a script without any choice in the matter. But to return to the scene of the crime. Oh yes, there was a crime. You see, when Agnes smiled so happily and fully at precisely the wrong second, Isobel just snapped. All the years of being the sensible, down-to-earth, goody two-shoes grown-up in the house had been difficult for Isobel. Agnes was always the one in the relationship who got to indulge her eccentricities, while Isobel was tied into the position of soothing hurt feelings, repairing damaged characters, offering sincere sounding apologies, and generally oiling the waters that had been troubled in the wake of 'Hurricane Agnes'. That is how Isobel generally referred to her younger sister in her own thoughts: Hurricane Agnes. Throughout the courses of human history, we mere mortals have had a strange fascination with forces mightier than are we ourselves.