Okay! I'm not tired today, yay me! (had to put a little London Tipton in there. She's so cute!). So, just as I promised, I have something new for you all to read. I don't reveal too much in this one, so you get to think for yourselves what is going on. And trust me; you have no idea what's being plotted in this sly world of mine.
I glanced over my shoulder as I mounted my horse. Daza was cleaning the stalls on the far end of the stables, whistling the same nonsense song my brother had sung earlier this morning. Suppressing a snort, I ran through the obstacle course again, trying hard to focus. I needed to really improve before the race next week.
She went over her lines again and again, seriously trying to catch that accent. It was her fault that she was stuck with this traveling theater troupe. As the wagon jostled hard, the girl looked out to see the large rock they had just passed over. As she was about to turn back to her lines, the corner of her eye raised an eyebrow as she caught Tezho getting out from the wagon behind and hauling it over to the side of the road. He was a stuck up show-off.
Oh, it was beautiful to watch. Every movement was so graceful, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the girl on the stallion. Funny, her brother had never told him her name; really no one called her by any name. But maybe there wasn’t a name to describe the wonderfully indescribable. With a head filled with the yellow of the sunset, and the heavenly white of the horse, nothing else looked more worth making a picture of than that.
Watching over his shoulder, Daza turned to get the oats from the barn. He was excited to be taking her to the race so soon, with no one else but Kjanne, Swege, and Vioti. Shirewin Faire was one of the most famous celebrations in Thayes Cein. It was a party full of wonderful events, like the horse races, dramas, fire shows, musicians, dueling, tournaments, and feasts. Daza surely hoped to catch her name on the journey.
It irked him that he knew so little about someone that he had seen around the barn for over a year. He was also displeased that he was too cowardly to confront her. Daza wondered if she even noticed him. But then, he also wondered about all the things that she might like, or might not like; what would impress her; if she was tomboyish; if she were patient enough to teach him how to read; oh, just about everything. All he knew was that she looked beautiful on a horse and she had a pretty laugh.
Daza scratched his head and pulled his fingers through his red curls, noticing how long the hair had gotten. Goodness, down to his shoulders! He set the bag of oats down and leaned over the watering trough and looked at his reflection. Staring back into his dark, dull green eyes, Daza tried to wipe the dirt off the ridge of his nose. The natural bump in the middle of it peeved him. He didn’t like his square jaw either; it made his head look unbalanced on his shoulders.
Pulling up his sleeve, Daza traced the thick scar that ran over the shoulder and over the muscles of his upper arm. His right arm was the only thing he owned that he was proud of. Just like his left arm, it was ripped with muscle, but the long scar made it unique, special. He didn’t fancy the memory of receiving it, but he thought that it showed how tough he was, how experienced he could be in certain situations. And just about anyone was fascinated by a battle scar or a memento of the troubles one had seen. Rolling the sleeve down, Daza splashed his face with water and picked up the oats again. Pouring them into a bowl, he mixed them with water.
“You’re still up here, Daza?” A voice chuckled in surprise from behind. Daza looked back as he reentered the stables. Aburyfmi had returned from the village. “Of course I’m still here,” Daza answered. “Your sister doesn’t have the time to take care of the horses right now; I do.”
“Funny you mention my sister before yourself,” Aburyfmi joked, getting a consequential sock in the shoulder. Daza smiled anyway, knowing how best friends tended to be. Aburyfmi peeked out of the barn to see the course. “Talented, huh?” he mused with his eyebrows raised, turning back to Daza.
“Phenomenal. I think the wind is trying to catch up to her.”
“Naw, you daydreamer!” Daza leaned away as his friend mussed up his hair. “And, lo and behold, the enchanting rider cometh!” Aburyfmi pointed at the dismounted girl about a hundred yards away.
Leading Rifar by his bridle, I saw my brother pointing toward me as I walked closer to the barn.
“What’s the indication for? I’m coming.” I called to him. When I neared the two, Aburyfmi smiled mischievously. “What?” I cowered at his knowing expression.
“Daza, here, bets five tobs that you’ll lose the race.” Daza looked like he wanted to punch my brother, but when he saw my glare he changed attitudes.
“Ten. Five and ten tobs is what I said. I think he might be hard of hearing.” He jabbed his finger at my brother. This time he stared proudly back at my glare. Fifteen tobs was not a bet I wanted on myself. I turned to Aburyfmi.
“And what do you suppose?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.
“I say seven on your winning.”
“Only seven?” Where was my brother’s support?
“I figure if I lose the bet, he gets only seven tobs, but if he loses, then I gain my good fifteen and keep my seven, with which I can do anything I want.” Logical and clever enough. “And we already shook on it; neither of us can back on his word now.” I straightened my back and set my shoulders down in a proud posture as I walked Rifar into the stables.
“Well,” I said to Daza. “At least someone knows how to use logic. I would wish you luck on winning your bet, but you look like you have enough.” I looked pointedly at his long red curls. He turned even redder but remained expressionless while I passed him. Aburyfmi gained a jokingly ridiculing face as he exchanged silent words between him and Daza. They shoved, punched, and eventually began a playful wrestling match as I unsaddled Rifar and put away all of the riding gear.
“Alright, Abur, everyone will be worried at home if we don’t make it back before dark.” I said as they pulled each other apart and stood up. Well, Aburyfmi more like scuttled up to his feet; Daza was somewhat more graceful.
“You know, I never asked,” Daza said. “How far out do you two live?”
“From here?” Aburyfmi questioned.
“Mm hm.”
“Say, about four miles away. Why?”
“Just a curious thought. I’m still trying to get to know the country and most other people.” At this, Aburyfmi piped up.
“Well, if you like you could come eat dinner with us.” I was about to protest; I must have begun to turn red because when my brother glanced at me he made double takes. “Are you alright?” I cleared my throat.
“It’s still a little warm outside.” I lied. Shaking his head n confusion because it was obviously fairly chilly by now, Aburyfmi turned back to Daza.
“You could meet the rest of our family,” he urged. Daza considered it a moment, and then confirmed his answer.
“I’d be much obliged. It’s about time I got out for a night.” He left to get his horse. Aburyfmi turned to me.
“Where’s Rifar?”
“In the stables; why?”
“How are we getting home, then?” I groaned and burned my cheeks even redder as I went back to saddle Rifar up again.
When I came back, the first sight I saw was the most amazing horse I’d laid eyes on. A Frisian! Goodness, Daza was lucky; he had a Frisian! The horse must have been a female; Rifar was getting excited. If he were a human, he would have whistled. The two men were in conversation when Aburyfmi stopped and looked at me.
“Could I ride in front today?” I was no mood for arguing, so I consented and mounted behind him. He smirked at Daza before kicking Rifar into a walk.
“Whoa!” Momentum slowly pulled Triah back as the wagon came to a stop. It was tradition that the drivers of the wagons helped the women of the one in front of them out. Glancing up, she saw all of the other girls flock to the back of the wagon as Tezho approached to lift them down. Folding her arms, she reminded herself that it was her fault that she was stuck here. Triah waited until he had lifted the rest of the girls down to give him a straight, dark look in the eyes. He timidly raised his hands to indicate he was helping.
“I can climb down my self,” she said stubbornly. Tezho dropped his arms, rolled his eyes, and sighed.
“Look, I understand that you’re new, and you may not trust me, but it’s just a simple tradition.”
“I am very independent of getting out of a wagon.” He sighed again.
“Please?” he begged.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“If you don’t let me get you out, then—what are you doing?” Triah had swung her leg over the backboard.
“I told you I could climb out myself.” He was not grabbing her waist now.
“Then pull your dress over your leg, please.” He said, turning away. Giving him an aggravated look that he couldn’t see, she pulled her skirt down over her foot. Alright, he was really just trying to show off his modesty. Swinging her other leg over, her foot got caught inside the skirt, making Triah slip. Tezho took the liberty of catching her in time, nearly hugging her.
“That easy, isn’t it?” he said sarcastically.
“Get off!” She cried, pushing away from his chest. He staggered back in amazement.
“For someone as light as you, you’re strong.” He complimented. She just turned away, growling at his artificial charm, walking as quick as she could. “Supper’s the other way!” All Triah could imagine right now was ripping every dark brown hair from his perfect scalp.
Everyone all sat and sipped stew around a fire, sitting on rocks, or logs, or an object substituting for a seat. We had settled near a great meadow that stretched for and wide beside the road where the wood had ended. The grass was nearly two feet high, with spots of moist earth scattered within the meadow everyone where. Daaenya flounced over to Triah in her perky way and sat, still nearly bouncing in her seat. “I heard you made a fit for Tezho. What did he do?” Triah moaned.
“I’ve seen too much of his pretend courtesy. So, I decided I could get out of the wagon on my own and he could leave.”
“So you did something?” Daaenya’s eyes widened.
“I don’t know. But I don’t like Tezho. He isn’t trustworthy.” And for her, that was almost a gospel truth.
“Oh, you just don’t know ‘im yet. He does like to show off sometimes, but he doesn’t boast. And besides, for someone like us, ‘e looks a-jizzy.” Huh?
“Daaenya, please try to translate your slang before saying it. A month is not long enough to pick up a lingo.”
“Oh. Me apologies. I meant he’s ‘andsome. Don’t you agree?”
“A little. But he’s too perfect for it all to be true. And why is it tradition to have the men help the women from the wagons?” It was so silly!
“It teaches the boys at young ages how to be polite. But Tezho’s the only one who actually is nice.” She sipped her stew.
“Rubbish.” Triah sipped her own stew in turn. Daaenya licked her lips before speaking again.
“No. Someday you’ll see. I mean, he likes you, I don’t see—“
“What?!” Triah nearly choked on a potato.
“Oh, come on. Tezho likes everyone the same. You should try that, too.” Putting her spoon in the now empty bowl, Daaenya sauntered away in a less perky manner. Triah stood also and went to dispose of her bowl in the wagon with the scullery girls attending to it.
“Triah.” She jumped at the voice behind her. Turning, she saw Vindoah hovering over her. “Yes?” she replied.
“How are your lines coming?” he asked in his deep, round tones.
“I’m fine with my lines; why?”
“That’s splendid. I’ve finally chosen someone for the part of Martifreyo.” Triah had to stop herself from snorting at the name. The most outrageous name for the man she was pretending to love. “Only a week is left until the Faire, so I would like you to practice with him every day when we stop to rest and eat.”
“And who is my partner?”
“Tezho.”
The cutlery clanged against the plates and bowls as the family and Daza peacefully ate.
“So, when do you plan on leaving to the Faire, Daza?” my father asked.
“We’ll be here one more day and the group leaves in the morning.” Daza answered.
“That soon?” Father turned to me. “Then I believe the riding is coming along well?”
“Very well, Da.” I said. He was so talented at conversing with me without calling me by my name. I was glad of that. “Even Abur believes I’ll do great.” I had to keep from glaring at Daza. Sneaking a glance, I noticed that he looked perturbed, also.
“Wonderful!” he cried. Aburyfmi blushed at my father’s joy of having the two of us getting along.
“M’ma, could you pass me the butter?” Lili peeped. She was so small for an eight-year-old girl, and so frail. It frightened my parents.
“Here you go, love,” my mother said, reaching to set the butter across the table. “Mm…. Freshly made this morning. Finally something yellower than our hair.” Lili and Groy, my other younger brother, giggled in their sweet childish way. My mother chuckled and then pulled back the few thin gray wisps that had escaped her knot on top.
“So will you be able to do chores before you leave in the morning, dear?” she asked me.
“Yes, mum.” I answered.
“Are you sure?” This came from Daza.
“Daza,” I said. “If I’m to wake before sunrise to do chores and we’re to leave at mid-morning, wouldn’t you think that I would have plenty of time?” he gave a small nod and a nervous smile and silenced himself. In refrain from looking smug I took a bite of bread.
“So Daza, what else do you do?” my mother asked. “Are you looking to be a cobbler, or a carpenter, or a smith of some sort?”
“Uh, no, ma’am. Just horses,” he said.
“Really? But you must have some interests other than that. You’ve never had a wish to be a scholar, or a warrior, or maybe even an artist?” she continued. Mother liked to hear the tales of dreamers. Daza looked like a disappointment. He also looked like he wanted to tell her something but thought better of it.
“No. I just want to take care of my horses and be a simple merchant. I’ve no need for importance,” he said humbly. I wondered how he could say that. Didn’t he want to be known by people; didn’t he want a name; didn’t he want friends? To feel no oblige to have a little pride was somewhat alien to me. Until now it seemed that no one could live a fulfilled life without enjoying one moment of pride and glory. Mother looked slightly put out.
“Well, that’s very interesting. Aburyfmi, here, plans to be a sailor.” She indicated towards him as he gave a fleeting sheepish look towards Daza. Apparently my brother was aware that our family’s pride might make him feel unaccepted. “And my daughter here would be a jeweler if it weren’t for horses.” I was turning red again and so I bent over my food, trying to hide my face. I blushed because I was glad that Mother hadn’t spoken more than that, but I also fumed somewhat that she had said so in the first place. She knew that jewels easily diverted me and I would gladly recite my knowledge of them to anyone I trusted, but it must have been clear to Daza that I cared nothing for the career and everything for the animals we both so loved.
As supper closed, Father looked out the window and saw how dark the sky had become and at once I knew what he would say next and I dreaded it.
“I do believe that it will be too dark for you to travel tonight, Daza. If we could make a space for you, I don’t think it would do any harm to let you spend the night here and ride with my eldest two to the stables tomorrow. We have room for your horse here.” To my disappointment, Daza said,
“That’s very kind, sir. If it weren’t the dark of fall, I would ask to leave, but thank you for your kindness.” Mother began clearing the dishes while I helped and as she did so, she began spouting off suggestions of where he should sleep. I wondered why my parents showed these actions when it had at first seemed that he was disappointing to their expectations? They were kind, yes, but to invite him to stay? Only three other people had been given the privilege to board in our home that were like him, and they were all close relations. I remembered when my second cousin had lost all of his fortune and had stayed with us for over two years before windfall struck him at last and he landed a good home. Daza wasn’t quite so poor, but I knew that he never seemed to leave the stables as everyone else did, so I knew that his only payment was the low payment of a stable hand. To me it was certainly lowly enough, though. I would have guessed that he slept in the barn! My mother tapped my arm as I was carrying more dishes to the washtub.
“You wouldn’t mind if you shared space with Aburyfmi tonight, so that Daza could use your room, would you?” I was amazed at how I didn’t lose my constant vigil over my temper, but somehow the smile stretched on my lips and the words escaped my mouth.
“No, I don’t mind at all.” In shock at my self, I hurried to the washtub and the smile was gone completely.
Triah stared at Vindoah for a second too long, for he asked if she was feeling well. Shaking her head, she flustered.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t know him very well and this is a very—um—different way of getting to know him. And I’m getting drowsy; my head feels light as it always does at this time of day—night. Or maybe I ate too much…” She felt as if she were going to be sick! Putting her hand on her forehead to see if she really wasn’t feeling well, she suddenly reeled over and hit something hard.
Triah. Triah, wake up. How’s your head?
“Triah, are you feeling all right? Triah, get up!” Someone shook her gently and she finally came to. If she weren’t just waking from a strange moment of faintness, she would have moaned in annoyance. The light from the candles sitting nearby fell upon Tezho’s perfectly loathsome face, which was creased with worry, and out of the corner of Triah’s eye she could see Daaenya fiddling with something.
“You’re not my partner,” she groaned at him, meaning to tell him that he wasn’t to come within a fifty-mile radius of her. He looked at her strangely.
“Yes, I am.” He said plainly, in confusion. “It seems you hit your head hard when you fainted,”
“I what?” Triah exclaimed as loud as her exhausted voice allowed her.
“When Vindoah told you that I was your partner, he told me that you had become nervous and then suddenly fainted and hit your head on the wheel of a wagon behind you. Maybe you’re getting sick, Triah. It would probably be best if you didn’t act in the play. Who is your understudy?” Even though she knew that she would be playing the main part with this artificial angel, Triah did not want to give up her part.
“No!” she cried, suddenly awake and alert. “I’m fine. I’m just not used to all of this yet. I’ve only been here a month; leave me alone!” She kicked from under the blankets that were laid on her and Tezho was pushed to the side with some force. Daaenya then set down her matchbox, which was what she had been messing with because she had spilled the matches after lighting the candles, and held Triah. Looking to Tezho, she explained:
“She doesn’t trust you very much, so it’s best that you leave us alone while I watch her.” Tezho looked hurt and defeated, but he came down out of the great wagon that they were in and through the dark, as it was now late at night, the two girls heard his footsteps retreat. Daaenya turned back to Triah again.
“You shouldn’t have said that. He did most of the tending to you; all I was good at doing was lighting the candles, and I made a mess of it anyway! Why do you hate him so much?” Triah swooned a bit before answering.
“He’s shows off for everyone, and he’s doing things extra special just for me. And there some look in his eyes every time he does something kind to me, as if he were thinking of something, hoping, planning. I’ve known too many men like him and I owe it to the ones who are not so polite that I’m still alive. I’ve learned that one month isn’t enough to get to know someone once they’ve instilled a suspicion.” Daaenya listened, sighing and rolling her eyes the entire time.
“Alright. Then what exactly do you see in his eyes, what plot is behind that face?” Triah thought a moment before answering, for she was unsure what it was completely, she only had ideas.
“It’s like he’s telling me that he’s doing this for a reason. That I’m just supposed to trust him and all will be well, but something extra shines in there. A look I know very well means that if I just succumbed to him, I would be taken away and all horrors are open to me.” Again, Daaenya refused to take everything seriously.
“You know, there may as well be something in his eyes that’s trying to say something more than ‘Trust me,’ but to what you’re making it, I’ve known him to long to even fathom him thinking that way. Triah, he’s very different from most other men, and he finds good in everyone. How can you find evil in that?”
“I think it’s all an act, just a display for me. I’ve gotten it several times. He is an actor anyhow.”
“Well, it must be a serious act, because he’s been displaying since before he was handsome, I think since he was eleven years old. Eight years of acting like someone you’re not would make someone crack, don’t you agree?” Triah didn’t answer. She only huffed and laid back down, just then realizing the throbbing pain in her head that seemed to enhance the feeling of her heartbeat. She held her head and screwed up her face in pain, feeling stupid about herself fainting. That was what a princess did when she learned she was betrothed to a man she’d never met. Only higher people did those silly things, not Triah. To her it felt like she’d done something very silly, something lower than she was expected. Triah liked to think of her self as a strong girl; weakness was an insult.
“Do you think you’ll sleep all right, Triah?” Daaenya asked. “It looks like your head is still hurting. Should I get someone to give you medicine?”
“No, I’ve slept with worse things with headaches before. If I can sleep with broken ribs I can sleep with small headache.” With those words, she grabbed the nearest candles and blew them out, Daaenya doing the same, so that the wagon’s light disappeared and they couldn’t see each other.
“Goodnight, Triah. Good luck with your practicing tomorrow.” Daaenya whispered. Triah groaned to herself and muttered, “Goodnight, Daa,” and closed her eyes tightly as if she could blink away the vision of she and Tezho acting together.
The girl’s room was very different from a stall in the barn. The floor wasn’t packed down with straw or dirt, and it hardly smelled of horses, though it had an essence of them. Daza simply gazed at the bed. It had a mattress, it had a pillow, even a frame! He’d never slept in a real bed before; this room was worth a palace suite to him. The blankets were folded neatly at the edge of the bed, and a chest lay at the foot of it. A table that seemed ridiculously small was set by the head of the bed, with only room for the pitcher and bowl that stood upon it. Daza stamped his foot on the floor: the boards were sturdy. Looking up, he saw a door that opened, and when he’d opened it, he almost hit himself in the face with a ladder that unfolded itself. He’s guessed that the girl was going to sleep up there. Pulling off his boots, he unfolded the blankets and lay on his back, staring at the dust waltzing in the light coming through the window above.
Daza suddenly nearly wanted to curse. He still didn’t know her name! That thought alone drove him insane. Her family hadn’t even spoken it during dinner, which surprised him, because it should have been mentioned at least once during the nice conversation at the table. He wondered if they were purposely avoiding it, but why would they be? If they didn’t trust him enough, how were they letting him stay in their house, in her room? And only her name had been omitted from the talk; he now knew her parents’ names and her younger siblings’ names.
Oh well, Daza thought to himself, rolling over onto his side. He would need to wait until their ride to the Faire and see if he could get it out of her. Maybe she just never went by her name because she seemed to easily answer to any other common summoning. Whatever the reason was, Daza was determined to learn about her as much as he could. They could even become friends on the way; he would have to tell her that the bet he and Abur had made wasn’t actually on.
Turning back to his original position, Daza kept thinking and pondering about what would happen on their journey until his mind got tired of working and he fell asleep. When the girl made her way into the loft, he was dreaming too much to notice.
Sleeping above my bedroom in the loft felt very different; and I still didn’t understand why I had agreed to let Daza sleep in my room. He had kicked the blankets off and was hugging the pillow as if it were a stuffed toy just like a child would. I pictured him with his thumb sticking out of his mouth and chuckled quietly to myself. But I still couldn’t understand what I saw when I had looked at his face. It was like he was in a paradise, or a palace, or near enough to sleeping in heaven. And then there was a trace of strangeness. Oh, I just saw a million different faces in one; sorrow, ecstasy, determination, and possibly fear.
I heard a strange thump from under me; I thought maybe Daza had fallen off the bed. It seemed he really wasn’t used to beds after I had seen the blankets kicked away. My mind pricked the thought that Daza actually did sleep in the stables. Aburyfmi sighed in his slumber, making a strange moaning sound following it. I had almost forgotten he was there because for a young man he slept so quietly. The scent of the thick layer of straw came to my nose, and, simply by reflex, I inhaled it and smiled.
I guessed the loft wasn’t such a problem, if it reminded me of the barn and how much I loved all the horses. Sometime that night I fell asleep, but I never completely remembered when or how. I’d heard one more funny sound from under, but otherwise there was peaceful silence and the smell of sweet straw.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
I swear the blonde is fake!
You know, there are just those times when you wonder where you've grown up and why you don't have a more open mind (not meaning you don't have an imagination, but meaning sometimes you think of possibilities and don't think further than just those). It is just plain humbling to be told you can go to Tolo even if you don't have a date. I'm a hopeless romantic obsessed freak, for heaven's sake! I'm full of more energy today (or at least right now) than I was yesterday, thank goodness. I did feel sleepy towards the end of the school day, and then I found out that there's a Switchfoot and Relient K concert in Everett on my birthday.... EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Eden will be happy to find out too. That's the forst choice for my birthday party (even though it would be hard.) I mean $25 a ticket is good compared to $135 for Celtic Woman. Seats aren't really specified, but hey, I saw the musical Wicked from nosebleed seats in the very back row and it was still absolutely amazing! Okay, I've gone long enough. I'll came back later.
Maddi
Eden will be happy to find out too. That's the forst choice for my birthday party (even though it would be hard.) I mean $25 a ticket is good compared to $135 for Celtic Woman. Seats aren't really specified, but hey, I saw the musical Wicked from nosebleed seats in the very back row and it was still absolutely amazing! Okay, I've gone long enough. I'll came back later.
Maddi
Monday, September 24, 2007
Thud.
That's what I felt like saying today. THUD. I'm leaving for the Everett Youth Symphony in about half an hour (even though we'll get there a half hour early. My mom is nuts. We're either too early or too late on her watch). Man, my energy spurt is gone. Fooooooooshhhhhhhhhh. I don't know. I'm kind of sad that I can't go to Tolo (even though finding a guy who would be good to go with would a little difficult) and it's only because all my friends will be going and Eden is going to two! Maybe I'm bugged because this one kid in my science class won't admit he's hitting on me when I ask him to stop. It is so crazy!!!! Ever since I became a freshman I suddenly get all these stares and honks and sometimes very suggestive comments. Some guys are nice about it, but the rest aren't. Just for the sake of other people, I won't give names, but holy cow! Only one out of the several guys is modest about it, and I feel bad that I can't ask him to Tolo because I have no reason not to like him. But I've promised myself and my parents that I won't date until I'm sixteen, and when I'm sixteen, then I'll welcome those who are welcome. Okay, I feel a little better after my pointless rant, so I say if not today, tomorrow I'll post a new spoiler. I love you all who are willing to read this, even if I am tired and nervous and bugged.
Maddi
Maddi
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
New spoiler! (SHHH!!!)
Okay, this a more of something else that I've been writing. And this time, it's not the very beginning. But even though you can't see how, this story is related to the one excerpt you read before. And this is a whole chapter, so don't begin reading if you don't have the time. Wait until you do. Once again, there's a BIIIIG spoiler in this, so don't just talk about it anywhere.
“So, where do you shop?” Peter overheard Lisa and her clique interrogating Jewelia across the hallway. He watched as the poor girl shifted uncomfortably, knowing that whatever she said would make her look below Lisa’s status.
“Well, I don’t go to any store in particular, mostly thrift stores, Target sometimes.” She got what she knew was coming. A patch of giggles from a superior attitude. Lisa flipped her hair over her shoulder in the way Peter disliked so much.
“Have you ever tried the mall?” she asked as if Jewelia were hard of hearing. This time Jewelia made a face of distaste.
“You know, I really don’t like the clothes that they sell there. I mean, it’s almost like the girls who wear those clothes have no integrity. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around in a skirt that would show my underwear each time I bent over. And the necklines are so low! How can you stand wearing what you have on right now?” Lisa’s group of girls oohed. All right, Peter knew Jewelia had gone too far. Lisa was looking at her, and there should have been steam coming out of her ears, but there wasn’t. Peter watched as she looked Jewelia down, then looked herself up, and then tutted. He had to intervene; he didn’t like it when Lisa got mad.
“Hey, Lisa!” he called, stepping over to the other side of the hallway and putting a hand on Lisa’s shoulder. “You look great today; where in the world to you shop?” Of course Lisa instantly blushed and began acting sheepish.
“Really?” she goggled at him. “At least someone knows how to wear clothes.” She shot a deathly dark look at Jewelia. Peter pretended to agree.
“Yeah, Jewels, you should try the mall. Khakis aren’t working.” He moved away as Jewelia looked down incredulously at her pants and went on to class.
“I’d like you all to listen, please,” Mr. Jones was trying to get the class silent, which was turning out to be futile. The old man was too much of a turtle to get anyone’s attention, particularly a loud high school class full of students excited about the upcoming track events. A loud whistle interrupted all conversation and everyone’s eyes turned in the direction of the noise. Jewelia smiled and silently sat in her seat and folded her hands, looking very smug. Everyone followed suit in an awkward manner, unhappy that their fun was over.
“Thank you, ah…?” Mr. Jones began.
“Jewelia.” She answered.
“Right. Now, if you would all pay attention, I will remind you of that assignment that you all handed in about a week ago.” All except Jewelia groaned. “And I won’t say anything further than what I am about to say now. You will each be paired up with the person who wrote at about the same level as you did, and between the two of you, I want you to analyze and go over what these poems mean and why they are important. That is all for the rest of the period. When I give you your paper, the name of your partner will be at the top. I haven’t graded them, but I will be grading the analysis that you hand in to me at the end of class.” He began to go throughout the room handing each student their work, and Peter watched as some frowned and others got excited expressions. His heart fell when he saw Andy and Brycen turn to each other and clasp hands with their success of being partners.
“Mr. Parkinson,” Jones mumbled as Peter’s paper drifted onto his desk. Peter didn’t want to look at the name that was written at the top of his paper; he knew it meant certain doom. But he knew he had to. First he looked around at the others who were just receiving their papers. One pair of girls stared darkly at each other as they found a place to go discuss their poems. Jewelia had a happy, expectant grin on her face, but when she looked down, it was slapped right off, and a frown slapped back in its place. Peter finally looked down at his own paper.
Jewelia Manning
What?! No, there had to be a mistake. Either Jewelia had done really bad or he had done really good. Jones had read her stuff out loud before, and she was above any standards made in this school district. He stayed in his seat, unwilling to move. His fingers nervously tapped the edge of the desk, or played with the zipper on his binder.
“Hey,” a voice said hovering over him. “Why don’t we go out in the hallway, where it’s quieter?” He simply stood and followed her out into the locker bay. As they sat down beside each other, Jewelia looked at him wearily.
“Um…why don’t we switch papers and read each other’s poems first?” she said in a shaky voice.
“Any plan of yours is going to be better than mine,” Peter murmured. She gave him a fleeting glance as they traded papers and then instantly began running her eyes over his lines. Peter looked down at hers. It was all typed out in a neat font and had cute little pictures around it and her name, the only hand-written thing, was penned in a flourish.
Rainbows fly in the river of the dryads’ messages
A giggle from the wind
My spirit sang a song today, of roses.
The sun pours over the land, all around
I, queen, wealthy of life, of heart
Laugh like a bird, a dawning bird.
As the hour was struck by the deer call
Shadow left yesterday
Peace visited for tea, I say.
Come in, the weary are welcome
Where I reside I can fix your dreams
An apple house is no place for you.
What in the world…? He looked over at her. She was still engrossed in his poem. Peter thought that he had a strange poem; hers didn’t make any sense at all. He looked to Jewelia again and found her turned away, silent as no one had been before.
“H—hey, are you okay?” he asked, tapping her shoulder.
“I’m still reading. You wrote a long poem.” She said in a low-pitched, distracted voice.
“Well could you hurry up, then?” Peter was so impatient.
“Could you wait? I’m almost done.” It was in a strange low pitch. Suddenly she stood up, still not turning to him. “I’ll be back. Just a sec.” She began walking away with his paper still in her hand.
“Hey!” he called. She didn’t turn. “Hey! We still have some analysis to do!” She began walking faster and turned the corner. Peter didn’t want to chase her; he knew that would be futile. He folded his arms and tried reading the poem and getting the idea of what it meant, feeling completely inferior of intelligence and in wonder about her reaction to his writing.
It was about ten minutes before Jewelia came back, and she was continually rubbing her nose, as if it were cold.
“Here,” she said, sticking his poem in his face. “I thought it was really good. I never expected you to be a poet.” He stared.
“Frankly, I’m not. But you obviously are.”
“Well, duh, but you have to be a poet. I couldn’t have written something like that, even if I seriously tried. That’s the most insightful written work I’ve ever seen. Even above Emily Dickinson.” He kept staring. Finally, he got down to business.
“Well, I just don’t get where you’re coming from in this thing. All about rainbows and roses and peace and apple houses? To tell you the truth it sounds completely hippie.”
“I didn’t try to make it sound that way. Does it really sound that dumb?”
“No, it’s not dumb, but for me it’s just too happy to be real.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m creating an image of artificial happiness?”
“Uh, no. Look, can we just get on with the analysis? We only have about a half hour left.”
“Yeah, good idea.” Jewelia agreed. “Okay, so what do you think my poem means?” Blank. Peter was suddenly a deer two feet in front of headlights. He did not want to answer. The few things that he’d mustered up while she was gone certainly weren’t good enough.
“Well, it’s about happiness, obviously, but a certain kind of happiness. I was thinking relief?” She nodded, a gesture for him to go on. He held up the paper and pointed to a line. “Like right here, where it says, “Shadow left yesterday, Peace visited for tea,” that’s like saying ‘all my troubles are far away’—ha, sounds like a Beatles’ song—and ‘the rain is gone’.” Peter gave Jewelia a hopeful gaze.
“You get one of the ideas. That’s pretty good so far. Anything else?” Darn it.
“Um…the poem describes a place, like somewhere you would go to for healing, and it’s very welcoming and warm. This place is supposed to be beautiful and plentiful.” Something then came to mind. “Oh, I know!” Peter said. “It’s like the rainbow after rain. You know; the shadow is from the clouds and all of the rain, and after the rain left everything is shiny and new full of life. And anyone who is stuck in the rain is welcome to come and become whole again. Dude, you might have just written a new version of ‘Bright Sun-shiny Day’.” Jewelia just stared at him. And stared. And stared. And stared. Then she burst out laughing.
“You have the funniest way of analyzing!” she said. “Now you have to write that all down.” He assumed a mock look of defeat in his face and said “Aw, dang it!” as he pulled out a piece of paper and began writing.
“Here,” he said. “When I’m done writing all of this down, you and I could talk about my poem. It’s hard for me to concentrate on talking when I’m writing things down.”
“Okay.” She said. He began penning down his thoughts, surprised that he was meeting her satisfaction. He didn’t want to, but it made him feel like he was actually smart, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. How could this annoying girl make him feel guilty, full of wonder, and smart?
“…anyone… who is stuck…in the…rain…” He mumbled as he wrote the words down. Jewelia began laughing again.
“You might as well just tell Mr. Jones your analysis, if you’re going to say everything out loud.” He looked up.
“What?”
“You’ve been mumbling every single word as you write it down. And you told me it’s hard for you to concentrate on talking while you write. Do you always do that?”
“All the time; wouldn’t you?” Peter inquired. Jewelia shifted on her feet.
“Well, I don’t know….” The classroom door opened.
“It’s about time you two came inside now.” Mr. Jones said as he quickly stuck his head back through the door.
“We—we didn’t get to discuss his poem.” Jewelia said timidly, knowing he wouldn’t hear. “I’ll just have to write it down. We’ve got about ten more minutes until the bell actually rings.” They headed inside. Peter sat down in his seat and just sat there and wondered. He was amazed that he had actually done work in class. Way to go, Pete, he thought to himself.
When the bell rang he stood and stretched, trying to stall. Then he grabbed his books and walked through the isle between the desks, stopping behind Jewelia as she picked up her own things.
“Hey,” he said. She didn’t turn. “Uh…good job.” She nodded distractedly and said “Yeah, thanks. You too,” as he passed her.
After practice Peter found her sitting on the curb, leaning over a fat chemistry book and looking intense.
“Okay, Miss Dickinson, get in the car,” he joked. Jewelia looked up.
“I thought you were the one who wrote the poem that was worth Emily Dickinson. And besides, I’m almost finished.” She told him.
“Aw, come on. Your poem was great and you can finish reading before I take you home. My mom doesn’t need much help on Fridays. Remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Friday. I totally forgot, thanks to Mr. Svenorsen.” She said ruefully, climbing inside as Peter started the car.
“Oh, you got him? I’m sorry. You never told me that. Are you taking his AP class or something?”
“Yeah, somehow. I mean, I’ve been home schooled by my mom forever and suddenly she dropped out and my dad can’t teach diddly-squat and I’m landed in all of these advanced programs that are a breeze but absolutely boring. Should I just skip to college?”
“I don’t know. It depends on if you really want to. I think it would be better if you had friends in there with you. Otherwise school will really drive you nuts.” Jewelia rolled her eyes.
“If it hasn’t already. And besides, I don’t really have any friends at all. As far as that goes, the person I know most is you, and—well, I’m not so sure.” Peter stared forward at that comment. He wasn’t sure what to think of her yet; she still got annoying and talkative, but after the brilliance he’d seen today, things were given a confusing turn.
“Well, you’ve proven to me that you can write poems, keep a house clean, and be so talkative it literally drives me insane. I think my opinion will have to roost a while longer.”
“Oh, so that’s how it goes?” she said skeptically. It wasn’t mean; it was a joke. They laughed a little and left the conversation to sit until later as Peter pulled in to park. He hated that he couldn’t just pull into a garage and walked into a house like most other kids did. It was why he never had friends over and never had parties, beside the fact that his bedroom was off limits to all but him. Walking through the front door and making his way to the apartment, Peter pulled the door open.
Dead silence.
“Mom?” he called. Jewelia looked around worriedly. Peter went into his mom’s office. No one was in there. No sounds were coming from Rusty’s room; Mike wasn’t at the fridge like usual.
The phone began to ring. Jewelia gripped his arm. He didn’t dare pick it up, or check the caller id. It seemed to ring forever, loud and long and almost echoing. It felt like minutes before a beep made both Peter and Jewelia jump and Peter’s mom began to speak.
“Hey, Peter, this is Mom. I just wanted to tell you that I’m meeting your dad at the airport; he decided to come over and visit for a while. Tell Jewelia that there’s a small load of laundry in the wash closet, and she just needs to vacuum the floor, okay? I’ll be home in a couple of hours, so just do your homework and we’ll all be home soon. Bye sweetie.” Beep. Peter and Jewelia sighed heavily in unison, relieved that nothing bad had happened. Then Jewelia began laughing.
“That really scared me for a moment. I thought that someone had, like, kidnapped your family and was calling you for a ransom!” she sighed again among giggles as she went to the wash closet. Peter just stood there.
The message didn’t make him feel much better. He was glad that everyone was okay, but what his mom had just told him was unreal and unwanted. Something bumped him. Jewelia had the laundry basket set on her hip and was looking at him, concerned.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He said. “I was just—stunned—for a moment.”
“Oh, all right.” Peter groaned as he went to his bedroom. It would have been better if she hadn’t asked how he was. Of course he wasn’t okay! He didn’t want his dad to come over and he didn’t like the idea that his mom sounded a little happy about it. Jack was a jerk and he knew he was. Every time he visited he constantly talked about his good fortune and how well off he was.
Peter didn’t care that a great business owner was coming to his house; he wanted Jack out and he wanted him gone. It was the stupid man’s fault that his parents broke up anyhow. Just because Jack couldn’t handle three young children, he decided that the family life wasn’t good enough and he just walked out. He had better things to do than to teach Peter how to play ball and take Mom on dates every once in a while and actually have fun. No, Jack had to have money to have fun, because his kind of fun cost that much. Yeah, to Jack, he had to travel halfway around the world to go skiing, or get the best rock climbing gear; he had to go on fancy cruises that cost a million dollars. He had to have the best and busiest job, so that everybody liked him, and he was always number one, and he had all the power. He needed to go to award ceremonies and galas, see the president; be a celebrity.
Peter hated him; Peter loathed him; Peter wanted to gouge his eyes out. Because Peter knew that that man could never be a real father, and would never want to come back and be a real person. Peter knew that Jack was too high above him and Russell and Michael and Mom. Peter knew that if someone put Mom’s wedding ring, and Jack’s money on a scale, Jack’s money would weigh more. Jack wasn’t his dad. Nothing could make him that way either, unless someone really knew how to tamper with brains.
Heaving a sigh, Peter pulled up one of his notebooks and stared at the unfinished pages, and he soon found himself tapping his pencil. His mom’s news had completely jarred his train of thought and concentration and definitely his good mood. Peter looked at the clock. He’d wasted a half hour seething about Jack and trying to put unmade words on paper. A soft knock echoed from the door. Peter knew what it was, but he was in no mood to answer.
“Peter,” Jewelia said, “I know I’m not supposed to come in, but I’m done with everything, so it would be nice if you gave me a ride home.” He continued to remain quiet, and noticed something in her tone, as if she didn’t exactly want to go home, but she knew it wouldn’t serve her well to stay here.
“Peter? Peter? Are you awake?” she began rapping on the door again. Tired of her voice, he opened the door and simply stared at her surprised face. She suddenly looked concerned.
“Um…are you alright? You look really mad.” Pushing past her Peter muttered, “It’s none of your business.” The poor girl simply shrugged, though the look of concern stayed.
As they got into the car, the sky began to drizzle, setting a mist over the road. The two both stared out the window, though Jewelia gave Peter worried glances every once in a while. Peter couldn’t stand the silence, so he turned on the radio just to hear noise, no mater what it was or how much Jewelia liked it.
“Oh, this is a good song,” she said in a happy, hushed tone.
“If you like it, then you can be quiet and listen to it.” Peter told her, not trying at all to keep the surliness out of his voice. Her frown instantly made him feel bad for speaking.
“I would say something but you’d probably get mad at me,” she said to him.
“I’m already mad; go ahead and say it anyway.”
“Fine,” she said cautiously. “Would you mind telling me what’s wrong? It’s obvious you have a big problem.” In a strange way, he felt better about her request and afraid at the same time. Why should she care about his dad? She was just a person he knew from school that worked for his mom, and she probably had enough of things to worry in her life than him and his dad. But somehow the words spouted in a clumsy way.
“I hate my mom’s phone call.”
Peter realized what he’d said and slapped his forehead before remembering to keep his eyes on the road.
“What do you mean?” she was absolutely confused.
“I mean—I hate my dad. My mom said he was coming over and he just isn’t very welcome to me. The only reason he divorced my mom was because he couldn’t handle three kids and she couldn’t handle him going for the most time consuming jobs that deprived him of being part of the family. And now every time Jack comes he prances around like the king of the world because he always has a new girlfriend and always gets the best income and shows off how far he’s gone compared to my mom, whom he’s never helped and never complimented.” Peter ended with his knuckles white on the steering wheel and the rain pounding. Jewelia stayed silent. “I mean, why should you care? You have plenty of things to worry about and you don’t have to act like you need to help me.”
“That’s exactly what I have to do.” She told him. Her face looked annoyingly determined. Peter decided he should get her home faster, and pressed a little further on the pedals. He didn’t want her help.
“Turn right!” Jewelia cried. Peter swerved to the right, causing the breaks to scream in fear and pain. He stopped and looked back at the newly made skid marks.
“What in the world are you trying to do? Get me in an accident?” he yelled.
“Either you let me drive or I’ll continue to give you directions. We’re going somewhere else.” Jewelia told him firmly, not answering his questions.
“Oh no, we’re not going anywhere but to your house.” Peter started to turn to car around but Jewelia grabbed the wheel and began to pull it in the opposite direction.
“I am not going home!” she said with a frightening conviction. Peter glared at her.
“Do you not understand that I am the driver? Now let go of the wheel before someone hits us!” Peter pressed the gas a little bit further, and Jewelia pulled the wheel back in her course until Peter found himself traveling away from the route to Jewelia’s house. He braked again and this time he turned off the ignition, too.
“Get out of the car, right now,” he demanded. Jewelia rolled her eyes and scowled at him as she opened the door to the onslaught of rain. As soon as he got out, Peter almost lashed out at her. But instead, he was curious.
“Okay,” he said in a heated tone, folding his arms. “Fine, take the wheel and let’s go to this place. But if you make any more trouble, I’m serious I will not take you home.” He moved into the passenger's seat and didn’t care to turn as she revved the truck up again. They stayed silent and in intense moods for the rest of the ride until Jewelia stopped at the side of the road that seemed to Peter very random.
“We have to walk from here,” she stated. Peter didn’t want to ask, but was relieved when she headed toward the trees that would mostly shelter him from more rain. In the brush there was only a mist above the ground that immediately dampened his jeans. The way the air seemed steamy and thankfully warmer made Peter feel like he had stepped into a rainforest. Jewelia didn’t take time to say anything about what she was doing, but moved steadily onward and allowed him to follow in silence.
It wasn’t until they entered an open glade that was covered several feet above with tree branches while the center was amassed by a great tree that almost looked like a natural tree house. Peter wasn’t very good at identifying trees, so he didn’t care to try to decide which type of tree this was. He simply looked up and listened to the bullets of rain try to break through the roof of trees.
“And you brought me here because…?” he asked, giving Jewelia a questioning look.
“Now I just want you to imagine yourself somewhere, anywhere,” Jewelia called. She’d nimbly climbed up the tree and was looking down upon him.
“Where?” Peter said in disbelief.
“You pick! That’s why you’re imagining yourself there. It doesn’t even have to be known by the rest of the world. It can be all your own place. An entire world all for you.” Peter thought, but still wasn’t in the mood for whatever she was trying to do. Even the faintest thought of Gandrieltia made him want to leave.
“Fine, I’m thinking of it. Can we go now?” he called up, folding his arms.
“Are you imagining it, or just thinking of it. I told you to imagine it. Feel it, smell it, taste it around you. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Jewelia, I don’t have time for this. I have homework that I could be doing right now.” Peter was getting very impatient.
“As if you would actually be doing it,” she retorted.
“Hey!” Peter bellowed. “I’m not here to be teased, and ‘m most definitely not in the mood for it either. Now get this thing over with and let me go home.”
“You don’t want to go home any more than I do. If you hate your dad that much, why would you want to go back?”
“Maybe it’s because I’ve made it very clear that he stay away from me or I’ll strike him with a hatchet. I’ll be perfectly fine at home; I just won’t like the fact that he’s here. Besides, who said you didn’t want to go home?”
“I did, smart one. And what I’m doing isn’t just something to ‘get over with.’ Okay? Now imagine your world or I’ll infest it with strange beings that look suspiciously like your dad. And quit letting your bad mood rub off on me. I don’t like being in a bad mood.”
“Oh, so all of this is my fault?” Peter scoffed. “The world is null and I’m to blame? Who was the one who nearly got both of us into a car accident?”
“There was nobody around, and I’m not the who one screeched on the breaks. They’re going to smell weird after that.”
“And I should care more about how bad some car breaks smell than about my own life. Well, my priorities are straight now.”
“Imagine your world, okay!” Jewelia sounded angrier than Peter thought capable of her. He glared at her as she made her way back down the tree and came up to him with a finger ready to jab him in the chest. “This is why I need to help you!” she hissed.
“You can’t have conversation with anyone without turning it into an argument or something very negative. I can’t stand people like that. Now I’m trying to give you as much sympathy as I can pull and right now I don’t think I can pull anymore!”
Peter stared coolly back into her angry face and simply made her read his lips.
“Well, then you don’t have to do it now. I’m leaving you here.” Her look of horror almost made him laugh, but Peter instantly shifted into gear and ran like sound. It was a treasure to his ears to hear that she had fallen behind him at one point and he just had to jog to his truck before she could climb in. Pulling the car door open and shut he turned on the ignition and got himself turned around just as her exhausted figure emerged from the wood. Smirking, Peter drove home, simply listening to the rain now lightly pattering on the windshield.
As he drove back home Peter couldn’t help thinking of how stupid she was. As far as he could see, the only great thing Jewelia was able to do was write at a college level. He had her in no other classes, so he knew nothing about how well she did in other subjects, but he didn’t care. She definitely wasn’t the best runner, even though he could hardly make that a credible thought because he just happened to be a phenomenal athlete compared to her. And the girl didn’t know how to hold her tongue when she needed to, or how to keep out of everyone’s business. She acted like she was the boss of everything during school; it drove him nuts. The only reason people would do what she asked for was that they new she could easily lash out at them just the same as being silently rude behind their backs.
Peter grunted to himself, as he didn’t have real evidence of this, but a rumor that circulated around the school had to come from somewhere. He smiled smugly when he entered the actual signs of town, just thinking of how much he thought she deserved to walk home. The only thought that could faze him was the idea that Jack would be there to replace her and resume making Peter’s life miserable. With that in mind, Peter stopped the car, got out, and made his way up to the Parkinson apartment.
“So, where do you shop?” Peter overheard Lisa and her clique interrogating Jewelia across the hallway. He watched as the poor girl shifted uncomfortably, knowing that whatever she said would make her look below Lisa’s status.
“Well, I don’t go to any store in particular, mostly thrift stores, Target sometimes.” She got what she knew was coming. A patch of giggles from a superior attitude. Lisa flipped her hair over her shoulder in the way Peter disliked so much.
“Have you ever tried the mall?” she asked as if Jewelia were hard of hearing. This time Jewelia made a face of distaste.
“You know, I really don’t like the clothes that they sell there. I mean, it’s almost like the girls who wear those clothes have no integrity. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around in a skirt that would show my underwear each time I bent over. And the necklines are so low! How can you stand wearing what you have on right now?” Lisa’s group of girls oohed. All right, Peter knew Jewelia had gone too far. Lisa was looking at her, and there should have been steam coming out of her ears, but there wasn’t. Peter watched as she looked Jewelia down, then looked herself up, and then tutted. He had to intervene; he didn’t like it when Lisa got mad.
“Hey, Lisa!” he called, stepping over to the other side of the hallway and putting a hand on Lisa’s shoulder. “You look great today; where in the world to you shop?” Of course Lisa instantly blushed and began acting sheepish.
“Really?” she goggled at him. “At least someone knows how to wear clothes.” She shot a deathly dark look at Jewelia. Peter pretended to agree.
“Yeah, Jewels, you should try the mall. Khakis aren’t working.” He moved away as Jewelia looked down incredulously at her pants and went on to class.
“I’d like you all to listen, please,” Mr. Jones was trying to get the class silent, which was turning out to be futile. The old man was too much of a turtle to get anyone’s attention, particularly a loud high school class full of students excited about the upcoming track events. A loud whistle interrupted all conversation and everyone’s eyes turned in the direction of the noise. Jewelia smiled and silently sat in her seat and folded her hands, looking very smug. Everyone followed suit in an awkward manner, unhappy that their fun was over.
“Thank you, ah…?” Mr. Jones began.
“Jewelia.” She answered.
“Right. Now, if you would all pay attention, I will remind you of that assignment that you all handed in about a week ago.” All except Jewelia groaned. “And I won’t say anything further than what I am about to say now. You will each be paired up with the person who wrote at about the same level as you did, and between the two of you, I want you to analyze and go over what these poems mean and why they are important. That is all for the rest of the period. When I give you your paper, the name of your partner will be at the top. I haven’t graded them, but I will be grading the analysis that you hand in to me at the end of class.” He began to go throughout the room handing each student their work, and Peter watched as some frowned and others got excited expressions. His heart fell when he saw Andy and Brycen turn to each other and clasp hands with their success of being partners.
“Mr. Parkinson,” Jones mumbled as Peter’s paper drifted onto his desk. Peter didn’t want to look at the name that was written at the top of his paper; he knew it meant certain doom. But he knew he had to. First he looked around at the others who were just receiving their papers. One pair of girls stared darkly at each other as they found a place to go discuss their poems. Jewelia had a happy, expectant grin on her face, but when she looked down, it was slapped right off, and a frown slapped back in its place. Peter finally looked down at his own paper.
Jewelia Manning
What?! No, there had to be a mistake. Either Jewelia had done really bad or he had done really good. Jones had read her stuff out loud before, and she was above any standards made in this school district. He stayed in his seat, unwilling to move. His fingers nervously tapped the edge of the desk, or played with the zipper on his binder.
“Hey,” a voice said hovering over him. “Why don’t we go out in the hallway, where it’s quieter?” He simply stood and followed her out into the locker bay. As they sat down beside each other, Jewelia looked at him wearily.
“Um…why don’t we switch papers and read each other’s poems first?” she said in a shaky voice.
“Any plan of yours is going to be better than mine,” Peter murmured. She gave him a fleeting glance as they traded papers and then instantly began running her eyes over his lines. Peter looked down at hers. It was all typed out in a neat font and had cute little pictures around it and her name, the only hand-written thing, was penned in a flourish.
Rainbows fly in the river of the dryads’ messages
A giggle from the wind
My spirit sang a song today, of roses.
The sun pours over the land, all around
I, queen, wealthy of life, of heart
Laugh like a bird, a dawning bird.
As the hour was struck by the deer call
Shadow left yesterday
Peace visited for tea, I say.
Come in, the weary are welcome
Where I reside I can fix your dreams
An apple house is no place for you.
What in the world…? He looked over at her. She was still engrossed in his poem. Peter thought that he had a strange poem; hers didn’t make any sense at all. He looked to Jewelia again and found her turned away, silent as no one had been before.
“H—hey, are you okay?” he asked, tapping her shoulder.
“I’m still reading. You wrote a long poem.” She said in a low-pitched, distracted voice.
“Well could you hurry up, then?” Peter was so impatient.
“Could you wait? I’m almost done.” It was in a strange low pitch. Suddenly she stood up, still not turning to him. “I’ll be back. Just a sec.” She began walking away with his paper still in her hand.
“Hey!” he called. She didn’t turn. “Hey! We still have some analysis to do!” She began walking faster and turned the corner. Peter didn’t want to chase her; he knew that would be futile. He folded his arms and tried reading the poem and getting the idea of what it meant, feeling completely inferior of intelligence and in wonder about her reaction to his writing.
It was about ten minutes before Jewelia came back, and she was continually rubbing her nose, as if it were cold.
“Here,” she said, sticking his poem in his face. “I thought it was really good. I never expected you to be a poet.” He stared.
“Frankly, I’m not. But you obviously are.”
“Well, duh, but you have to be a poet. I couldn’t have written something like that, even if I seriously tried. That’s the most insightful written work I’ve ever seen. Even above Emily Dickinson.” He kept staring. Finally, he got down to business.
“Well, I just don’t get where you’re coming from in this thing. All about rainbows and roses and peace and apple houses? To tell you the truth it sounds completely hippie.”
“I didn’t try to make it sound that way. Does it really sound that dumb?”
“No, it’s not dumb, but for me it’s just too happy to be real.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m creating an image of artificial happiness?”
“Uh, no. Look, can we just get on with the analysis? We only have about a half hour left.”
“Yeah, good idea.” Jewelia agreed. “Okay, so what do you think my poem means?” Blank. Peter was suddenly a deer two feet in front of headlights. He did not want to answer. The few things that he’d mustered up while she was gone certainly weren’t good enough.
“Well, it’s about happiness, obviously, but a certain kind of happiness. I was thinking relief?” She nodded, a gesture for him to go on. He held up the paper and pointed to a line. “Like right here, where it says, “Shadow left yesterday, Peace visited for tea,” that’s like saying ‘all my troubles are far away’—ha, sounds like a Beatles’ song—and ‘the rain is gone’.” Peter gave Jewelia a hopeful gaze.
“You get one of the ideas. That’s pretty good so far. Anything else?” Darn it.
“Um…the poem describes a place, like somewhere you would go to for healing, and it’s very welcoming and warm. This place is supposed to be beautiful and plentiful.” Something then came to mind. “Oh, I know!” Peter said. “It’s like the rainbow after rain. You know; the shadow is from the clouds and all of the rain, and after the rain left everything is shiny and new full of life. And anyone who is stuck in the rain is welcome to come and become whole again. Dude, you might have just written a new version of ‘Bright Sun-shiny Day’.” Jewelia just stared at him. And stared. And stared. And stared. Then she burst out laughing.
“You have the funniest way of analyzing!” she said. “Now you have to write that all down.” He assumed a mock look of defeat in his face and said “Aw, dang it!” as he pulled out a piece of paper and began writing.
“Here,” he said. “When I’m done writing all of this down, you and I could talk about my poem. It’s hard for me to concentrate on talking when I’m writing things down.”
“Okay.” She said. He began penning down his thoughts, surprised that he was meeting her satisfaction. He didn’t want to, but it made him feel like he was actually smart, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. How could this annoying girl make him feel guilty, full of wonder, and smart?
“…anyone… who is stuck…in the…rain…” He mumbled as he wrote the words down. Jewelia began laughing again.
“You might as well just tell Mr. Jones your analysis, if you’re going to say everything out loud.” He looked up.
“What?”
“You’ve been mumbling every single word as you write it down. And you told me it’s hard for you to concentrate on talking while you write. Do you always do that?”
“All the time; wouldn’t you?” Peter inquired. Jewelia shifted on her feet.
“Well, I don’t know….” The classroom door opened.
“It’s about time you two came inside now.” Mr. Jones said as he quickly stuck his head back through the door.
“We—we didn’t get to discuss his poem.” Jewelia said timidly, knowing he wouldn’t hear. “I’ll just have to write it down. We’ve got about ten more minutes until the bell actually rings.” They headed inside. Peter sat down in his seat and just sat there and wondered. He was amazed that he had actually done work in class. Way to go, Pete, he thought to himself.
When the bell rang he stood and stretched, trying to stall. Then he grabbed his books and walked through the isle between the desks, stopping behind Jewelia as she picked up her own things.
“Hey,” he said. She didn’t turn. “Uh…good job.” She nodded distractedly and said “Yeah, thanks. You too,” as he passed her.
After practice Peter found her sitting on the curb, leaning over a fat chemistry book and looking intense.
“Okay, Miss Dickinson, get in the car,” he joked. Jewelia looked up.
“I thought you were the one who wrote the poem that was worth Emily Dickinson. And besides, I’m almost finished.” She told him.
“Aw, come on. Your poem was great and you can finish reading before I take you home. My mom doesn’t need much help on Fridays. Remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Friday. I totally forgot, thanks to Mr. Svenorsen.” She said ruefully, climbing inside as Peter started the car.
“Oh, you got him? I’m sorry. You never told me that. Are you taking his AP class or something?”
“Yeah, somehow. I mean, I’ve been home schooled by my mom forever and suddenly she dropped out and my dad can’t teach diddly-squat and I’m landed in all of these advanced programs that are a breeze but absolutely boring. Should I just skip to college?”
“I don’t know. It depends on if you really want to. I think it would be better if you had friends in there with you. Otherwise school will really drive you nuts.” Jewelia rolled her eyes.
“If it hasn’t already. And besides, I don’t really have any friends at all. As far as that goes, the person I know most is you, and—well, I’m not so sure.” Peter stared forward at that comment. He wasn’t sure what to think of her yet; she still got annoying and talkative, but after the brilliance he’d seen today, things were given a confusing turn.
“Well, you’ve proven to me that you can write poems, keep a house clean, and be so talkative it literally drives me insane. I think my opinion will have to roost a while longer.”
“Oh, so that’s how it goes?” she said skeptically. It wasn’t mean; it was a joke. They laughed a little and left the conversation to sit until later as Peter pulled in to park. He hated that he couldn’t just pull into a garage and walked into a house like most other kids did. It was why he never had friends over and never had parties, beside the fact that his bedroom was off limits to all but him. Walking through the front door and making his way to the apartment, Peter pulled the door open.
Dead silence.
“Mom?” he called. Jewelia looked around worriedly. Peter went into his mom’s office. No one was in there. No sounds were coming from Rusty’s room; Mike wasn’t at the fridge like usual.
The phone began to ring. Jewelia gripped his arm. He didn’t dare pick it up, or check the caller id. It seemed to ring forever, loud and long and almost echoing. It felt like minutes before a beep made both Peter and Jewelia jump and Peter’s mom began to speak.
“Hey, Peter, this is Mom. I just wanted to tell you that I’m meeting your dad at the airport; he decided to come over and visit for a while. Tell Jewelia that there’s a small load of laundry in the wash closet, and she just needs to vacuum the floor, okay? I’ll be home in a couple of hours, so just do your homework and we’ll all be home soon. Bye sweetie.” Beep. Peter and Jewelia sighed heavily in unison, relieved that nothing bad had happened. Then Jewelia began laughing.
“That really scared me for a moment. I thought that someone had, like, kidnapped your family and was calling you for a ransom!” she sighed again among giggles as she went to the wash closet. Peter just stood there.
The message didn’t make him feel much better. He was glad that everyone was okay, but what his mom had just told him was unreal and unwanted. Something bumped him. Jewelia had the laundry basket set on her hip and was looking at him, concerned.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He said. “I was just—stunned—for a moment.”
“Oh, all right.” Peter groaned as he went to his bedroom. It would have been better if she hadn’t asked how he was. Of course he wasn’t okay! He didn’t want his dad to come over and he didn’t like the idea that his mom sounded a little happy about it. Jack was a jerk and he knew he was. Every time he visited he constantly talked about his good fortune and how well off he was.
Peter didn’t care that a great business owner was coming to his house; he wanted Jack out and he wanted him gone. It was the stupid man’s fault that his parents broke up anyhow. Just because Jack couldn’t handle three young children, he decided that the family life wasn’t good enough and he just walked out. He had better things to do than to teach Peter how to play ball and take Mom on dates every once in a while and actually have fun. No, Jack had to have money to have fun, because his kind of fun cost that much. Yeah, to Jack, he had to travel halfway around the world to go skiing, or get the best rock climbing gear; he had to go on fancy cruises that cost a million dollars. He had to have the best and busiest job, so that everybody liked him, and he was always number one, and he had all the power. He needed to go to award ceremonies and galas, see the president; be a celebrity.
Peter hated him; Peter loathed him; Peter wanted to gouge his eyes out. Because Peter knew that that man could never be a real father, and would never want to come back and be a real person. Peter knew that Jack was too high above him and Russell and Michael and Mom. Peter knew that if someone put Mom’s wedding ring, and Jack’s money on a scale, Jack’s money would weigh more. Jack wasn’t his dad. Nothing could make him that way either, unless someone really knew how to tamper with brains.
Heaving a sigh, Peter pulled up one of his notebooks and stared at the unfinished pages, and he soon found himself tapping his pencil. His mom’s news had completely jarred his train of thought and concentration and definitely his good mood. Peter looked at the clock. He’d wasted a half hour seething about Jack and trying to put unmade words on paper. A soft knock echoed from the door. Peter knew what it was, but he was in no mood to answer.
“Peter,” Jewelia said, “I know I’m not supposed to come in, but I’m done with everything, so it would be nice if you gave me a ride home.” He continued to remain quiet, and noticed something in her tone, as if she didn’t exactly want to go home, but she knew it wouldn’t serve her well to stay here.
“Peter? Peter? Are you awake?” she began rapping on the door again. Tired of her voice, he opened the door and simply stared at her surprised face. She suddenly looked concerned.
“Um…are you alright? You look really mad.” Pushing past her Peter muttered, “It’s none of your business.” The poor girl simply shrugged, though the look of concern stayed.
As they got into the car, the sky began to drizzle, setting a mist over the road. The two both stared out the window, though Jewelia gave Peter worried glances every once in a while. Peter couldn’t stand the silence, so he turned on the radio just to hear noise, no mater what it was or how much Jewelia liked it.
“Oh, this is a good song,” she said in a happy, hushed tone.
“If you like it, then you can be quiet and listen to it.” Peter told her, not trying at all to keep the surliness out of his voice. Her frown instantly made him feel bad for speaking.
“I would say something but you’d probably get mad at me,” she said to him.
“I’m already mad; go ahead and say it anyway.”
“Fine,” she said cautiously. “Would you mind telling me what’s wrong? It’s obvious you have a big problem.” In a strange way, he felt better about her request and afraid at the same time. Why should she care about his dad? She was just a person he knew from school that worked for his mom, and she probably had enough of things to worry in her life than him and his dad. But somehow the words spouted in a clumsy way.
“I hate my mom’s phone call.”
Peter realized what he’d said and slapped his forehead before remembering to keep his eyes on the road.
“What do you mean?” she was absolutely confused.
“I mean—I hate my dad. My mom said he was coming over and he just isn’t very welcome to me. The only reason he divorced my mom was because he couldn’t handle three kids and she couldn’t handle him going for the most time consuming jobs that deprived him of being part of the family. And now every time Jack comes he prances around like the king of the world because he always has a new girlfriend and always gets the best income and shows off how far he’s gone compared to my mom, whom he’s never helped and never complimented.” Peter ended with his knuckles white on the steering wheel and the rain pounding. Jewelia stayed silent. “I mean, why should you care? You have plenty of things to worry about and you don’t have to act like you need to help me.”
“That’s exactly what I have to do.” She told him. Her face looked annoyingly determined. Peter decided he should get her home faster, and pressed a little further on the pedals. He didn’t want her help.
“Turn right!” Jewelia cried. Peter swerved to the right, causing the breaks to scream in fear and pain. He stopped and looked back at the newly made skid marks.
“What in the world are you trying to do? Get me in an accident?” he yelled.
“Either you let me drive or I’ll continue to give you directions. We’re going somewhere else.” Jewelia told him firmly, not answering his questions.
“Oh no, we’re not going anywhere but to your house.” Peter started to turn to car around but Jewelia grabbed the wheel and began to pull it in the opposite direction.
“I am not going home!” she said with a frightening conviction. Peter glared at her.
“Do you not understand that I am the driver? Now let go of the wheel before someone hits us!” Peter pressed the gas a little bit further, and Jewelia pulled the wheel back in her course until Peter found himself traveling away from the route to Jewelia’s house. He braked again and this time he turned off the ignition, too.
“Get out of the car, right now,” he demanded. Jewelia rolled her eyes and scowled at him as she opened the door to the onslaught of rain. As soon as he got out, Peter almost lashed out at her. But instead, he was curious.
“Okay,” he said in a heated tone, folding his arms. “Fine, take the wheel and let’s go to this place. But if you make any more trouble, I’m serious I will not take you home.” He moved into the passenger's seat and didn’t care to turn as she revved the truck up again. They stayed silent and in intense moods for the rest of the ride until Jewelia stopped at the side of the road that seemed to Peter very random.
“We have to walk from here,” she stated. Peter didn’t want to ask, but was relieved when she headed toward the trees that would mostly shelter him from more rain. In the brush there was only a mist above the ground that immediately dampened his jeans. The way the air seemed steamy and thankfully warmer made Peter feel like he had stepped into a rainforest. Jewelia didn’t take time to say anything about what she was doing, but moved steadily onward and allowed him to follow in silence.
It wasn’t until they entered an open glade that was covered several feet above with tree branches while the center was amassed by a great tree that almost looked like a natural tree house. Peter wasn’t very good at identifying trees, so he didn’t care to try to decide which type of tree this was. He simply looked up and listened to the bullets of rain try to break through the roof of trees.
“And you brought me here because…?” he asked, giving Jewelia a questioning look.
“Now I just want you to imagine yourself somewhere, anywhere,” Jewelia called. She’d nimbly climbed up the tree and was looking down upon him.
“Where?” Peter said in disbelief.
“You pick! That’s why you’re imagining yourself there. It doesn’t even have to be known by the rest of the world. It can be all your own place. An entire world all for you.” Peter thought, but still wasn’t in the mood for whatever she was trying to do. Even the faintest thought of Gandrieltia made him want to leave.
“Fine, I’m thinking of it. Can we go now?” he called up, folding his arms.
“Are you imagining it, or just thinking of it. I told you to imagine it. Feel it, smell it, taste it around you. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Jewelia, I don’t have time for this. I have homework that I could be doing right now.” Peter was getting very impatient.
“As if you would actually be doing it,” she retorted.
“Hey!” Peter bellowed. “I’m not here to be teased, and ‘m most definitely not in the mood for it either. Now get this thing over with and let me go home.”
“You don’t want to go home any more than I do. If you hate your dad that much, why would you want to go back?”
“Maybe it’s because I’ve made it very clear that he stay away from me or I’ll strike him with a hatchet. I’ll be perfectly fine at home; I just won’t like the fact that he’s here. Besides, who said you didn’t want to go home?”
“I did, smart one. And what I’m doing isn’t just something to ‘get over with.’ Okay? Now imagine your world or I’ll infest it with strange beings that look suspiciously like your dad. And quit letting your bad mood rub off on me. I don’t like being in a bad mood.”
“Oh, so all of this is my fault?” Peter scoffed. “The world is null and I’m to blame? Who was the one who nearly got both of us into a car accident?”
“There was nobody around, and I’m not the who one screeched on the breaks. They’re going to smell weird after that.”
“And I should care more about how bad some car breaks smell than about my own life. Well, my priorities are straight now.”
“Imagine your world, okay!” Jewelia sounded angrier than Peter thought capable of her. He glared at her as she made her way back down the tree and came up to him with a finger ready to jab him in the chest. “This is why I need to help you!” she hissed.
“You can’t have conversation with anyone without turning it into an argument or something very negative. I can’t stand people like that. Now I’m trying to give you as much sympathy as I can pull and right now I don’t think I can pull anymore!”
Peter stared coolly back into her angry face and simply made her read his lips.
“Well, then you don’t have to do it now. I’m leaving you here.” Her look of horror almost made him laugh, but Peter instantly shifted into gear and ran like sound. It was a treasure to his ears to hear that she had fallen behind him at one point and he just had to jog to his truck before she could climb in. Pulling the car door open and shut he turned on the ignition and got himself turned around just as her exhausted figure emerged from the wood. Smirking, Peter drove home, simply listening to the rain now lightly pattering on the windshield.
As he drove back home Peter couldn’t help thinking of how stupid she was. As far as he could see, the only great thing Jewelia was able to do was write at a college level. He had her in no other classes, so he knew nothing about how well she did in other subjects, but he didn’t care. She definitely wasn’t the best runner, even though he could hardly make that a credible thought because he just happened to be a phenomenal athlete compared to her. And the girl didn’t know how to hold her tongue when she needed to, or how to keep out of everyone’s business. She acted like she was the boss of everything during school; it drove him nuts. The only reason people would do what she asked for was that they new she could easily lash out at them just the same as being silently rude behind their backs.
Peter grunted to himself, as he didn’t have real evidence of this, but a rumor that circulated around the school had to come from somewhere. He smiled smugly when he entered the actual signs of town, just thinking of how much he thought she deserved to walk home. The only thought that could faze him was the idea that Jack would be there to replace her and resume making Peter’s life miserable. With that in mind, Peter stopped the car, got out, and made his way up to the Parkinson apartment.
My brother on the Yamaha!
Pierce actually got to try out the motorcycle after school!!! The impish grin on his face is priceless!
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Meet Pasha!
Eden's birthday present from our next door neighbors was the cutest kitten in the world. He even had a ribbon tied around him (even though he must have hated it). Our next door neighbors had a cat who had kittens and they're trying to give them away, but he actually has to stay another two weeks at their house because he still has to depend on his mother. It took Eden a while to think of a name (at first she was thinking Achilles. Ugh.) and she went through a ton. Here's the list as far as I can remember so far: Achilles, Apollo, Casper, Niel, Brady, I can't remember the rest. Finally, she suddenly remembered a Russian ballroom dancer that was on the show So You Think You Can Dance, and hey! His name is now Pasha. And it actually fits him! My younger sister Gigi is the one who brings him over every afternoon after school, though (the hog). We noticed he likes to lie down and sunbathe and just rest. Even when string is waving in that tempting way in front of his face.
Eden's Birthday
My older sister Eden just turned seventeen, which means she's been dating James for a year and she still won't admit that they're basically boyfriend and girlfriend, although he lives in Marysville and she lives here in Arlington. Well, on the morning of her birthday, Friday, we woke up, and when we went outside, this is what the yard and her car looked like:
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Alright. if you haven't read the post before this one, read that one first. and then this. This is a short excerpt from one of the first--no, the very first story--that i've been writing. this is not a whole chapter, not even a whole page, but i will put in tiny teasers. Enjoy!
Jaisrecho followed his father along the path through the trees, looking down at his feet, noticing that grooves had been driven into the ground after someone traveling the path too often. He held his father’s hand tightly, wanting to skip and run, but knowing it would make his father only want him to hold tighter. There was a solemn silence that pervaded the air, unlike any he had experienced, and Jaisrecho knew that he was being taken to some place special, some place that would mean something forever.
The father was nearly at forty years of age, with a short gray beard and wrinkles trimming his eyes. His hands were rough and dark. He walked tall and broad, a glory in his presence, though today it was weighed down. Built to be tough, he was a successful sailor, merchant over his own company, but a soft man inside.
Trees stood above his head that never seemed to have a crown, but a trunk that reached into the heavens eternally. The perpetual height frightened Jaisrecho, making him look back down at his sandaled toes again.
“Father,” he said in his innocent six-year-old voice. “Where are we going?” His father looked at him with an expression that was sad indeed.
“We’re going to the Olive Glade,” his father replied.
“What’s the Olive Glade?” Jaisrecho wondered.
“It’s the place where our world came to peace, and it is also the place where I will tell a very important story, my son.” His father answered thoughtfully. “Now, try not to walk so quickly, I’m not as young as once I was.” Jaisrecho slowed his pace to match his father, trying to see if he could step with his right and left feet at the same time as his father. He, being still a young child, didn’t understand the importance of the day or what made this simple venture so meaningful. He simply enjoyed the woods and watched the scenery slowly pass his eyes.
Forest stretched for miles around, just as he liked, with the trees’ branches poking out or drooping to reach the ground below. His father had told him how much smaller they had been when he was younger, with clear amazement at how much they had grown since then. The rush of Agnora Falls was heard roaring from a distance, splashing rapidly on the rocks below. Jaisrecho tried to recall its ancient name, the name he had found in a book in his father’s library. It was originally called Faringha Falls, but the new inhabitants of the land after the old civilization had left couldn’t pronounce the name correctly due to their accent, therefore the changing of the name occurred.
Onward they walked, branches roofing the air above them, leaves on the floor, and hundreds of animal calls through the two’s silence. Jaisrecho was beginning to get tired, but still his father urged on, step after step, trudging along. Soon the poor boy was so exhausted that he wished to be carried on his father’s shoulders, but he silenced his wants and onward they pressed.
Suddenly, the trees came short, both in surrounding and in height. Jaisrecho looked at his whereabouts and smirked at a bunch of olive trees scattered around a clearing like they weren’t planned to be there in the first place. The dim sunlight entered in like a skylight, seeming bright and gray at the same time. Not too far away through a thinner bunch of trees a sheer cliff’s edge could be seen. Was this what his father had wanted to show him? Surely this wasn’t where his father intended to stop and begin telling his special story.
Jaisrecho followed his father along the path through the trees, looking down at his feet, noticing that grooves had been driven into the ground after someone traveling the path too often. He held his father’s hand tightly, wanting to skip and run, but knowing it would make his father only want him to hold tighter. There was a solemn silence that pervaded the air, unlike any he had experienced, and Jaisrecho knew that he was being taken to some place special, some place that would mean something forever.
The father was nearly at forty years of age, with a short gray beard and wrinkles trimming his eyes. His hands were rough and dark. He walked tall and broad, a glory in his presence, though today it was weighed down. Built to be tough, he was a successful sailor, merchant over his own company, but a soft man inside.
Trees stood above his head that never seemed to have a crown, but a trunk that reached into the heavens eternally. The perpetual height frightened Jaisrecho, making him look back down at his sandaled toes again.
“Father,” he said in his innocent six-year-old voice. “Where are we going?” His father looked at him with an expression that was sad indeed.
“We’re going to the Olive Glade,” his father replied.
“What’s the Olive Glade?” Jaisrecho wondered.
“It’s the place where our world came to peace, and it is also the place where I will tell a very important story, my son.” His father answered thoughtfully. “Now, try not to walk so quickly, I’m not as young as once I was.” Jaisrecho slowed his pace to match his father, trying to see if he could step with his right and left feet at the same time as his father. He, being still a young child, didn’t understand the importance of the day or what made this simple venture so meaningful. He simply enjoyed the woods and watched the scenery slowly pass his eyes.
Forest stretched for miles around, just as he liked, with the trees’ branches poking out or drooping to reach the ground below. His father had told him how much smaller they had been when he was younger, with clear amazement at how much they had grown since then. The rush of Agnora Falls was heard roaring from a distance, splashing rapidly on the rocks below. Jaisrecho tried to recall its ancient name, the name he had found in a book in his father’s library. It was originally called Faringha Falls, but the new inhabitants of the land after the old civilization had left couldn’t pronounce the name correctly due to their accent, therefore the changing of the name occurred.
Onward they walked, branches roofing the air above them, leaves on the floor, and hundreds of animal calls through the two’s silence. Jaisrecho was beginning to get tired, but still his father urged on, step after step, trudging along. Soon the poor boy was so exhausted that he wished to be carried on his father’s shoulders, but he silenced his wants and onward they pressed.
Suddenly, the trees came short, both in surrounding and in height. Jaisrecho looked at his whereabouts and smirked at a bunch of olive trees scattered around a clearing like they weren’t planned to be there in the first place. The dim sunlight entered in like a skylight, seeming bright and gray at the same time. Not too far away through a thinner bunch of trees a sheer cliff’s edge could be seen. Was this what his father had wanted to show him? Surely this wasn’t where his father intended to stop and begin telling his special story.
My first day of high school.
Scream.
Laugh.
Cry.
Cheer. (No, don't cheer. don't like cheer leaders.)
Smile. (Wish teeth weren't naturally yellow, even after teeth whiteners.)
I brought my teddies!!! Woda and Rosco got to see the cafeteria at lunch before hiding back in my purse. they're really shy of other people. and dang it i forgot to take pictures!and i forgot to return Ryann's headband, but i can still give it to her tomorrow (and i will!) i think i might just put in a little something special. Wait here, and i'll call for Waterspryte.
Scream.
Laugh.
Cry.
Cheer. (No, don't cheer. don't like cheer leaders.)
Smile. (Wish teeth weren't naturally yellow, even after teeth whiteners.)
I brought my teddies!!! Woda and Rosco got to see the cafeteria at lunch before hiding back in my purse. they're really shy of other people. and dang it i forgot to take pictures!and i forgot to return Ryann's headband, but i can still give it to her tomorrow (and i will!) i think i might just put in a little something special. Wait here, and i'll call for Waterspryte.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Intro
Here I am. I came from the deep burrows of my imagination to finally come into contact with others of my kind. For a long time I lay inside a small seed, with only the thin membrane around me as a blanket. I was a flower that bloomed in the winter of my world, and at once I was given the task to journey through the cold world and record the wonders that sprang up all around me. I am the history of this dear world Gandrieltia, and I know what will come to pass, as I am also the creator. The yellow rose that I was, so out of place in the snow, became separate from me, and I sent it into the sky, where it shines in glory because it is free. Now I, the Artist, the Maker, writes the many stories of my land, and gives my gift to all of you.
Welcome.
Waterspryte of The Yellow Rose
Welcome.
Waterspryte of The Yellow Rose
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