Work in progress

“Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six!” I count in my head. Yes! I finally beat my high score of thirty-five seconds underwater. I return to the surface of the twelve-foot local pool just in time for my mother to see me. Oh no. She hates it when I go to the public pool; she is always saying how poor these kids are because they do not have their own pool in their back yard as we do.
“Gwendolyn! What did I tell you about coming here? You have a perfectly nice pool at home and there is no reason why you should be here!” She screeched when she saw me and stomped over to yell some more. She always uses my full name instead of the shorter version I would prefer used.
“Mother, I want to meet people my age. I do not get a chance to make friends when Father is home schooling me, and I want to. In addition, this pool is deeper by four feet and I like going down to the bottom and seeing how long I can hold my breath. I am sorry I disappoint you mother, but could I stay for a few minutes? I’ve just arrived ten minutes ago and the pool had just opened, so I didn’t get a chance to meet anyone yet.” I explained to her quickly and hoped that I could maybe stay for a few more seconds instead of minutes; it was more probable considering that my mother was making the decision instead of myself.
She frowned at me with her fashionable sunglasses sliding down her nose. I waited, and made my face hopeful, and extremely sorry for my “improper” behavior. I began to doubt even trying from the way her face looked, but she sniffed the air in the most arrogant fashion before leaning even closer to whisper in my ear. “Gwendolyn, if you wish to make friends then your Father and I may consider letting you go to a private school. Nevertheless, this will take you an exceeding amount of precision for I will only deliberate letting you go if you are on your best behavior and are not a disappointment to me. I will give you a choice. Either you can try to go to a public school or you can come here whenever you wish. If you choose to come here, then I will not even tell your Father that I think you wish go to a private school. However, if you choose the school, then you will have to get out this very instant and come home with me. What do you choose Gwendolyn?”
“Oh, mother, thank you! I should like to go to the bottom once more before I make my decision. I will only be half a minute, will you wait for my decision please?” I replied in my most courteous of manners. I had already chosen the school, but I knew that she would never let me go to the bottom if I had told her what I wished. I was used to being sly around her. I on no account had gotten my way in an argument with her.
I waited for a moment, and upon seeing that she would wait I dove to the bottom without making one drop of water go anywhere near her. She would be outraged if I splashed her and might take away the choice of freedom to a school. I didn’t have goggles with me, so I could not see where I was going. I had to put my hand out in front of me so that I could feel the bottom. It took me about a second to make it twelve feet down; I had been practicing. I counted in my head to twenty-eight and knew that she was counting too. It had taken me a second to make it down, but only half to make it back.
I scrambled up the ladder and grabbed my towel. She was still waiting for an answer, and stood by the ladder. “I should like to try the private school if I could mother.” Was all that I had to say to her to see a surprised look cross her face. I expect that she had thought it was the pool, seeing as I never complained about being home all the time, but had always nagged about the depth of the in ground that was in our back yard. I loved the park pool; it was a solid fact.
“Fine. Let’s go Gwendolyn.” She took my hand promptly but upon feeling the temperature, dropped it immediately. My hands were always freezing after being in the pool, but not naturally, so my mother never took me to a doctor or a hospital for it. She paused for me to get my shoes, and then picked up the pace. I never wore any clothes here, just came and left in my swimming suit and took my towel along. As we went out the gate, I turned and waved goodbye to the pool and the lifeguards for I knew that I probably wouldn’t be able to come back until I was eighteen.
Our car revved to a start and I hurried to get in before she changed her mind and made me ride the bus back. It was our Mercedes-Benz; just off the market last year. I was used to having expensive cars in my driveway though. I cannot remember one time when the vehicle that my parents bought had been used before or more than two years old. My sister picked it out and my favorite so far. It had tinted windows, and was pitch black. The seats were leather and I absolutely loved this car. If I ever got enough money saved, then I would buy one myself when I got my license.
She did not speak to me until we were almost home “Gwendolyn, when we get home I want you to go upstairs and get a shower. I will send your Father up to talk to you when we finish discussing your behavior and your choice. I do not want to see or hear you trying to climb out your window. You may not get on the computer or the phone until I give you further permission. Please put something nice on for dinner tonight so no jeans, and do not leave your room unless you have to go to the bathroom. Is that clear Gwendolyn?”
“Yes mother.” I answered quietly. I knew that she would be trying to see how much I wanted to go to school by testing my patience. I would obey her, and even though it would drive me crazy, I would not sneak out my window.
When we had parked in the garage, I hopped out and went inside. I took my dripping shoes off and put them on the deck to dry. Not dripping water throughout the house would certainly give me some points on the behavior scale in my mother’s head. I briskly went to check the time. It was twelve forty-five, which meant that I only had to wait two and a half hours for my father to lecture me on what was right and wrong. I went up two flights of stairs to my room for clothes, and then went down the hall to the bathroom. I flung my towel in the hamper, and listened as it fell three flights to the basement where the laundry basket was. I folded the clothes that I had picked out for this afternoon and set them on the counter by the sink.
My shower did not take long enough. I took extra time trying to make my hair straight and silky, but I only succeeded in half of my hopes. It came out silky, but not straight, and I knew that my mother did not like the way it looked right now. I finished drying my hair – which took an infuriating long time, might I add – and turned halfway around to see if it would meet her requirements. It trailed all the way to my waist, and one glance at it I knew that she would not like it no matter what I did with it or how much time I spent trying to straighten it.
Walking back down the hall to my room, I listened to see if my father was back yet. No, his voice was not winding its way up the stairs, which I would hear even from the kitchen, which happened to be two floors below me. I had not been able to spend over two hours in the bathroom then. Sigh. All that is left is dinner clothes and waiting. And nothing else.
Our house was three and a half stories high. That included the attic and the three floors that we used normally. There was also the basement, but it was underground so it did not really count for very much in the stories department. The attic was what I call “half a story” because no one goes up there ever. I don’t think that anything is up there, but I wouldn’t really know because I have never been up farther than my floor. My room, the giant bathroom, and my sister’s room that is mostly for guests are the only things up there.
My sister is twenty-four and in college; she’s going to graduate in about a month. She’s becoming a lawyer, which pleased my dad. I don’t have any other siblings because my parents stopped at me. I think it was because I disappoint them so much. My mother always wanted another child like my sister; she was perfect in every way. She got high honor roll every grading period, a straight-A student, her hair was red, she loved wearing “girly” things like dresses, and she never climbed trees. I, on the other hand was a completely different story. I got a B average every year, my hair is black, I hate dresses and makeup, I wiggle my way to the ground from my window almost every day (obviously not something that was approved by the handbook of parenting my mother owns, not that there is one published strict enough for her), and I like to climb the tallest trees that I can find.
My mother never really liked me, but it was enough to live. It was enough to give me my own room and not the attic. It was enough to buy me a birthday cake every year. It was enough to call the doctor when I was sick. But it was not enough to make me feel loved. My sister, well, she got all the attention. She’s perfect in every way, remember?
My father never liked me; I was supposed to be his son, but surprise! I was wrong again. Everything about me was just about the opposite of what they wanted me to be. Sometimes it’s depressing, not being loved like my sister, but it also gives me a purpose. To make my parents proud of me was the very one.
It’s more probable that I should be jealous of my sister, much more so than loving her to bits and running to the door when she comes home for the weekend. But, I was never predictable, and I do rush to greet her and sometimes I’m so impatient that I don’t even wait for her to make it to a complete stop or even into the driveway. Once I met her a block away from the house and rode back the entire way.
I made it back to my room and checked the time. I had managed to spend and hour and fifteen minutes in the bathroom, good. The less time waiting, the better. Only half the time left now, so maybe I wouldn’t be crazy when he came up.
My room was huge. There was no other way to describe it. Considering it took up nearly a third of the floor, it had to be. But I knew that if I ever had any friends, they would be so jealous it would make them sick. My bed was king sized and I had a desk that would bring nothing good along with it because of its giant size. My computer and phone sat on it along with the different things I’d researched for my sister online. I had a bookshelf that ran alongside the wall opposite of the door, which I had filled to the very maximum limit of novels.
I loved books, but not the non-fiction ones. J.R.R. Tolken’s classics lined the shelf that was eye level, and they were some of the most worn volumes that I owned. To Kill a Mocking Bird was also showing some wear and tear, but my favorite that was my absolute, completely worn out favorite with the sagging binding was Make Lemonade by Virginia Euwer Wolff. I had just recently finished reading it yet again yesterday morning. It was still sitting on my desk by the computer chair that I liked to use to read. I picked it up and looked for the correct spot that it went in, which wasn’t easy. After a quick look at my shelf, it was clear to me what I had that would keep me busy.
Before I went into an enormous project, I decided that I should find what I would wear to dinner. I opened my closet and stepped in. My closet was just the thing that would make someone envious. I swear that you could fit a sleeping bag or two inside and still have room for the clothes.
I passed the sweaters, dress up pants, and dresses. It was too warm in the house to wear any of those and I hated those types of clothes even though they were not as bad as the ones my mother might have bought me. I went to the end of the lower rack and looked at my choice of blouses. I could see right now that there was not going to be a higher road for this decision. I closed my eyes, because I knew I’d never pick one if I saw what I was doing, and reached out to find what I would wear.
My hand found the shirt that was white. I loved the color red, a good color for me considering my black hair, so I thought of the skirt that was my favorite shade. It didn’t look like there was going to be that much torture in putting the blouse on, the skirt was another story. But, I had expected as much considering that I never had much luck with choosing one blindly. I sighed to myself as I pulled it out and looked at my outfit: a knee-length red skirt with a button-down white blouse. It looked all right to me, but my mother normally didn’t approve of the outfits I chose and thought matched. That was the reason I kept it simple, so that there was no way I could mess up.
I laid it out on my bed and went to my bookshelf. I had an hour of time left now, so I shouldn’t have that much time left after this. I started by pulling them all out and putting them in categories by the type of book it was. Then I dusted the shelves and finished arranging them on my floor according to the author’s last name within the types.
It wasn’t easy, but I did it. I had finished putting the ones with mysteries when my father came home. I panicked, considering that I only had about fifteen minutes until he came up here. I hurried and finished with all the animal ones, then the fictions that were simply fiction.
I listened, to see if my parents had finished talking amongst themselves yet. The sounds were not clear, so I had to open my door to check. The conversation sounded like it was coming to an end.
I threw the shirt and jeans into my closet, they weren’t dirty yet. The dinner clothes went on and I sat on my bed waiting for the lecture to begin.
My father’s footsteps thundered up the stairs not a second after I finished sitting down. He made it up to the second floor, now he was going up to my floor. Impatiently, I waited.
The door opened. “Gwendolyn. I hear from your mother you have disobeyed again, huh? She doesn’t like it when you go to the park pool; I think you should stick around here from now on.” He said with just a hint of ‘I think you’re grounded’ in his voice, but trying to sound friendly.
“Yes Father. I promised that I wouldn’t go back ever again.” I reassured him quietly.
“But, you also said you would stop climbing the trees and out your window last year. I saw you this morning going out your window to get to the trees. How can she be sure that you will honor your promise?” He asked slyly.
“Father, mother said she would talk to you about letting me go to a private school. It’s a trade considering that I must please both you and my mother and if I behave and do not go to the pool, I can go to a private school.” I answered rather impatient because he always talked to me like this; trading and slyness along with a little teasing. “Hasn’t she already discussed this with you today?”
“Your mother has told me of your trade, but I was wondering why didn’t you choose the pool? Why the school, everyone your age would probably say that they wanted to be home schooled and you want to go in to junior high? I do not understand why you would do such a thing Gwendolyn.” He asked so that he could report my answer to my mother. I had to think a moment because I knew he would ask the questions, but I needed to know if the truth would give me points or punishment from my mother.
“I choose the school over the pool because we have a pool in our backyard. I would have a better opportunity to meet people my age at school rather than staying home every day. It’s not that I do not like your teaching, I don’t meet anyone and I’m rather lonely most of the time.” I replied, telling parts of the truth and some fibs where I knew my mother would disapprove.
“Well, Gwendolyn, it seems to me that depending on your behavior tonight we shall look into enrolling you in the private school. You know, I used to live around here, in Jerome might I add. That’s the town where your sister took you to the street fair the one year, do you remember?”
Yes, of course I remembered. It was one of the most wonderful days I ever had. The food was delicious, and the rides were fast. My sister took me and we sat in the grass by the band while we ate ice cream and pie. I would never forget that time because it was one of the happiest days of my life. “Yes, Father. I remember the fair.” I replied to answer his question out loud. I would not tell him everything that I thought of in my head, it would take off points from my behavior scale.
“I should go get dinner ready. Your mother asked me to tell you to stay in your room and to follow the instructions she gave you before. I will call you when dinner is ready.” He said as he stood up and quietly walked out the door, but closed it after he left.
I was going to school! I could go to school; it was another of the happiest days of my life. I got up and went to my newly organized bookshelf and chose a book to keep myself busy until dinner.
I had only gotten to the part when the Frodo runs to meet the rest of the party at the hall in The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolken when my father bellowed “Gwendolyn! Dinner is ready!”
I hastily put the book down and suddenly remembered that it didn’t have a book mark, but it didn’t matter. I went to my mirror and smoothed my skirt, then walked out my door to the staircase to meet whatever was waiting for me head on.
The kitchen of our house is on the second floor, which seems strange to most every person that walks through the house. It’s on that floor because my parent’s bedroom is on the first so that they don’t have to climb stairs and there is no room for it on the other floors.
The first floor is made up of my parent’s bedroom, the living room, my father’s study, the powder room, and the classroom. The classroom is where I take my school lessons, and I’m pretty sure that it’s almost half of that floor. My father’s study is where he relaxes, but I really think that he just hides from everyone in there instead of relaxing. The living room is where the flat screen television is at, and also the fireplace. I don’t like being on the first floor much; I’d rather be in my room or the library.
The library is on the second floor too. I only have my favorites in my room, but there are hundreds more in the library. My mother has her own section for text books and non fiction, and my father has hunting stories in his study, so the rest of it is for Rachael and me. The fiction books in there were not picked out by me, and I didn’t buy any of them. Actually, my sister owns most of them, and the ones she didn’t buy are from my aunt. My aunt died about a year ago and she left my sister all of her books, and they take up almost three fourths of the fiction section.
I had no idea on what we were having for dinner, and I hoped it wasn’t spaghetti because stains did not go over well with my mother. Moreover, I was wearing white. I sniffed the air, prayed for a miracle, and found that we were having fish instead of pasta. I hadn’t the slightest idea of what kind of fish it was, but I was just glad it was in an entirely different food group.
When I walked off the last step and into the kitchen, I looked and saw that the table was already set. Salad, bread, butter and wine glasses were sitting by the platter with fish. The white tablecloth that we never use except for special occasions was on the round table. The fish did not look like it was from the sea, such as tilapia would. It was breaded, and there was tartar sauce with a choice of horseradish beside the fishplate.
“Hello Gwendolyn, you look very nice this evening.” My father said to me as greeting, which caught me off guard; I was expecting to be scolded, not praised.
“Hello Father, dinner looks lovely.” I tried to soften him up with a compliment to make my well-mannered behavior even more polite.
“Gwendolyn, your Father is right, you look absolutely wonderful in that outfit and it matches your hair so well.” My mother exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than likely. It was strange for me to hear what they had said to my sister, Rachel, so many years ago and to hear them talk to me as if they loved me.
“Thank you Mother.” I reply, trying to be a goody too shoe. I went to the table and sat down at my place setting. I knew it was mine because instead of wine, the glass was filled with water.
The rest of dinner went smoothly. I did not spill anything, drop anything, or choke on anything and best of all, I found out that my sister is coming home for awhile. I was overjoyed at hearing this news and nearly jumped for joy, but I remembered that I was on a mission and managed to control myself.
Later at night I was about to go to bed and I heard my mother very softly calling my name. I went to my door and poked my head out into the hall and called “Yes, Mother?” in a low voice.
“Gwendolyn, please come hear, in the library. I should like to speak to you.”
Fear numbed my body, but I quickly replied that I would be there in a moment before going to my closet and changing into the nightdress she liked me to wear. It was terribly silky and I did not like it because it made me feel exposed since it came to my knees.
I somehow made it to the library, knocked on one of the doors, and asked “Mother, may I come in?”
“Yes, Gwendolyn”
My feet didn’t want to move but I made them anyway and tried to be graceful as I walked through the doors to her chair where I knew she was. She sat facing her desk and turned to look at me when I came over. She had her glasses on and even though it was nine thirty, she didn’t have her pajamas on yet.
“Have a seat please.” She ordered while motioning to a leather chair.
I sat and waited for her to speak.
“I would like to inform you that I have discussed your behavior at dinner and all through the day since you went swimming and I am pleased to say that you have improved quite considerably. I did not think I would ever be able to teach you the manners that my mother taught me since you have always been such a feisty child. We have decided to move into another house closer to where I grew up, but we will be keeping this one if you do not adjust well in school. We will wait until Rachel returns to Yale after the Christmas break and then we will be moving to Boston, Massachusetts. It will be very different from Cottonwood, but we can move back if you do not like it and things do not work out or if your behavior becomes worse. We are already preparing for the train ride, and you will need to leave some things behind because it will not all fit in a suitcase. I want you to decide what you are taking and what you are leaving tomorrow. At least start, it helps to prepare.”
This was a complete shock to me – I thought they would simply enroll me in a school here – and I didn’t want to leave Cottonwood, it was my home. I hid the shock that was itching to spread across my face, and smoothed my expression so I could thank her properly. I looked at her and said “That would be wonderful mother, which suitcase should I use and how many can I take? Will we be celebrating New Year’s Day in our new house? What will happen to the Mercedes?”
“Use the two medium suitcases, they should fit most of your things. We will be leaving the day after the New Year begins and you will go to school the day after we arrive. Your father will be taking the Mercedes to our house, so it will be you an me on the train. A girls’ day out, isn’t that going to be fun?” She said.
“Thank you for giving me a chance to change from a tomboy to a young woman with manners mother. I should like to go to bed now, it’s getting late.”
“I am glad that you are happy you changed. Sleep well, and goodnight.” She turned back to her desk and the book she had been reading.
“Yes Mother, it will be lovely. Thank you.”
I went back through the shelves, but I didn’t get a book to take back to my room. I left without another word, and shut the double doors quietly behind me. Moving ticked me off. I didn’t want to move, but I might make friends better. And I didn’t want to be like my mother, she didn’t have much of a life, except for making people know that she is proud and wealthy. It doesn’t sound like much of a life to me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My sister was to be here this evening. I slept restlessly last night, even after crying myself to sleep – crying last night wasn’t even a rational response to what I had experienced – and dreams that I didn’t even remember floated through my subconscious. Nightmares from my memory came back, haunting me. Even ones that were from my toddler days frightened me now as an almost teenager. It was a rough night and the only thing that made going to sleep at all worthwhile is that I knew that I would get to see Rachael soon.
Mother wanted me to stay in my room most of the day, but she allowed me to go to different floors and to use the computer. I mainly read, looked out my window, and did some research about Arizona and Massachusetts. I had to keep my window shut of course, but I did open it frequently for a few inches to let the hot air of Arizona seep into my room. I turned the air conditioner off and simply let it grow to about seventy degrees – it was a hot day for December – and waited again.
I absolutely adored Cottonwood; we lived in Pinal County. It was about forty-five miles away from Phoenix, and it didn’t really matter that we didn’t get to see the city. My father liked to see the bright lights and the crowds, but my mother was the boss and she wanted the small town life. Of course, it was a town where we would be the center of attention and of wealth. I liked the blistering heat in the summer, and even though it was the dead of winter, it was still warm enough for me to swim.
July was my favorite month out of the year; it was on average ninety-three degrees everyday and we had less than an inch of rain for the whole month. Very few days were completely cloudy, and the sky stretched from one horizon to the next; the mountains were barely visible unless I climbed one of the few trees that we have and sat at the top.
I knew that Boston would not be like Arizona; it would be cold, wet, and most of all: green. I grew so worried that I would not like Boston that I went to my desk and switched the computer on.
I found from experience that it took about five minutes for the computer to load and finish putting the pop-ups on my screen. To burn some time, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a granola bar and a peach, and went back up the stairs to my room. I paused outside my sister’s door and was thinking about how long it was since I had seen her. About five months had passed since I saw her last. I was missing her terribly; she was my only friend I had ever had even if she was a goody-to-shoe towards every adult she encountered. I still missed her; she was the only person that understood how trapped I was without anyone.
I did my research so I would be ready for the sights when I arrived at the place that was my self-inflicted torture away from Cottonwood. I found a beautiful park that happened to be in the center of the city. I hoped that our house would be close so I could escape from the formalness of my family on a regular basis without spending too much money on bus fairs. The river was supposed to be pretty. From what I could see, there would be no shortage in trees for me to climb, but there was a dilemma. The weather year round was not as warm as I would have enjoyed.
All in all, I was not in a good mood when my mother ordered me to the kitchen to give me instructions on how to dress for dinner. She started out by saying, “Gwendolyn, I suggest you wear something purple to dinner tonight, not red because red clashes with your eyes. I want you to look nice when Rachael arrives and I will permit you to meet her at the entrance to the driveway but do not go any farther than that, I do not want to have you running around by yourself in nice clothes that you would get dirty. She should be here in about fifteen minutes, now go and get dressed Gwendolyn.”
“Yes mother.” I replied as I tried to keep the anger out of my face and voice when she mentioned that my outfit last night clashed with anything else. I thought I had behaved good and politely along with being well dressed. She had even complemented me! I slipped up for a brief second and my eyes flashed with indignation.
She returned it with a strict and not-so-nice order, “Gwendolyn! If you glare at me once, I will not permit you to eat with us, now go upstairs this instant!”
I turned and dashed upstairs as fast as I could. So what if I didn’t get to eat dinner with her. I didn’t feel hungry at all, and Rachael would see me later when she said she was turning in for the night. I could sneak downstairs and get leftovers if I was hungry, and I had no desire to go through with another night like the last.
My sudden movement did it. “GWENDOLYN, DO NOT COME DOWNSTAIRS FOR DINNER OR TO SEE YOUR SISTER. YOU MAY COME DOWN AFTER DINNER IF YOU ARE GOING TO APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR BEHAVIOR.”
I didn’t say another word. I simply ran to my room, slammed the door loudly and locked it. I wanted to go to pieces privately, something I very rarely did. I was rarely sad enough to cry, but having mother yell at me for my being angry was not realistic. I wished my sister would come soon, get to her room so I could see her, and tell her what happened.
I opened my window and climbed out into the tree that was inches from the siding of our house. The branch was about a foot and a half thick, so I didn’t worry about falling. I crawled across the branch to the main section of the tree and scaled up until the branches were decreasing in size to only one foot. I went to where I had nailed in the boards to make a platform and a cubby underneath the floor. I sat down and wrapped my arms around my knees, ready to break to pieces. Loneliness was what caused it, or so I thought. Lack of happiness was the only think that made any sense, and making friends was one thing that I could do to make the hole in my chest heal. It was from being alone all the time I thought, and my make-believe friends out of books could not stop the pain from coming back for enough to make me cry. The hole was burning and throbbing enough now.
If I hadn’t been over the house and able to see the driveway, I would not have noticed when my sister came home. She always looked up to see if I was there, now that I told her about my hiding place. My parents never came upstairs; my mother thought that there was no reason to go up farther than the kitchen, and my father had his knees replaced a few years back so his legs weren’t up to it unless he was ordered to come up and yell at me. She must have seen me curled up on my platform and I knew she would be up beside me in a few minutes. This thought comforted me, and the pain from the hole was growing less all the time.
The kitchen window was open, and below that, my parent’s bedroom had an open window. I listened for the sounds of conversation and the way my mother would hug her and say how happy she was to see her. There it was, it would be about two minutes until she would come into my room, poke her head out my window, and climb up to meet me. If she was wearing nice clothes, she’d simply say hello and wait for me to come down. But I wasn’t coming down. Not tonight, I’d sleep out here if I had to.
“Mother, I need to go clean up, I’m all dirty and not suitable for eating right now. I’ll be back in a few minutes, you and Father should start eating; I don’t want to be a disturbance.”
She was very clever; I had to admit to that. Another talent of hers is the ability to look innocent when she just made the biggest lie of all time, and what was even better was that she never slipped. Rachael was the best liar I ever met and she often pointed out my mistakes and helped me to be better at that particular art. I was getting noticeably better; so much that she was having trouble catching me. I always told her the truth when she didn’t figure out that I messed up.
“Gwen? You still up there?” She called up to me in a soft voice.
“Yes.” My voice cracked as the tears poured down my face.
Rachael stuck her head out my window and looked up to where I sat before climbing out to the branch. Then she remembered her shoes, kicked them off, and tossed them through my window.
It took her about half the time it took me because I had been going slowly since I was about to cry. She sat beside me and hugged me without asking what was wrong. “Mom said you had to stay in your room because your behavior wasn’t acceptable, huh?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t in a very good mood.” I replied into her shoulder.
“What happened that made you in a bad mood? Tell me everything before Mom and Dad do. I like it first hand better.” She demanded, teasing me slightly.
I told her everything that had happened, from the day in the pool that felt like it was months ago instead of really yesterday. She shocked me when she gasped at the fact of my choosing the school over the park pool. I told my story rather quickly, remembering that she needed to go eat dinner.
When I finished, she stretched and told me “I’ll try to sneak you something if you want. I think we’re having spaghetti, you want some?
“No, I’m planning to climb down the tree and into the window for a snack later when I get hungry. Do you think you could manage to leave the window open though? It’s easier to get in from the window than from going down the stairs.”
“I think I can manage that. I’d better go down and eat before Mom and Dad come up to see why I’m not finished ‘cleaning up’ yet. See you in about two hours Gwenie.”
She used her favorite pet name on me; it was better than my full name, which was for sure. Rachael crawled down the tree with such expertise that anyone would believe that she had been doing all the tree climbing and not me. She disappeared through my window after giving me a small encouraging smile.
After she had gone, I listened to the conversation downstairs. The talk consisted of mostly politics, something I hated to hear. I went into Rachael’s room and took one of her books off the shelf. It was her favorite, “Jade Green” by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. I never liked ghost stories very much, but this one would serve it’s purpose.
The story gave me chills, and inspiration. I got to the scary part when the song “Springfield Mountain” comes into the story and thought of a nice Christmas present for Rachael. There was a pawnshop in town, or at least I thought there was. For all my problems, I turned to the internet and I discovered that there was one, and I hoped that it would be able to do what I wanted.
It was a week before Christmas, so I should have enough time to buy her present. It was a few streets down from our house, so I could just walk and anyway what I wanted would probably be very expensive. I wanted the pawnshop to make me a music box that played “Springfield Mountain”, but it would have to be custom made because music boxes like the one I wanted were not in existence.
Using the phone jack, I called the pawnshop to see if they would do custom orders.
“Pawnshop Express, what can I do for you?” The man sounded bored, as if he had answered too many calls today.
“I was wondering if you made custom made music boxes and how much it would cost for one that played “Springfield Mountain” from the book Jade Green by –”
“Kid, I don’t care which song it is and if you want a music box custom made then you need to come in person. Our address and hours are on the website, have a nice day.”
“Wait! I –” I was about to protest and ask more questions but he had already hung up. I scowled at the phone in my hand and shoved it back where it belonged. This did not put me in a better mood.
I spent the rest of the time before my sister came back finding the address and directions. I printed out the directions and the website, a screen with a white background and black print that reminded me of a textbook. The printer spit them out and I shoved them in my junk drawer as my sister’s footsteps echoed from the kitchen.
“God, I hate acting perfect. How was the waiting? It turns out that mother is taking me to Phoenix tomorrow; she says that she wants me to help her pick out a new set of clothes for Boston and some business suits for a reason that only heaven knows considering she doesn’t work. Sorry, Gwenie, she says you aren’t allowed out of the house. If you were, I’d take you myself –”
“Rachael, have fun and don’t worry about me; I’ve got something to do that will contradict Mom’s rules, but that’s no reason not to do it. Is Dad going to be home or is he going to work?”
“He’s going golfing with some of his buddies he says and he’ll be leaving early, which to him is seven. Are you sure you don’t mind me going? I could fake an illness if you wanted to go too.” She fretted more to the ceiling than me.
“No, I told you that I will be busy myself and my project requires you, Mom, and Dad to be somewhere that isn’t where I will be.”
“And you aren’t going to tell me what you’ll be up to, are you?”
“What, are you nuts? I like my privacy of doing evil under Mom’s nose without her knowing.”
“I think you slipped a couple of times Gwenie, remember yesterday at the pool?” She teased.
“Hey, I’m only human. I won’t slip this time though, I promise. I know that you slip too, so don’t act like you never did. And try to keep her occupied until about –” I paused to count in my head.
“I’ll have her on the road by seven thirty, and I have never slipped for your information.” Rachael offered in order to help me count the hours that I would need for my mischief along with her defense.
“Don’t let her come up to see me, and I may possibly be back by the time you leave. But I’ll leave at six so I might not get to see you until you return from your punishment of perfection.”
“Considering Mom’s speed of clothing choice, we should be back in time for lunch – unless she decides to make it a girl’s day out, in which case we may never make it home.” Rachael groaned, and then chuckled at her own joke as she finished her sentence.
“Ray, you better get ready for bed and ‘turn in’ or Dad will be up to see what’s going on. You did get the window open, didn’t you? Because I’m getting hungry.”
“Never doubt me; I thought we established that I was the queen of sneakiness, lies, and acting. I have it unlocked even though it looks closed. Now, I will be back in an hour when Mom and Dad are asleep. Don’t go down now or they’ll hear you.”
I climbed into my pajamas and finished getting ready for bed slowly to help pass the time. I set my alarm – a gift from Rachael for my birthday that had a strap that was to go on my wrist and it vibrated instead of beeping – for an hour. I was exhausted from the sleepless nights from the past few months and the moment my head hit the pillow, I was out cold.
“Gwenie, wake up!” A voice hissed in my ear and I jumped as my alarm vibrated me into consciousness.
“I’m up, and I’m hungry. I’ll be back, just hang on for a second.” I grumbled and slid out of bed with a shiver.
My window opened silently, a good sign. The air was warmer than that in my room, for which I was grateful. I slid my bare feet across the branch that I was gratified for (How else would I survive in this house?) and made it downstairs to the kitchen window. I leaned out with my legs wrapped around the branch for support to push against the frame. It whined open without a sound as I put my feet on the wood floor.
I tiptoed to the fridge and took out a leftover container of spaghetti. Grabbing a plastic fork, I made my way back to the tree. I slipped my fork into the plastic container and replaced the lid to make the climb easier. Turning, I pressed the window back into a ‘closed’ position to make it less of a target for burglars.
“Hand me the food.” Rachael whispered to me when I reappeared with the container in my mouth.
I left my window open and flopped on my bed, popped the lid off, and dug in hungrily. I was practiced, so I didn’t spill a drop of sauce on myself or the bedspread.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you eat like a pig? I hope you don’t eat like that around Mom or she’ll send you to a finishing school for prissy girly girls.” Rachael whispered disapprovingly.
“I’m just hungry. And I do not eat like this around her, if I did I would be in a juvenile delinquent center for bad manners. You know, you make finishing school sound like a living nightmare.” I snapped.
“Gwenie, do you want me to tell you some stories about experiences from my junior high and high school years? Or maybe the time when my friend Mallory put me on a blind date and he was drunk when he showed up? That was a funny one.” She replied, ignoring my sharp tone.
“Sure. I need someone to help me get out of the spiraling depression Mom’s disappointment is sending me into.” I mocked.
“You know, instead of being hurt by Mom’s disapproval, I learned a better way to deal with it. Wanna know what it is?”
“Spill your dark secrets of survival please, my life is at stake.” I begged, over dramatic.
“Fine, you got me. I’ll tell you. Instead of being hurt, just think about how funny it could be. You know, like in Gilmore Girls with Lorelei and Emily. Now that is a good relationship, one of them is laughing at the other all the time.”
“I’ll try it sometime, but can you tell me the stories now?”
Rachael told me all the stories again, even though I already knew them by heart. She told me funny times: when Mallory asked out the steady boyfriend of the ‘Queen Bee’, the frog that they had put in the science teacher’s lab coat and he didn’t discover it until sixth period, the video camera they set up in the teacher’s lounge. And as with every time that Rachael did wrong, she wasn’t caught, no one else took the blame, it was just an anonymous prank.
I sank into sleep in her arms after I finished my dinner and set my alarm for six a.m.