Hi friends! Did you know that LJ Idol is holding a Survivor style competition over on Dreamwidth? I've been playing for a few weeks now. This week, I wrote about the infamous female serial killer, Belle Gunness, who has always fascinated me.
If you have a moment, you can check out my entry and others at:
https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1081213.html
If you'd like to help me out, you can vote for my entry (lawchicky819), and even the entries of my current teammates: adoptedwriter, halfshellvenus, and wolfden.
I'd love to keep playing in the competition, but right now, my team is lagging behind some of the more connected writers. Hoping everyone is well!
If you have a moment, you can check out my entry and others at:
https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1081213.html
If you'd like to help me out, you can vote for my entry (lawchicky819), and even the entries of my current teammates: adoptedwriter, halfshellvenus, and wolfden.
I'd love to keep playing in the competition, but right now, my team is lagging behind some of the more connected writers. Hoping everyone is well!
Jeremy was tired of being second best. He’d spent so much of the last twenty five years in the shadow of his older sister that it seemed embedded in his persona. Luckily, he thought he’d finally found a way to “best” her. Recently, he started playing the game “Words with Friends.” It worked much like an online interactive scrabble board, which he could play right from his cell phone. Laura recently had a baby girl, and spent her evening hours relaxing with her laptop while the baby napped, so he relegated his commute home for playing the game.
Admittedly, it was an unproductive work day for Jeremy, who spent the better part of the afternoon researching the best methods to win at Words with Friends. He had a master’s degree in literature and an excellent vocabulary, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He was prepped and ready. His adrenaline was flowing. Never was a board game so seemingly important.
In his rush to get onto the Long Island Railroad, Jeremy missed the announcement that his usual train home had been moved to a different track. He boarded the (wrong) train, and found himself a comfortable window seat before pulling out his iPhone. He chuckled to himself as he texted his sister to make sure she was online.
“How’s baby Cecelia,” he asked.
“Just down for the evening nap,” she answered.
“Yay :) Do you want to play Words with Friends? I sent you an invitation.” Jeremy felt his blood pressure rising as he waited for her response. He carefully reviewed all of the tips and pointers he’d brushed up on earlier in the day.
“OK, your move!”
Jeremy clicked over to his Words application to find that his sister played a three letter word. “Amateur,” he whispered to himself, studying the board carefully. Jeremy was so intent on playing his game, that it wasn’t until fifteen minutes into the commute that he realized he was on the wrong train. Now he’d have to find a place to transfer. He was thirty points up in Words though, so it was worth the extra long commute.
The problem was, Jeremy was so impatient that he kept clicking in and out of the application to see if Laura had made a move yet. Why was she taking so long between moves? Perhaps she just couldn’t keep up with his awesome skills. That had to be it- she was trying to outwit his smooth moves. When he got to the Hicksville station, Jeremy got off the train to make the first of two necessary transfers to get himself back on course to his home. As he stood out on the train platform, Laura made a very good play, giving herself 34 points. Jeremy hadn’t seen this one coming.
“God damnit,” he shouted, throwing his arms in the air. The other passengers waiting on the platform moved slightly away from him and eyed him cautiously. Jeremy bit his lip. He was going to have to try to keep his cool. “It’s just a game, it’s just a game,” he repeated to himself in his head.
He boarded the next train and found himself another window seat. The train was surprisingly empty with just himself and an elderly woman sharing the same car. He fiddled with his letters, trying to find a way to use two “double word” squares without setting up his sister for the “triple word” square. It was then that the iPhone flashed “20% battery remaining.”
“Noooooooooo,” he bellowed. Then he remembered the spare iPhone charger that he had in his briefcase. He fumbled around for what seemed like hours to find the cord. When he finally located it, he looked around the train for the spare electrical socket. Most cars on the train had only one socket, but if he could find it, it would sustain him for the rest of the commute. Of course, the socket was located immediately next to the elderly woman at the end of the car.
Jeremy made the awkward walk to the end of the train car and subtly plugged in his phone. He leaned up against the woman’s seat as a necessity to staying upright and nodded at her. The old woman eyed him carefully. As the commute continued, Jeremy was able to keep himself ahead of his sister, but his phone battery wasn’t gaining any ground. As he neared the next station, he realized that he had to make a command decision. If he wanted to get back to his car, he’d have to disembark the train and wait for his transfer for half an hour. His phone would never last that long without the outlet. His other option was to stay on the train, finish his game, and then take a taxi back to his car. The taxi option was costly, but he’d been waiting to beat his sister for years. He was SO CLOSE. He watched the train doors close, and realized his fate was sealed. It was time to win this game. There was no other option.
Laura pulled almost up to his score, but Jeremy was prepared for such maneuvers. He had some high value letters saved for the end of the game so that he could pull ahead of her in the home stretch. He became increasingly jittery- tapping his phone and looking back and forth from his phone, waiting for Laura to make her moves.
Finally, he reached the end of the game. He was ready to play his last three letters
and finally win. “That’s it,” he said “now I’ve got you! Time to put the nail in your coffin.”
The old woman suddenly screamed in fear. “Aaaaaahhhh, heeeeellllppp, he’s going to kill
me!” A conductor raced forward from the next car. Jeremy looked to his right and left before he realized she was talking about him.
“No, no, I didn’t mean YOU. I was just playing a game.”
The conductor got himself between Jeremy and the old woman, pushing the iPhone out of Jeremy’s grasp. “This man,” stuttered the old woman. “He came right up next to my seat and I couldn’t move, and then he said he was going to kill me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jeremy answered. “I wasn’t even talking to her.” The conductor asked to see Jeremy’s ticket, which, of course, was for a totally different train.
“Sir, you don’t even belong on this train.” The conductor used his radio to start calling for back up assistance.
“It’s a mistake! I mean, I missed my stop. It’s hard to explain.”
“Well you’re going to have to explain it to the police at the next station.” The conductor grabbed Jeremy’s arm and pulled him to the exit doors. When they opened, two police officers were waiting for him on the platform.
“Here you go boys,” called the conductor, shoving Jeremy off of the train.
As the officers walked toward him, Jeremy put up his arms in defense. “This is all a mistake, I was just playing a game on my phone…” At that moment, Jeremy realized that he was no longer holding his phone. He motioned toward the train’s doors, but it was too late. The train was already pulling away from the station.
“You’re going to have to come with us, sir.” The officers grabbed his arms and began to cuff him. Jeremy never did get to play that final letter, and boy was Laura going to be upset when she found out she’d have to pick him up from the police station.
Admittedly, it was an unproductive work day for Jeremy, who spent the better part of the afternoon researching the best methods to win at Words with Friends. He had a master’s degree in literature and an excellent vocabulary, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He was prepped and ready. His adrenaline was flowing. Never was a board game so seemingly important.
In his rush to get onto the Long Island Railroad, Jeremy missed the announcement that his usual train home had been moved to a different track. He boarded the (wrong) train, and found himself a comfortable window seat before pulling out his iPhone. He chuckled to himself as he texted his sister to make sure she was online.
“How’s baby Cecelia,” he asked.
“Just down for the evening nap,” she answered.
“Yay :) Do you want to play Words with Friends? I sent you an invitation.” Jeremy felt his blood pressure rising as he waited for her response. He carefully reviewed all of the tips and pointers he’d brushed up on earlier in the day.
“OK, your move!”
Jeremy clicked over to his Words application to find that his sister played a three letter word. “Amateur,” he whispered to himself, studying the board carefully. Jeremy was so intent on playing his game, that it wasn’t until fifteen minutes into the commute that he realized he was on the wrong train. Now he’d have to find a place to transfer. He was thirty points up in Words though, so it was worth the extra long commute.
The problem was, Jeremy was so impatient that he kept clicking in and out of the application to see if Laura had made a move yet. Why was she taking so long between moves? Perhaps she just couldn’t keep up with his awesome skills. That had to be it- she was trying to outwit his smooth moves. When he got to the Hicksville station, Jeremy got off the train to make the first of two necessary transfers to get himself back on course to his home. As he stood out on the train platform, Laura made a very good play, giving herself 34 points. Jeremy hadn’t seen this one coming.
“God damnit,” he shouted, throwing his arms in the air. The other passengers waiting on the platform moved slightly away from him and eyed him cautiously. Jeremy bit his lip. He was going to have to try to keep his cool. “It’s just a game, it’s just a game,” he repeated to himself in his head.
He boarded the next train and found himself another window seat. The train was surprisingly empty with just himself and an elderly woman sharing the same car. He fiddled with his letters, trying to find a way to use two “double word” squares without setting up his sister for the “triple word” square. It was then that the iPhone flashed “20% battery remaining.”
“Noooooooooo,” he bellowed. Then he remembered the spare iPhone charger that he had in his briefcase. He fumbled around for what seemed like hours to find the cord. When he finally located it, he looked around the train for the spare electrical socket. Most cars on the train had only one socket, but if he could find it, it would sustain him for the rest of the commute. Of course, the socket was located immediately next to the elderly woman at the end of the car.
Jeremy made the awkward walk to the end of the train car and subtly plugged in his phone. He leaned up against the woman’s seat as a necessity to staying upright and nodded at her. The old woman eyed him carefully. As the commute continued, Jeremy was able to keep himself ahead of his sister, but his phone battery wasn’t gaining any ground. As he neared the next station, he realized that he had to make a command decision. If he wanted to get back to his car, he’d have to disembark the train and wait for his transfer for half an hour. His phone would never last that long without the outlet. His other option was to stay on the train, finish his game, and then take a taxi back to his car. The taxi option was costly, but he’d been waiting to beat his sister for years. He was SO CLOSE. He watched the train doors close, and realized his fate was sealed. It was time to win this game. There was no other option.
Laura pulled almost up to his score, but Jeremy was prepared for such maneuvers. He had some high value letters saved for the end of the game so that he could pull ahead of her in the home stretch. He became increasingly jittery- tapping his phone and looking back and forth from his phone, waiting for Laura to make her moves.
Finally, he reached the end of the game. He was ready to play his last three letters
and finally win. “That’s it,” he said “now I’ve got you! Time to put the nail in your coffin.”
The old woman suddenly screamed in fear. “Aaaaaahhhh, heeeeellllppp, he’s going to kill
me!” A conductor raced forward from the next car. Jeremy looked to his right and left before he realized she was talking about him.
“No, no, I didn’t mean YOU. I was just playing a game.”
The conductor got himself between Jeremy and the old woman, pushing the iPhone out of Jeremy’s grasp. “This man,” stuttered the old woman. “He came right up next to my seat and I couldn’t move, and then he said he was going to kill me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jeremy answered. “I wasn’t even talking to her.” The conductor asked to see Jeremy’s ticket, which, of course, was for a totally different train.
“Sir, you don’t even belong on this train.” The conductor used his radio to start calling for back up assistance.
“It’s a mistake! I mean, I missed my stop. It’s hard to explain.”
“Well you’re going to have to explain it to the police at the next station.” The conductor grabbed Jeremy’s arm and pulled him to the exit doors. When they opened, two police officers were waiting for him on the platform.
“Here you go boys,” called the conductor, shoving Jeremy off of the train.
As the officers walked toward him, Jeremy put up his arms in defense. “This is all a mistake, I was just playing a game on my phone…” At that moment, Jeremy realized that he was no longer holding his phone. He motioned toward the train’s doors, but it was too late. The train was already pulling away from the station.
“You’re going to have to come with us, sir.” The officers grabbed his arms and began to cuff him. Jeremy never did get to play that final letter, and boy was Laura going to be upset when she found out she’d have to pick him up from the police station.
My eldest child turned 14 yesterday. She's my only daughter, and she's taught me so much about parenting and about love. We don't always see eye to eye though, and I didn't imagine our relationship would look the way it does when she was first born. I guess I assumed that Olivia and I would have the same kind of relationship as my mother and I did, which is foolish, but these are the things you learn only after you become a parent.
Olivia has an independent streak that I never seemed to gather up the nerve to have on my own. She's more likely to challenge me, which can be frustrating, but also helps me to learn things that I might not have encountered otherwise. At 14, she's at an age where I may not always be her favorite person, but I'm still the person she looks to if she hears a strange noise in the middle of the night or if she isn't feeling well. The "needing" her mommy moments stretch out fewer and further between, but they're still there, and that's very bittersweet.
Olivia will be the first of my children to go off to college, and I have no illusions about her staying home and outgrowing the teenage independence and becoming my best friend while she navigates college. She's going to have her own life and her own experiences, and I figure the next four years will be devoted to teaching self-confidence, the importance of education and communication, and self-reliance. As much as I want her to need her mama, it's important that she learns the best ways to take care of herself without me. So even though I get complaints now about her chores or needing to watch her baby cousin or walk the dog, these are all little ways we're working towards adulthood.
The thing is- she's smart, and she cares a lot less about what people think about her than I ever have. She has no inclination to please anyone who shows her attention. She loves who and what she loves, and she makes no apologies for it. Olivia is going to be just fine, and even if she doesn't always believe it, mom will always be her biggest fan.
Olivia has an independent streak that I never seemed to gather up the nerve to have on my own. She's more likely to challenge me, which can be frustrating, but also helps me to learn things that I might not have encountered otherwise. At 14, she's at an age where I may not always be her favorite person, but I'm still the person she looks to if she hears a strange noise in the middle of the night or if she isn't feeling well. The "needing" her mommy moments stretch out fewer and further between, but they're still there, and that's very bittersweet.
Olivia will be the first of my children to go off to college, and I have no illusions about her staying home and outgrowing the teenage independence and becoming my best friend while she navigates college. She's going to have her own life and her own experiences, and I figure the next four years will be devoted to teaching self-confidence, the importance of education and communication, and self-reliance. As much as I want her to need her mama, it's important that she learns the best ways to take care of herself without me. So even though I get complaints now about her chores or needing to watch her baby cousin or walk the dog, these are all little ways we're working towards adulthood.
The thing is- she's smart, and she cares a lot less about what people think about her than I ever have. She has no inclination to please anyone who shows her attention. She loves who and what she loves, and she makes no apologies for it. Olivia is going to be just fine, and even if she doesn't always believe it, mom will always be her biggest fan.
We're in quarantine at my house- hiding, like most everyone, from the Coronavirus. While most of my family back in NY are working in hospitals and trying to help save lives (really important stuff), I'm trying to keep my sanity trapped in this house with my four children, a puppy, a husband who's still trying to do his job in our little front office, and, for a few hours each day, my baby niece. Courts are closed, so there's very limited work that I can do, and I wait. When this week's topic was announced, I looked it up and was reminded of Chris on the tv show Survivor having talked about the sales technique and how he used it to his benefit.
It was right about that time my 13-year old thought she was very clever and said she would help her brother walk the dog-- then making a beeline for the park up the road where her friends were playing. She made it up the block before I was calling her- and really she must have booked it to even get that far because this is not a child known for her speed. This 45 second incident was enough to make me reflect critically upon my parenting skills and wonder if I was doing something wrong. Maybe this quarantine was an opportunity to try a new approach with my constant housemates.
I made turkey wings and asparagus and potato leek soup for dinner. I was pretty proud of myself for the healthy meal I put together from whatever I could get delivered from the farmer's market. Four little people needed to eat. The eldest (fresh off of her stint as a failed escape artist) loves potato leek soup. She was not a problem for this meal. The boys were a whole other issue. Normally, I'd tell them to pick from what I'd offered and sit at the table until they're done, with the alternative being no dinner. I hate the no dinner scenario but under normal circumstances, I feel like it's important to have boundaries with my kids and for them to know that they have to choose from what they're offered. Usually, the kids will give in and eat. This was going to be different.
At 5:30 pm, the children inquired as to what I was serving for dinner- it not being clear to them that I was pulling turkey from the oven and had asparagus set on the table already. So I spelled out the dinner menu to a chorus of exacerbated groans.
"Maybe you want something different though," I said, scooping myself some fried asparagus pieces. This was their opportunity to see that eating what was prepared would be the easiest option- it didn't require cooking, it was fast, it qualified them for dessert once they finished. Owen, my laziest child and sometimes vegetarian, opted for just asparagus. Two kids satisfied- two to go. The youngest asked me to get rid of him (a frequent request when he's unhappy with his options). My oldest son looked at me sideways- unsure if this was some kind of trap (which it kind-of was). He slunk off of his bar stool at the counter, opened the freezer, and pulled out the frozen waffles pouch.
"Waffles are good," I said, "they're not going to help you grow or anything, but they taste good." Sal pulled out the whipped cream and the mini chocolate chips as the waffles warmed in the toaster. The four year old used this as an opportunity to spray whipped cream from the canister straight into his mouth. He seemed to have given up his request to be settled with some other new family. Sal built a stack of hot sugary breakfast stuffs and sat next to me at the kitchen table. There was an air of defiance, but he knew he was also following my rules for the night for some strange reason.
And suddenly, it was me that was jealous of his decision. The waffles looked pretty good after all.. and so once my plate of healthy dinner was cleared, I made a waffle sundae for dessert- because what's better with waffles than ice cream. I think the baby just ate ice cream. Eh, it's just one night. Tomorrow, we're going back to the normal rules and forgetting sales techniques for sure.
It was right about that time my 13-year old thought she was very clever and said she would help her brother walk the dog-- then making a beeline for the park up the road where her friends were playing. She made it up the block before I was calling her- and really she must have booked it to even get that far because this is not a child known for her speed. This 45 second incident was enough to make me reflect critically upon my parenting skills and wonder if I was doing something wrong. Maybe this quarantine was an opportunity to try a new approach with my constant housemates.
I made turkey wings and asparagus and potato leek soup for dinner. I was pretty proud of myself for the healthy meal I put together from whatever I could get delivered from the farmer's market. Four little people needed to eat. The eldest (fresh off of her stint as a failed escape artist) loves potato leek soup. She was not a problem for this meal. The boys were a whole other issue. Normally, I'd tell them to pick from what I'd offered and sit at the table until they're done, with the alternative being no dinner. I hate the no dinner scenario but under normal circumstances, I feel like it's important to have boundaries with my kids and for them to know that they have to choose from what they're offered. Usually, the kids will give in and eat. This was going to be different.
At 5:30 pm, the children inquired as to what I was serving for dinner- it not being clear to them that I was pulling turkey from the oven and had asparagus set on the table already. So I spelled out the dinner menu to a chorus of exacerbated groans.
"Maybe you want something different though," I said, scooping myself some fried asparagus pieces. This was their opportunity to see that eating what was prepared would be the easiest option- it didn't require cooking, it was fast, it qualified them for dessert once they finished. Owen, my laziest child and sometimes vegetarian, opted for just asparagus. Two kids satisfied- two to go. The youngest asked me to get rid of him (a frequent request when he's unhappy with his options). My oldest son looked at me sideways- unsure if this was some kind of trap (which it kind-of was). He slunk off of his bar stool at the counter, opened the freezer, and pulled out the frozen waffles pouch.
"Waffles are good," I said, "they're not going to help you grow or anything, but they taste good." Sal pulled out the whipped cream and the mini chocolate chips as the waffles warmed in the toaster. The four year old used this as an opportunity to spray whipped cream from the canister straight into his mouth. He seemed to have given up his request to be settled with some other new family. Sal built a stack of hot sugary breakfast stuffs and sat next to me at the kitchen table. There was an air of defiance, but he knew he was also following my rules for the night for some strange reason.
And suddenly, it was me that was jealous of his decision. The waffles looked pretty good after all.. and so once my plate of healthy dinner was cleared, I made a waffle sundae for dessert- because what's better with waffles than ice cream. I think the baby just ate ice cream. Eh, it's just one night. Tomorrow, we're going back to the normal rules and forgetting sales techniques for sure.
Esther had waited all day to share the good news with her family. She was on the Principal's List again- more consecutive spots on the Principal's List than anyone in school history. She scooped a pile of lumpy mashed potatoes onto her plate and then tried to find a moment to spring the good news. It was no use. The family was having intense conversation about Aunt Joan's "good-for-nothing" boyfriend. Each time she started saying "I have good news," or "hey guys, guess what happened today," it was sharply ignored for more adult conversation.
Esther poured more chicken gravy onto her plate, until the potatoes and meat were soaked and the peas were practically swimming. She eyed the adults around the table to see if anyone would scold her for making a mess of her plate, but nothing was said. Grandma was busy complaining about needing to get to the salon to set her hair, and somehow that was more interesting than her extra special big news.
As she finished what was on her plate, sopping up the gravy with a slice of Italian bread, Esther decided to take a new approach. "That's it," she shouted, "if no one is going to talk to me, I'll just talk to the wall. I'll get the same response in this room!" The conversation stopped for just a moment. Grandpa may have raised an eyebrow, but no one bothered to pay any more attention to the outburst. Esther turned her chair 180 degrees so that she was facing the wall rather than the table.
"OK wall, nice to meet you, I'm Esther," she said, still trying to catch a glance at the adults to see if they'd been listening at all. "I had a big day today- I made the Principal's List again, and no one has ever done that as many times as me.." She prattled on and on until she was quite satisfied in having said her peace. Esther imagined the wall was rather interested in her stories because otherwise no one gave it much notice either. They were alike that way- always there and overlooked. She got the sense that the wall was grateful for some company, and so a friendship was born. Esther justified speaking to the wall as being less eccentric than say an imaginary friend. After all, she knew the wall wasn't alive and that it wasn't going to talk back.
Except... later that week, she was talking to the wall in her room about picking an outfit for the day- mulling between her rainbow sweater and her NASA sweatshirt to go with her tattered blue jeans, and Esther could swear she heard the wall asking her to remove the nails that held her mirror in place above her dresser. She kept hearing the request over and over until she decided to take down the mirror and see what happened. Out came the nails, and she settled the mirror upright on her dresser.
"Oh thank goodness," said the wall. "I have so much to tell you.." The wall proceeded on a stream-of-consciousness tirade of complaints- paint colors it would prefer, items that were weighing it down (like the mirror), and never-ending praise for wallpaper. "Why did wallpaper go out of style?? It's like a warm hug," whined the wall.
Esther felt bombarded. She wanted to find a way to stop the wall from talking, but she also felt like perhaps she'd brought this upon herself. "I have to go to school," she finally told the wall, slipping outside and away from the chatter.
This is how her safe haven, her room where she loved to sit and read books or play with her dolls, became a nightmare. The wall was a horrible gossip, as it had nothing to do all day than spy on the inhabitants of the house and its visitors. "Do you know what mom and dad were doing in the bedroom this morning," the wall asked. Esther put a popped her earbuds into her ears and put her volume on high. She became afraid to use the bathrooms in the house. It was not convenient.
Esther started spending a lot more time outdoors, which was nice, but sometimes, she still felt the need to talk to someone, and she was too afraid to start talking to the backyard grass or trees, because she needed a spot where nothing would talk back to her!
Then one night, it occurred to her- the walls hadn't spoken before she took the mirror down. Maybe there was a way to stop the conversation once and for all. She searched through the garage until she found a hammer, put the nail back in place and set the mirror back on the wall.
"Hey wall," she shouted, "what do you have to say now?!?!" The wall was silent. She cackled. "You have nothing to say," she screamed. "You can't talk back!!"
From the bottom of the stairs, she heard her grandmother yelling- "Esther, keep it down, for goodness sakes!" It was nice to be heard by someone other than the wall.
Esther poured more chicken gravy onto her plate, until the potatoes and meat were soaked and the peas were practically swimming. She eyed the adults around the table to see if anyone would scold her for making a mess of her plate, but nothing was said. Grandma was busy complaining about needing to get to the salon to set her hair, and somehow that was more interesting than her extra special big news.
As she finished what was on her plate, sopping up the gravy with a slice of Italian bread, Esther decided to take a new approach. "That's it," she shouted, "if no one is going to talk to me, I'll just talk to the wall. I'll get the same response in this room!" The conversation stopped for just a moment. Grandpa may have raised an eyebrow, but no one bothered to pay any more attention to the outburst. Esther turned her chair 180 degrees so that she was facing the wall rather than the table.
"OK wall, nice to meet you, I'm Esther," she said, still trying to catch a glance at the adults to see if they'd been listening at all. "I had a big day today- I made the Principal's List again, and no one has ever done that as many times as me.." She prattled on and on until she was quite satisfied in having said her peace. Esther imagined the wall was rather interested in her stories because otherwise no one gave it much notice either. They were alike that way- always there and overlooked. She got the sense that the wall was grateful for some company, and so a friendship was born. Esther justified speaking to the wall as being less eccentric than say an imaginary friend. After all, she knew the wall wasn't alive and that it wasn't going to talk back.
Except... later that week, she was talking to the wall in her room about picking an outfit for the day- mulling between her rainbow sweater and her NASA sweatshirt to go with her tattered blue jeans, and Esther could swear she heard the wall asking her to remove the nails that held her mirror in place above her dresser. She kept hearing the request over and over until she decided to take down the mirror and see what happened. Out came the nails, and she settled the mirror upright on her dresser.
"Oh thank goodness," said the wall. "I have so much to tell you.." The wall proceeded on a stream-of-consciousness tirade of complaints- paint colors it would prefer, items that were weighing it down (like the mirror), and never-ending praise for wallpaper. "Why did wallpaper go out of style?? It's like a warm hug," whined the wall.
Esther felt bombarded. She wanted to find a way to stop the wall from talking, but she also felt like perhaps she'd brought this upon herself. "I have to go to school," she finally told the wall, slipping outside and away from the chatter.
This is how her safe haven, her room where she loved to sit and read books or play with her dolls, became a nightmare. The wall was a horrible gossip, as it had nothing to do all day than spy on the inhabitants of the house and its visitors. "Do you know what mom and dad were doing in the bedroom this morning," the wall asked. Esther put a popped her earbuds into her ears and put her volume on high. She became afraid to use the bathrooms in the house. It was not convenient.
Esther started spending a lot more time outdoors, which was nice, but sometimes, she still felt the need to talk to someone, and she was too afraid to start talking to the backyard grass or trees, because she needed a spot where nothing would talk back to her!
Then one night, it occurred to her- the walls hadn't spoken before she took the mirror down. Maybe there was a way to stop the conversation once and for all. She searched through the garage until she found a hammer, put the nail back in place and set the mirror back on the wall.
"Hey wall," she shouted, "what do you have to say now?!?!" The wall was silent. She cackled. "You have nothing to say," she screamed. "You can't talk back!!"
From the bottom of the stairs, she heard her grandmother yelling- "Esther, keep it down, for goodness sakes!" It was nice to be heard by someone other than the wall.
Oh I remember my first day on the job, all bright-eyes and sparkle winged, like most 150 year-old fairies who've made it to the big show. I knew I wanted to be a tooth fairy since as long as I could remember. I loved the uniform. I loved the way the tooth fairies brought joy into the lives of humans by leaving them little coins. I especially loved the end result- busting up those teeth until they brought more wonder and imagination into the world. My mother had been a tooth fairy, much to the surprise of her parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters. I wanted to be just like her.
I didn't know at that time about the thirst... the obsession. Tooth fairy school is terribly competitive, such that most prospects drop out after the first decade or so. Those that make it through the program are dedicated, devoted, and determined to be the best. That's the only way to get the job. I was all of those things- hungry to be the best year after year. When they finally issued me the silver tiara and the shimmery blue dress, my focus only grew sharper. It wasn't enough to do my job, and my altruistic vision of making young children smile fell by the wayside as I struggled to surpass every goal.
My contemporaries were doing the same, so there was never a moment of rest. As soon as the lights started to go out in children's bedrooms, I'd be flying my little heart out- straight on through the first light of day and oftentimes after that if I thought I could sneak around some later sleepers. Tooth fairies are oftentimes understaffed. I'm sure most humans have had the experience of waking up with the tooth still under their pillow- all a staffing problem.
And so I went from working five days a week to six to seven. I had bird flu one winter and kept on working. I had no time for a relationship, no time for hobbies. I wouldn't have known a vacation day if it hit me in the face. It was hard even to sleep, because I'd lay down and close my eyes and think about how much more the world needed us. Look at things today! If only we could give humans more perspective through opening their minds to new, imaginative ideas. I mean we've had our good moments- The Age of Enlightenment, The Race for Space, the British rock bands of the 1960s. Those were all good times for teeth.
I have this recurring nightmare which is where I'm trapped in a production of Peter Pan, and all the humans believe they can just shout out "I believe in fairies" and somehow we get powers to stay alive.. oh how misguided humans can be sometimes. Please, please, I want to shout out "just remember to leave us your teeth!" How else can I give back to these feckless dimwits.
Yes, I've become somewhat jaded- I know I know. I'm on probation as I write this. Forbidden from doing the one thing I'm driven to do-- and only because I did it TOO well. Those elderly people kept leaving teeth out- on dressers, in cups of water, next to the bathroom sink. Oftentimes it was several teeth together- big beautiful ones, not just the little rootless stubs I sometimes find under first-grader's pillows. I was like 5,000 dentures away from totally green energy, 120,000 molars from reversing ozone depletion, 250,000 incisors away from finding alien life.. now I have to hope those humans don't destroy everything before I can get back out there again.
It's tough being a fairy.
I didn't know at that time about the thirst... the obsession. Tooth fairy school is terribly competitive, such that most prospects drop out after the first decade or so. Those that make it through the program are dedicated, devoted, and determined to be the best. That's the only way to get the job. I was all of those things- hungry to be the best year after year. When they finally issued me the silver tiara and the shimmery blue dress, my focus only grew sharper. It wasn't enough to do my job, and my altruistic vision of making young children smile fell by the wayside as I struggled to surpass every goal.
My contemporaries were doing the same, so there was never a moment of rest. As soon as the lights started to go out in children's bedrooms, I'd be flying my little heart out- straight on through the first light of day and oftentimes after that if I thought I could sneak around some later sleepers. Tooth fairies are oftentimes understaffed. I'm sure most humans have had the experience of waking up with the tooth still under their pillow- all a staffing problem.
And so I went from working five days a week to six to seven. I had bird flu one winter and kept on working. I had no time for a relationship, no time for hobbies. I wouldn't have known a vacation day if it hit me in the face. It was hard even to sleep, because I'd lay down and close my eyes and think about how much more the world needed us. Look at things today! If only we could give humans more perspective through opening their minds to new, imaginative ideas. I mean we've had our good moments- The Age of Enlightenment, The Race for Space, the British rock bands of the 1960s. Those were all good times for teeth.
I have this recurring nightmare which is where I'm trapped in a production of Peter Pan, and all the humans believe they can just shout out "I believe in fairies" and somehow we get powers to stay alive.. oh how misguided humans can be sometimes. Please, please, I want to shout out "just remember to leave us your teeth!" How else can I give back to these feckless dimwits.
Yes, I've become somewhat jaded- I know I know. I'm on probation as I write this. Forbidden from doing the one thing I'm driven to do-- and only because I did it TOO well. Those elderly people kept leaving teeth out- on dressers, in cups of water, next to the bathroom sink. Oftentimes it was several teeth together- big beautiful ones, not just the little rootless stubs I sometimes find under first-grader's pillows. I was like 5,000 dentures away from totally green energy, 120,000 molars from reversing ozone depletion, 250,000 incisors away from finding alien life.. now I have to hope those humans don't destroy everything before I can get back out there again.
It's tough being a fairy.
Rosie leaned forward on the fence slat until her feet could swing off of the ground. She let her body lay there, suspended, until the wooden plank made sharp marks against her skin. Had things been different, she would have rolled herself forward into a perfect somersault, but no one was watching. Everyone was in the house, crying. They'd been crying for days, though no one would talk to her about why. Rosie had never seen her father cry like this, and rarely seen him shed a tear at all. This was something entirely different. Her mother wailed and sobbed- and her normally beautiful made-up face was drawn and puffy, red and pale at the same time. Rosie didn't want to look at her for too long, because it felt something like staring at a corpse.
The backyard, at least, was empty, and no one followed her there. In fact, no one seemed to want anything to do with her for the last few days. Mom and dad left home for a couple of days, leaving her grandparents in charge, and then they were back. One whole day, everyone wore black and stayed out of the house except for Rosie and her grandmother. They played rummy, and grandma chain-smoked Lucky-Strikes on the back patio while Rosie piled up leaves in the yard and jumped into them.
Then the neighbors started dropping by with food- casseroles, which were these strange large dishes with a mish-mash of ingredients. Rosie had never seen these before and was skeptical of whether she'd like them, but mom and grandma weren't cooking anymore. They just cried.
The second time mom and dad left for a few days, they came back with a car load of boxes. The boxes were filled with her brother's belongings that he'd brought up to college- his astronomy and physics books, his sheets, the fan her mother had insisted he bring along since he'd complained of trouble breathing. Rosie thought about the last time she'd seen her brother- how she wanted to climb all up into his lap like they'd normally do, but he'd pushed her away, saying he was afraid he'd vomit. George had always been her favorite person. He never treated her like a stupid kid, and he always tried to make her smile. One time, when Rosie was in trouble for failing to eat her dinner, George sassed mom so badly, that she filled up a pasta pot with water and dumped it over his head. This eventually resulted in a water fight between the three of them that would go down in family history as one of the most ridiculous things they'd ever done (and Rosie never did have to finish her stringbeans).
Sunday came, and no one went to church. Mom said that there was a falling out with the pastor- because he didn't think anyone went straight to heaven. Then she put herself back to bed.
On Monday- grandma trotted her back out to the bus stop, like nothing was different, like she hadn't just missed two straight weeks of school. When she arrived at her classroom, some people dropped their heads so-as not to look at her. Others ran up and asked where she'd been.
"My brother died," she said. No one else in her family would say it.. no one had an explanation or had any idea how to explain leukemia to a child. They could barely understand it themselves in the late 1960s.
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Author's note
This story, while slightly fictionalized, was my mother's experience when her older brother died. By all accounts, my Uncle George was an absolute rock-star of a person, who was on his way to becoming an astro-physicist. He was 20 when he died from what they determined was leukemia. My grandparents never recovered- there is no recovering when you lose a child. My mother was 7 and no one ever spoke the words to tell her what had happened, and at a time when all they wanted were answers- none could be given.
If there's one person I regret having never been able to meet, my Uncle George is it.
The backyard, at least, was empty, and no one followed her there. In fact, no one seemed to want anything to do with her for the last few days. Mom and dad left home for a couple of days, leaving her grandparents in charge, and then they were back. One whole day, everyone wore black and stayed out of the house except for Rosie and her grandmother. They played rummy, and grandma chain-smoked Lucky-Strikes on the back patio while Rosie piled up leaves in the yard and jumped into them.
Then the neighbors started dropping by with food- casseroles, which were these strange large dishes with a mish-mash of ingredients. Rosie had never seen these before and was skeptical of whether she'd like them, but mom and grandma weren't cooking anymore. They just cried.
The second time mom and dad left for a few days, they came back with a car load of boxes. The boxes were filled with her brother's belongings that he'd brought up to college- his astronomy and physics books, his sheets, the fan her mother had insisted he bring along since he'd complained of trouble breathing. Rosie thought about the last time she'd seen her brother- how she wanted to climb all up into his lap like they'd normally do, but he'd pushed her away, saying he was afraid he'd vomit. George had always been her favorite person. He never treated her like a stupid kid, and he always tried to make her smile. One time, when Rosie was in trouble for failing to eat her dinner, George sassed mom so badly, that she filled up a pasta pot with water and dumped it over his head. This eventually resulted in a water fight between the three of them that would go down in family history as one of the most ridiculous things they'd ever done (and Rosie never did have to finish her stringbeans).
Sunday came, and no one went to church. Mom said that there was a falling out with the pastor- because he didn't think anyone went straight to heaven. Then she put herself back to bed.
On Monday- grandma trotted her back out to the bus stop, like nothing was different, like she hadn't just missed two straight weeks of school. When she arrived at her classroom, some people dropped their heads so-as not to look at her. Others ran up and asked where she'd been.
"My brother died," she said. No one else in her family would say it.. no one had an explanation or had any idea how to explain leukemia to a child. They could barely understand it themselves in the late 1960s.
----------------------------------------
Author's note
This story, while slightly fictionalized, was my mother's experience when her older brother died. By all accounts, my Uncle George was an absolute rock-star of a person, who was on his way to becoming an astro-physicist. He was 20 when he died from what they determined was leukemia. My grandparents never recovered- there is no recovering when you lose a child. My mother was 7 and no one ever spoke the words to tell her what had happened, and at a time when all they wanted were answers- none could be given.
If there's one person I regret having never been able to meet, my Uncle George is it.
Today, the pain is back. It's the bad one- the one that feels like little minions have entered my body and begun trying to rip apart my intestines and other various organs in the lower part of my torso. I have to keep remind myself that this pain used to be so much more frequent, that I've gone almost three months without it. At this point though, it's hard to focus on much of anything. Endometriosis is a very misunderstood condition. I've heard other friends complain that they've had doctors (especially male ones) discount their pain, but until my endometriosis ramped up, I'd never had that experience. I'm usually a really easy patient. My pain tolerance is high. My patience tolerance is high (I have four children to look after, so this one has grown a lot in the last 13 years). I'm easy.
Except that I went literally YEARS complaining of pain in my lower abdomen. The OB/GYN would do an exam, have a sonogram done, and find my ovarian cyst. Every six months, the cyst would show up in the same spot, but larger than before, and every six months the radiology tech would list it as "possibly the same cyst as last scan, or a new one." What a coincidence, really, that we kept imagining that new cysts kept popping up every six months with each one larger than the last.
The doctors' solution was always birth control, which at first, I did not want because I knew I wanted a fourth baby. Plus, the pain wasn't quite so bad before Sebastian was born (more like one little minion wrecking havoc in my body instead of many). After I had my sweet, mischievous, much desired bundle of joy, the pain continued. It seemed to get worse with each cycle. So, the doctors decided that the miracle cure for all pain should be used- Mirena. Lots of women have success with Mirena. I am relatively certain that Mirena pays a boatload of money endorsing their product. For me, it was a complete failure.
If you can imagine every bad, annoying, painful symptom of female reproduction, Mirena gave it to me tenfold. At some point after it was inserted, the darn thing fell out, not that I could even notice due to the amount of blood I was losing from day to day. I became unexpectedly pregnant, in what would become the worst miscarriage I've ever had. My doctor knew the hell I was going through- bad symptoms from the Mirena, unexpected pregnancy, etc, and still, no one was really looking out for my care or well being. It was more a race to make sure no one would get sued for malpractice.
I went through several roller coaster weeks- yes you're pregnant, no we don't know where the Mirena went, yes your baby looks great on the sonogram, no your numbers don't seem to be climbing to where they should be. A couple of days before the miscarriage, a radiologist did another sonogram to make sure he couldn't find the Mirena floating around in my body injuring my other organs. He raved about how good the baby looked with a strong heartbeat and all moving around. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was looking at a failed pregnancy- it didn't look like a failed pregnancy. They didn't find the Mirena floating in my pelvis though, so that was wonderful- the doctors must have been really thrilled because they didn't bother calling me back with my last round of bloodwork for TEN days.
In that time, the baby was lost. Me, having to deliver all of the tissue and blood and the whole intact amniotic sac in my upstairs bathroom, by myself, while my kids were off at their first day of school. When it was over, I could hold the whole sac in my one hand- the baby who would never be couldn't look at me- eyes being sealed shut, but it was a wonder seeing ten of the tiniest fingers and toes and toenails. And I had no idea what to do with such a thing. To throw it in the trash seemed horrifying. We buried the baby in a canister in the backyard.
When the nurse finally bothered to call me back, I reamed them. I relayed my story, in detail, and they had nothing to say. The following day, the nurse manager called me back to yell at ME for upsetting one of her nurses so much with my story. After 20 years with that doctor's office, I told them I would not be back, and I wasn't.
The pain though- the pain got so much worse after the miscarriage. Month after month, it would flare up a few days around ovulation and the entirety of my period. It was debilitating at time. Ibuprofen couldn't touch it and was a waste of time. We were getting ready to move, but couldn't sell the house quickly enough so I found a local OB office to do my annual checkup. This guy-- I mean he really couldn't be bothered.
I told him about the Mirena and the pain and the cyst that just kept growing. He suggested another IUD. As if I was ever going to put another one of those devices in my body. "Mirena is a great form of birth control," he said. He sent me for another sonogram which showed- no surprise, a bigger ovarian cyst than last time but in the exact same place. He said it seemed like I had all the symptoms for endometriosis, but then didn't follow up at all. I declined the IUD (which he said was the answer for all things endometriosis) and vowed I would find someone better after we moved to Pennsylvania.
Throughout the summer though and into the fall, the pain got even more intrusive. I started to bloat like I was 6 months pregnant. I waddled. I moaned. I felt pretty much completely useless for several days out of the cycle, and the cycle shortened so that I'd get my period every three weeks. I was miserable. I did a ton of research to find the best OB/GYN in this area and picked one that was 40 minutes away just because they seemed the most prepared, and I chose a female doctor. I'd never had a female OB/GYN.
For the first time, it seemed like someone was listening to me at that appointment. She didn't recommend Mirena or another IUD. She understood my feelings and past experiences. She did think that hormonal birth control would be important in managing my symptoms though, and she promised that if this was an awful failure, we'd look at doing surgery to remove the cyst and any visible endometria. It's been three months since I started the new medication and three months without any pain-- until now.
So I'm reminding myself, this is an improvement, even if it doesn't feel that way right now. I can get through this. I've been through much worse.
Except that I went literally YEARS complaining of pain in my lower abdomen. The OB/GYN would do an exam, have a sonogram done, and find my ovarian cyst. Every six months, the cyst would show up in the same spot, but larger than before, and every six months the radiology tech would list it as "possibly the same cyst as last scan, or a new one." What a coincidence, really, that we kept imagining that new cysts kept popping up every six months with each one larger than the last.
The doctors' solution was always birth control, which at first, I did not want because I knew I wanted a fourth baby. Plus, the pain wasn't quite so bad before Sebastian was born (more like one little minion wrecking havoc in my body instead of many). After I had my sweet, mischievous, much desired bundle of joy, the pain continued. It seemed to get worse with each cycle. So, the doctors decided that the miracle cure for all pain should be used- Mirena. Lots of women have success with Mirena. I am relatively certain that Mirena pays a boatload of money endorsing their product. For me, it was a complete failure.
If you can imagine every bad, annoying, painful symptom of female reproduction, Mirena gave it to me tenfold. At some point after it was inserted, the darn thing fell out, not that I could even notice due to the amount of blood I was losing from day to day. I became unexpectedly pregnant, in what would become the worst miscarriage I've ever had. My doctor knew the hell I was going through- bad symptoms from the Mirena, unexpected pregnancy, etc, and still, no one was really looking out for my care or well being. It was more a race to make sure no one would get sued for malpractice.
I went through several roller coaster weeks- yes you're pregnant, no we don't know where the Mirena went, yes your baby looks great on the sonogram, no your numbers don't seem to be climbing to where they should be. A couple of days before the miscarriage, a radiologist did another sonogram to make sure he couldn't find the Mirena floating around in my body injuring my other organs. He raved about how good the baby looked with a strong heartbeat and all moving around. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was looking at a failed pregnancy- it didn't look like a failed pregnancy. They didn't find the Mirena floating in my pelvis though, so that was wonderful- the doctors must have been really thrilled because they didn't bother calling me back with my last round of bloodwork for TEN days.
In that time, the baby was lost. Me, having to deliver all of the tissue and blood and the whole intact amniotic sac in my upstairs bathroom, by myself, while my kids were off at their first day of school. When it was over, I could hold the whole sac in my one hand- the baby who would never be couldn't look at me- eyes being sealed shut, but it was a wonder seeing ten of the tiniest fingers and toes and toenails. And I had no idea what to do with such a thing. To throw it in the trash seemed horrifying. We buried the baby in a canister in the backyard.
When the nurse finally bothered to call me back, I reamed them. I relayed my story, in detail, and they had nothing to say. The following day, the nurse manager called me back to yell at ME for upsetting one of her nurses so much with my story. After 20 years with that doctor's office, I told them I would not be back, and I wasn't.
The pain though- the pain got so much worse after the miscarriage. Month after month, it would flare up a few days around ovulation and the entirety of my period. It was debilitating at time. Ibuprofen couldn't touch it and was a waste of time. We were getting ready to move, but couldn't sell the house quickly enough so I found a local OB office to do my annual checkup. This guy-- I mean he really couldn't be bothered.
I told him about the Mirena and the pain and the cyst that just kept growing. He suggested another IUD. As if I was ever going to put another one of those devices in my body. "Mirena is a great form of birth control," he said. He sent me for another sonogram which showed- no surprise, a bigger ovarian cyst than last time but in the exact same place. He said it seemed like I had all the symptoms for endometriosis, but then didn't follow up at all. I declined the IUD (which he said was the answer for all things endometriosis) and vowed I would find someone better after we moved to Pennsylvania.
Throughout the summer though and into the fall, the pain got even more intrusive. I started to bloat like I was 6 months pregnant. I waddled. I moaned. I felt pretty much completely useless for several days out of the cycle, and the cycle shortened so that I'd get my period every three weeks. I was miserable. I did a ton of research to find the best OB/GYN in this area and picked one that was 40 minutes away just because they seemed the most prepared, and I chose a female doctor. I'd never had a female OB/GYN.
For the first time, it seemed like someone was listening to me at that appointment. She didn't recommend Mirena or another IUD. She understood my feelings and past experiences. She did think that hormonal birth control would be important in managing my symptoms though, and she promised that if this was an awful failure, we'd look at doing surgery to remove the cyst and any visible endometria. It's been three months since I started the new medication and three months without any pain-- until now.
So I'm reminding myself, this is an improvement, even if it doesn't feel that way right now. I can get through this. I've been through much worse.
Myra couldn't explain why she was drawn to the sea. She couldn't swim. She was terrified of wading past her waist in the water, but she would sneak off to the beach whenever she had the chance. Myra had a collection of seaglass, which sounded exotic and natural, but actually were old beer bottles and discarded glassware that found there way into the water. She never picked up any pieces that looked sharp around the edges, those weren't ready and were promptly thrown back to whence they came. The smooth ones though- all different shades of cream and green and brown with a rare sighting of blue or purple, those pieces all found their way back into an old jar she kept at her bedside. It was like a piece of the sea could live right next to her as she slept. That was a comfort, and not many things were a comfort for such an anxiety stricken girl.
Myra skirted around the sharp rocks and the horseshoe crab shells, her eyes darting left to right looking for a glimmer of glass. The skys were overcast, threatening rain but never giving it, leaving the beach dripping with humidity. She watched her grandfather swimming laps across the water. He didn't exercise much anymore, but he did love to swim. He said his body moved faster in the water these days. Myra wasn't sure he was any speedier, but knew that he loved having an excuse to get out of the house.
"Come for a swim," he beckoned, knowing full well that she wouldn't want to get into the water. Grandfather was always trying to teach her to swim, convincing her to lay on the water face up. "Relax and you'll float," he would tell her. Myra could not relax, even with his strong hands underneath her. As soon as she raised her face to the sky, the terror would set in. She felt too vulnerable, too scared. It was like the whole world was looking at her- God and the angels and anyone within miles, and she was letting them all down.
It was hot though- almost unbearably hot. Myra slipped off her cover-up and dipped her toes into the icy water. She dipped her ankles and up to her knees without any problem at all, pushing away the seaweed from her legs. "Please don't make me float grandfather," she pre-empted him. He waded over to her side.
"What if we try something new," he asked. "No looking at the sky, no laying on your back." Myra wasn't sure what he was talking about, but it sounded at least a little intriguing. "Have you ever done the 'Dead Man's Float'," Grandfather asked. Myra shook her head.
Grandfather threw himself into the water face-first, stretching his hands out in front of him. It was quite creepy, and she decided that if she could somehow pull of this floating maneuver, she could freak out her younger siblings. Myra knew she should have been just as afraid at this float as the other one- after all, here she had to keep her whole face underwater, shutting out the whole world while she floated.
Somehow though, she decided this might actually work. Myra slowly bent forward, tried to lift up her legs, and waited for the last minute to dunk her face. Everything went dark and quiet. She reached her arms out in front of her, palms resting on the water, and she suddenly felt almost.. almost at peace. Grandfather beamed from his spot nearby, not that Myra could see him or even remember he was there. She didn't want to even come up from her float, but eventually needed another breath of air. She spent the rest of the afternoon working on staying afloat as long as possible without needing more air.
Myra never did learn how to swim properly, and never again would even attempt to float on her back. It was always the Dead Man's Float from here on out, even after a jellyfish took a liking to her forehead one morning. Long after her Grandfather was gone, Myra taught her own daughter to float like her, and they lay there together, quietly, gently, and without being afraid of the water.
Myra skirted around the sharp rocks and the horseshoe crab shells, her eyes darting left to right looking for a glimmer of glass. The skys were overcast, threatening rain but never giving it, leaving the beach dripping with humidity. She watched her grandfather swimming laps across the water. He didn't exercise much anymore, but he did love to swim. He said his body moved faster in the water these days. Myra wasn't sure he was any speedier, but knew that he loved having an excuse to get out of the house.
"Come for a swim," he beckoned, knowing full well that she wouldn't want to get into the water. Grandfather was always trying to teach her to swim, convincing her to lay on the water face up. "Relax and you'll float," he would tell her. Myra could not relax, even with his strong hands underneath her. As soon as she raised her face to the sky, the terror would set in. She felt too vulnerable, too scared. It was like the whole world was looking at her- God and the angels and anyone within miles, and she was letting them all down.
It was hot though- almost unbearably hot. Myra slipped off her cover-up and dipped her toes into the icy water. She dipped her ankles and up to her knees without any problem at all, pushing away the seaweed from her legs. "Please don't make me float grandfather," she pre-empted him. He waded over to her side.
"What if we try something new," he asked. "No looking at the sky, no laying on your back." Myra wasn't sure what he was talking about, but it sounded at least a little intriguing. "Have you ever done the 'Dead Man's Float'," Grandfather asked. Myra shook her head.
Grandfather threw himself into the water face-first, stretching his hands out in front of him. It was quite creepy, and she decided that if she could somehow pull of this floating maneuver, she could freak out her younger siblings. Myra knew she should have been just as afraid at this float as the other one- after all, here she had to keep her whole face underwater, shutting out the whole world while she floated.
Somehow though, she decided this might actually work. Myra slowly bent forward, tried to lift up her legs, and waited for the last minute to dunk her face. Everything went dark and quiet. She reached her arms out in front of her, palms resting on the water, and she suddenly felt almost.. almost at peace. Grandfather beamed from his spot nearby, not that Myra could see him or even remember he was there. She didn't want to even come up from her float, but eventually needed another breath of air. She spent the rest of the afternoon working on staying afloat as long as possible without needing more air.
Myra never did learn how to swim properly, and never again would even attempt to float on her back. It was always the Dead Man's Float from here on out, even after a jellyfish took a liking to her forehead one morning. Long after her Grandfather was gone, Myra taught her own daughter to float like her, and they lay there together, quietly, gently, and without being afraid of the water.
Everyone was there for Aunt Josephine's funeral- sister, brother, all the nieces and nephews. No one was going to miss a chance to say goodbye to their lovely and eccentric aunt, and no one was going to miss the opportunity to snoop around her home after the burial. They'd all heard Josephine's stories- the hidden money, the jewels, the fortune she'd never mention in her will. Well, not everyone had heard the exact same story. It was known to change from time to time and from person to person, but the gist of it was the same. There was something in those floorboards! There had to be. Josephine had promised it to all of them.
The family came together in the living room, snacks and drinks scattered around the first floor of the house because each person was attempting to unobtrusively look for clues while they set out the meal. Each person wondered if someone else had a little extra information that might tip the search in the right direction. Alas, it did not seem that way. Dress shoes clanked against the hard wood floors back and forth like a stampede as the family members got more and more frantic that they might not be the ones to find Josephine's fortune, but still, no one said anything about it out loud.
Jerry used his four year old to scope out divots in the floor- making it seem like he was just "playing robots" in each corner of the room. Finally, it was Suzanne who noticed what looked like a mouse hole in one of the corners of the dining room. She was too afraid to reach into the dark spot herself, so she sent her husband crawling onto the floor. Steve pulled a small ziplock back from the hole and pulled a lined piece of looseleaf from the bag. The room stood still. No one could take their eyes off of the retired school principal as he unfolded the paper and read it aloud.
"Well, it says 'the treasure lies with sugar.'" Everyone looked at him quizzically. Certainly this meant there was some unfound fortune, but no one expected a wild goose chase to find it. Gasps were heard around the room. Jerry took off into the kitchen, determined to find the sugar bowl first. Unfortunately, nothing was found by the sugar bowl, the sugar spoons or the bags of brown, white or powdered sugar in the pantry. The family spread out around the house looking for any other item that may involve sugar. Steve consoled himself by eating all of the mini hot dogs and started to feel sick to his stomach.
It was Caroline who peeled herself from the crowd and went into the backyard, remembering that one of Josephine's beloved cats was, in fact, named "Sugar." She found herself in the rear of the yard wondering how far she would go to find the box of treasures that her aunt had been touting since she was a child. Could she dig up the remains of Josephine's old cat? Jerry noticed that Caroline was back by the fence and came to the same realization about the cat. He ran out and stood next to his sister.
"You don't think," he grimaced.
"I mean, at this point..." she winced.
Steve and Suzanne joined the fray- each one of them scowling at the idea that they may have to dig into the pet graveyard. "She wouldn't have," Suzanne said. Steve started to feel even more ill. He leaned onto a small fountain next to the grave markers and used his other hand to grab his woozy stomach. As he began to keel over, the fountain tipped and fell right into the graveyard, and another ziplock baggie fell out. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Jerry motioned for Caroline to pick it up. "You thought of the cat first- you read it."
Caroline opened the paper to find Josephine's elegant handwriting. It read:
I have promised you all a fortune, and for that reason, I expect you'll all be together when you read this. I had no children of my own, and so my nieces and nephews have always been my legacy. Regrettably, I leave you no money. I tried to hit the lotto jackpot, but our dear God did not see it in my cards and so I cannot enrich you all financially. I hope to have given you a great adventure in my absence though, as I always tried to encourage your endeavors and imaginations when I was alive. The greatest fortune you will ever have is each other, and I know that each of you is a treasure. Be good to each other, as I have always tried to be to you. Love forever, Josephine
Suzanne didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry, so a sobbish sound came from her mouth that was a little of each. The cousins gathered together and hugged, and with the family treasure drama behind them, felt more compelled to tell funny stories about their aunt and her antics, and each of them, unbeknownst to each other, decided they may want to plan a treasure hunt of their own for their descendants. This was a lesson that should be carried on after all.
The family came together in the living room, snacks and drinks scattered around the first floor of the house because each person was attempting to unobtrusively look for clues while they set out the meal. Each person wondered if someone else had a little extra information that might tip the search in the right direction. Alas, it did not seem that way. Dress shoes clanked against the hard wood floors back and forth like a stampede as the family members got more and more frantic that they might not be the ones to find Josephine's fortune, but still, no one said anything about it out loud.
Jerry used his four year old to scope out divots in the floor- making it seem like he was just "playing robots" in each corner of the room. Finally, it was Suzanne who noticed what looked like a mouse hole in one of the corners of the dining room. She was too afraid to reach into the dark spot herself, so she sent her husband crawling onto the floor. Steve pulled a small ziplock back from the hole and pulled a lined piece of looseleaf from the bag. The room stood still. No one could take their eyes off of the retired school principal as he unfolded the paper and read it aloud.
"Well, it says 'the treasure lies with sugar.'" Everyone looked at him quizzically. Certainly this meant there was some unfound fortune, but no one expected a wild goose chase to find it. Gasps were heard around the room. Jerry took off into the kitchen, determined to find the sugar bowl first. Unfortunately, nothing was found by the sugar bowl, the sugar spoons or the bags of brown, white or powdered sugar in the pantry. The family spread out around the house looking for any other item that may involve sugar. Steve consoled himself by eating all of the mini hot dogs and started to feel sick to his stomach.
It was Caroline who peeled herself from the crowd and went into the backyard, remembering that one of Josephine's beloved cats was, in fact, named "Sugar." She found herself in the rear of the yard wondering how far she would go to find the box of treasures that her aunt had been touting since she was a child. Could she dig up the remains of Josephine's old cat? Jerry noticed that Caroline was back by the fence and came to the same realization about the cat. He ran out and stood next to his sister.
"You don't think," he grimaced.
"I mean, at this point..." she winced.
Steve and Suzanne joined the fray- each one of them scowling at the idea that they may have to dig into the pet graveyard. "She wouldn't have," Suzanne said. Steve started to feel even more ill. He leaned onto a small fountain next to the grave markers and used his other hand to grab his woozy stomach. As he began to keel over, the fountain tipped and fell right into the graveyard, and another ziplock baggie fell out. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Jerry motioned for Caroline to pick it up. "You thought of the cat first- you read it."
Caroline opened the paper to find Josephine's elegant handwriting. It read:
I have promised you all a fortune, and for that reason, I expect you'll all be together when you read this. I had no children of my own, and so my nieces and nephews have always been my legacy. Regrettably, I leave you no money. I tried to hit the lotto jackpot, but our dear God did not see it in my cards and so I cannot enrich you all financially. I hope to have given you a great adventure in my absence though, as I always tried to encourage your endeavors and imaginations when I was alive. The greatest fortune you will ever have is each other, and I know that each of you is a treasure. Be good to each other, as I have always tried to be to you. Love forever, Josephine
Suzanne didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry, so a sobbish sound came from her mouth that was a little of each. The cousins gathered together and hugged, and with the family treasure drama behind them, felt more compelled to tell funny stories about their aunt and her antics, and each of them, unbeknownst to each other, decided they may want to plan a treasure hunt of their own for their descendants. This was a lesson that should be carried on after all.
Comments
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