A story to tell never told Part II of III

[The continuing saga that I began but couldn't seem to finish many moons ago.  Probably a good thing that it didn't enter the world at large.  This one is also, um, peppered with my commentary.]

     The next oldest is Jennifer's younger sister, Ashley.  Jennifer had strawberry blond hair, but nothing could compete with Ashley's vibrant red hair.  [Thirty-two-year-old me is still envious.]  She had a cute face with freckles and, though she'd scowl at me for saying this, she looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid.  She wasn't as off-the-wall as Donna but they got along best when we were younger, before school started. [Add it to the list of things I remember crap about.]  Ashley, LeeAnn and I are closest in age [not quite true as I'm only two-ish months younger than Donna and four-ish months older than Ashley] and in the same grade.  When Jennifer and Donna were off at school, it was just the three of us [Ashley, LeeAnn and I], and those two were terrible to me! [I remember jack squat.]  Even now they admit to being awful to me when we were young.  The got me in trouble for their deeds; Ashley told me dreadful things about my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. [Guess that one didn't scar me for life.  What the crap did she tell me about my pbj sandwich???]  As we grew older, they grew out of it -- thank goodness.  When I think of Ashley, I think of men with long hair and muscles.  That was her "type" at five-years-old. [I don't know about the hair, but I'm pretty sure the muscles fact still holds true today.]  She adored men who played rock and heavy metal and who wore their hair long -- and were, of course, much older.  All five of us had it bad for Whitesnake [true confession time - if I heard Whitesnake on the radio or saw a pic of him, I'd have no clue it was Whitesnake], but Ashley always insisted she was the hot chick in the video that got to kiss him.  Sue's son, Chris, is a drummer, and played in several bands. [Um, I don't know if it was several or actually one or two at the time.]  The first one I can remember was Overdrive.  Doug was the first whom Ashley went crazy for, and then it was Stacy.  Ashley loved her men, and they knew it.  [Near tears right now.  My face hurts.]

     The youngest of the five girls is LeeAnn.  LeeAnn was never a leader to anyone except me.  [Noticing a pattern here: I was a sheep!  Or a lemming.  Take your pick.  I probably looked more like a lemming in the face.]  She'd always choose the same snack as everyone else, follow along behind Jennifer or Donna, and forever try to please everyone.  Donna was the next to stop coming to Sue's after Jennifer and Ashley; LeeAnn became the leader then.  She never had me do horrible things like Donna did, but she knew I was too shy and un-charismatic to take off and do things by myself; if she stuck her ground long enough, I would come trailing behind her.

     Soon, LeeAnn stopped going to Sue's, and I was the only one left during the school year.  Because I lived in the city and didn't have a ride to my county school, I went to Sue's to ride the bus until I entered tenth grade.  I believe of all five of us, I was the quietest.  I was a shadow.  [Little lemming.]  I didn't try to copy everyone else like LeeAnn, but I followed her -- and there is a difference.  [Is there, younger Stephanie?]  Though I did try to please Jennifer when I was really young, after the Gone with the Wind  incident [I love that it's an incident.  It actually was a milestone in my life, silly as that seems.  So once again, you have my gratitude, younger Jennifer] I didn't do everything she did anymore.  

     Just because I was quiet doesn't mean I was an angel; I was just as naughty [say that word with an English accent.  Such fun!] as the rest of them and got in trouble for it.  I got in trouble along with everyone else because I did every bad thing they did.  [Read: I was a lemming!]  I learned "guilty by association" real young because even if I didn't do something bad, we couldn't get very far from each other, so I was always stuck with the guilty party.

     I didn't grow up an only child, but because my brother Tony is seven years older than me, we weren't very close and didn't play together often.  I never made friends easily because I am so shy, so the only friends I really had were the girls from Sue's.  Growing up at Sue's house was the bulk of my childhood.

     [And those last few paragraphs are reason enough why this piece has never made it to the world at large.  Ehk.  Puke.  We've come so far in our writing skills, younger Steph.]

*   *   *   *   

[Please continue on to the next post: A story to tell never told Part III for the remainder of this...whatever.]

A story to tell never told Part I of III

[My very pitiful attempt, 10 or 15 years ago now, around the age of 18, to record memories of growing up at Sue's house.  It's rotten, but someone had asked about it, so here is the miserably failed attempt.  There are only a few technical corrections for clarity's sake and b/c I couldn't help my anal self, otherwise I have left it as it was.  Actually, I couldn't resist some commentary peppered in.]

     The soft, white kitty named Blinkon is attacking my toes.  I pull my feet up to safety and think He would have had a field day with Sue's toes.  She used to sit with her legs crossed, with either a book in her hand or her arms crossed as well watching T.V. and unconsciously curl her first tow toes in and out brushing them back and forth against each other.
     I sit in the blue armchair in the corner wishing I had a movie that we used to enjoy seeing -- over and over again -- at Sue's house.  The only movies I could think of were Troop Beverly Hills, The Neverending Story [okay, I have to interrupt -- I don't think we watched this one over and over, if we watched it at all], and Somersby.  Well,  Somersby we didn't watch repeatedly, but the first time [and only time] I saw it was at Sue's -- with LeeAnn.  That was a weird day.  [While watching the movie, the house settled at a key moment, and LeeAnn and I looked at each other and giggled nervously.]
     I wish I were at Sue's right now with the four other girls that I went with:  Jennifer, Donna, Ashley and LeeAnn.  Of course it would be different if we were to sit in that house together now.  It would be quiet.  It's easy when you're four-years-old to pick up a conversation:

You wanna play a game?
All right, you be green and I'll be yellow.
No, I'll be yellow and you be blue.
But I want to be green.
Okay you be green, I'll be blue.

Or

Hey!  I was playing with that!
You put it down!
No I didn't!  I was playing with it!  I'm telling Sue on you!  Sue....!

Or

Let's watch this movie.
We watched that yesterday.  It's my turn to pick, and I choose this.
Oh, you always choose that stupid movie.
Sue!  She said the movie I chose was stupid, and you said I could pick today, and the movie I picked 
     she said was stupid!
I did not!

     When we were younger, we girls could walk to the park -- which has since been torn down and now has a house on it [sad, true story] -- or read the Babysitters Club Series out loud, each of us taking a different part, or we could make some kind of craft together.  There were endless possibilities of conversation, but now we would be spaced out on the couches, silent.  And not just any silent, but a nervous, uneasy silent; the kind of silent that manifests itself in you, like a bunch of odd switches were turned on that are only turned on when you're around people you don't know. [Um, interesting imagery, younger Stephanie.]  Of course the other four girls and I know each other:  I know their names and they know mine, but all we have left besides that is who we were as children.  [And man, is that long past.  At the time of this blog post, it's something like twenty years.]

*     *     *     *

     Jennifer was the oldest.  All of us adored her, even her sister, Ashley, did in some small way.  I used to copy her all the time.  If she played ball, I played ball; if she played hopscotch, I played hopscotch [I still love hopscotch]; if she drew a purple heart,  I drew a blue.  Okay, so I didn't exactly follow in her footsteps, but I longed to please her because she was [and still is as I assume we both woke up on the right side of the dirt today] two  years older than me.  I remember one time the five of us had a choice to stay in and watch Gone with the Wind or stay outside and play.  I was forced by Jennifer to choose first -- I stayed outside [and now that I've seen that movie, I feel obliged to thank Jennifer for that].  Being the oldest, Jennifer -- who we sometimes referred to as "Fer," never Jenn or Jenny [the only Jennifer I've ever encountered referred to as "Fer"].  [In here was a sentence about puberty, but let's not get into that.  Let's sing the Baby Sitters Club theme song: Say hello to your friends (BSC)/Say hello to the people who care/Nothing's better than friends (BSC)/Cause you know that your friends are always there!]  In every way she [Jennifer, in case you're now completely lost] was our role model, and between the five of us, she was who we wanted to be.  [I was very self-centered 10 or 15 years ago -- obviously everything that I wanted was everything the other girls wanted.  Haha.]

     Donna was the rambunctious, "wild" child.  She was the one who would grow up to be a real lady [dude, have you seen her -- I've only seen Facebook pictures, so I don't really know -- but this is so true], the kind you always see in the movies, with her even dose of tomboy and priss.  Donna was really no worse than the rest of us [apparently I was just trying to soften the blow with this line], though she was mean and would make Sue go bonkers with her adventures and wild ideas.  These antics never really came along until Jennifer and Ashley stopped going to Sue's, around the time Fer [weird to call her that now that I don't really know her] was entering fifth or sixth grade.  When they left, Donna became the leader.  LeeAnn and I were scared of her.  Usually the three of us would "team up" against each other -- maybe once was Donna the odd gal out.  Sue hated when we girls "teamed up," so, for the most part, we tried to hide it from her.  Donna never wanted to get in trouble for "teaming up" and LeeAnn and I didn't want to have to fight back or elbow our way back into the fun, so whenever there was an odd girl out, and Sue came to check on us, we would hurriedly act as if we were all good friends again.  [There's a line I wrote in here where I feel bad for telling the truth, but this was all ages and ages ago, and doesn't matter anymore, so I'm leaving the line out.]  Aside from her mean streak, she was a nice kid.  At Christmastime she would organize LeeAnn and I [honestly, how is she not running her own empire right now?], and the three of us would sing Christmas carols around the neighborhood, and at Valentine's, she would instruct us in making cards for our mothers.  Of course, if we didn't make the cards her way or if we made ours a little better than she did, she would get upset.  [I must have still been bitter when I wrote this 10 years ago b/c this is an example of things I don't remember at all.  Actually, that would be most of my childhood, which is why this story was "never told" by me.]  She is the oldest of three children -- competition runs in her blood.  [This line makes no sense, younger Stephanie.]  Honestly, we were all cruel at one time or another -- Donna only looked meaner because she claimed leadership.  [A wise thought, younger Stephanie.]

     I was the middle child of us girls, but we'll get back to me later.  [Snort, that oughta be good.]

[This "story" is continued in Part II]

    

Old poem about Sue's House

(I wrote this poem in high school, I believe, for a creative writing class.)

The House

If these walls could talk

Their story would be:

For years

The yard has been trampled on

By the feet of young ones and tricycles

Songs have floated through our interior.

They sweetly sing to us lullabies.

Laughter has been the melody

Friendship has been the harmony

Imagination has been the words.

We have watched petty fights over crayoned pictures or who gets the ball.

We have smiled to each other at the giggles of forgiveness.

Reminiscence has called to us many a time.

Times of board games and plays

Times of house, school and bank.

Dreams we see, will one day come true.

Lives we see change will one day just be another memory to us.

We watch over each child that 

Steps through our doors

And romps through our halls.

And when they've gone from us until the next day we think of them and their sweet dreams.

And when they've gone from us forever we remember them in our prayers.

These walls tell a story.

Did you ever think to listen?

The Princess and the Bear

     "Why didn't you want Michael Kidd joining us?" Matt said when the shed was out of site.

Annabelle walked with her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat looking at the ground in front of her.  "I don't know.  He just seemed --."

     "Annabelle, look out."  Tobin pulled her out of the path of a stampede of men and horses.

     "What on earth?" Matt said as he and Tobin stared after the men.  Annabelle, however, was looking in the direction the men had come from and froze, her hands still in her pockets.

     Run, she tried to say, but it only came out as a weird croak.  The two men death-grip hugged her on either side.

     The dump truck-sized bear approached.  The three friends stood still as statues, Annabelle sandwiched between Matt and Tobin.  She madly thought if they were still enough, the ferocious beast wouldn't see them.  It trudged closer.  "Oh cheesecake," Annabelle breathed and jammed her eyes shut pretending she was invisible.

     But the creature wasn't fooled.  Annabelle felt the bear's cool snout touch her forehead, could feel the heat of its breath.  "Please don't eat me.  Please don't eat us," she whispered.  Her heart pounded in her chest, which felt hollow.  She held her breath, thinking, This is it.  Then….

     Nothing. 

     Cautiously, Annabelle made slits of her eyes and saw the giant bear sitting placidly, looking casually around, his arms resting by his sides.

     She opened her eyes fully.  Somehow she knew the beast meant her no harm.  He licked his lips then sat gazing at her, teeth protruding at all angles from his mouth.  She sensed this fearsome creature, with a serious dental problem, would actually do anything in the world to make her happy and pleased.

     Annabelle wriggled from the sandwich her friends had made of her, her arms innocently held down at her sides.  She had to tilt her head back to look up at the face of this humongous animal.  She could feel the heat radiating from his furry, honey-brown belly.

     "Annie-bellie, what are you doing?" she heard Matt rasp, and Tobin sputtered, "Annabelle, I…I don't…."

     She left them to their amusing shock and slowly padded her way around the beastly bear.  When Annabelle reached his rump, he leaned forward on his forepaws.  Annabelle's heart tap danced.  She reached out and clasped the brown fur.  Clinching and un-clinching her hand, she wondered at how soft the fur was when she imagined it would have been harsh and coarse.  She placed one foot on the creature's back followed by the other and climbed up to his neck.  The bear returned to all fours, standing with Annabelle straddling him like a jockey.  Annabelle leaned forward resting her cheek on the back of her folded hands using the animal's head as a pillow.  Quite content, she closed her eyes and smiled dreamily.  I am a princess.

     From far below, Matt and Tobin shouted her name, fanning their arms about.

     "Annie-bellie, this is not one of your stories.  Get down!"

     "Annabelle, what are you doing?  Don't hurt her, you beast!"

     From her perch, Annabelle grinned at the two boys.  Matt paused and put down his pedantic finger.  Tobin was trying to look big and mean baring his teeth and jabbing the air with a stick he'd found.  Annabelle sat up.  "It's all right.  He's not going to hurt me."

     "He?!" Matt whelped.  "And just how do you know it's a he?"

     Annabelle raised her eyebrows.  Matt cleared his throat.  "Right."

     Tobin called up to her, "You're sure it – he's not going to harm you?"

     "I'm sure.  You can put your stick down, Tobin."

     Tobin sheepishly tossed aside his large stick.

     "Annie-bellie-wellie, what makes you so sure this thing is not going to harm you?"

     Annabelle thought about this, absentmindedly stroking the bear's head, and then shrugged.  "Just know."

     Matt held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun that had appeared in full force.  "Yes, but, Annie-bellie….Look, can you come down now?  Shouting up at you is getting a bit tiresome."

     Annabelle grinned again and shimmied down the right flank of the bear like she was dismounting a very large horse.  She stood by the tree trunk-sized foreleg.  Matt was scowling.  Tobin's eyes shifted between Annabelle and the beast's face.

     "It's all right, Tobin.  You're my friend.  He won't hurt you."

     Matt set his fists on his hips.  "And just what makes you say that, Annabelle Smith?"

     The great bear snorted and slopped his tongue over his lips and many teeth.  Matt cringed.  "This beast has been terrorizing the entire village: chasing people, growling, snarling."  A rumble came from the bear's chest.  "Well, you have; don't bother denying it."

     Annabelle giggled.  "He hasn't been chasing the entire village, Matt; he's been chasing the men.  He likes girls – just like my story."

     "Oh, just like in your story."  Matt scoffed. 

     Annabelle looked up at the face of the furry beast who shifted a little.

     "And then what happened," Matt said in attempt to calm himself.

     Suddenly another thought took control of her mind, and her grin retreated; her face went sour.  "It's the louhiormulf that puts ice in my chest, not Radley."

     "Oh, she's named it," Matt said, wiping a hand over his face in despair.

     Annabelle looked pointedly at her writing partner.  "Radley won't suck people's brains out of their eye sockets and slurp them down like spaghetti."

     "Suck people's brains out of their eye sockets?" Matt repeated.  "Ughk.  What is the matter with you, Smith?"

     At the thought of the louhiormulf, Annabelle nestled herself against Radley's warm leg.  It was near again, she sensed, its yellow eyes watching her, the creature panting for her.  She doubted it wanted to suck her brains out, but the silly exaggeration soothed her nerves a little.

     "And this ruddy beast is hardly innocent enough to deserve the name Radley.  I wonder about you, sometimes, I really do."

     "Oh, stuff it, Jones," Annabelle retorted.  "Come on, Radley.  Come on, Tobin.  Let's move quickly before we lose the daylight." 

     The bear obeyed as did Tobin, who stifled a grin at Annabelle's victory over "his lord and master" Matt Jones.

A Witch's Trick

     Annabelle had just situated herself somewhat comfortably behind Matt on the horse when Ol’ Jack reared.  Annabelle clung to Matt, but the horse reared again, and she slid off the back landing on the dirt road.

     "Are you all right?" shouted Tobin above the frightened cries of Ol’ Jack.

Annabelle looked up from the ground to see Matt jump from the horse.  He backed up and tripped over Annabelle. 

     "Ouch.  Matt, what?" 

     His eyes were wide with fear and his mouth contorted.  He continued trying to crab crawl backwards.  The horse continued whinnying in fear.  Annabelle followed Matt's horrified gaze and yelled.

     The thing had a long, slender, black body with a yellow stripe racing down its back.  Fine hairs graced all eight of its spindly legs.  It snapped its pincers only once knowing it need not threaten so obviously.

     "What is that?" said Tobin.

     "Big frickin' spider," Annabelle said finding her feet.  "Matt, get up.  Get up!"

     Her friend lay there helplessly trembling.

     The spider the size of a small dog skittered closer to Matt.

     "Matt, get up.  It's coming closer," Annabelle said slapping and yanking at the shoulders of Matt's jacket.

     A fine hairy leg reached out to caress Matt's calf.  His face froze with an unreleased scream.

     The air throbbed with a familiar voice.  "Tell me the story, Matt Smith.  What's the matter?" said the witchy woman, her voice rich and thick like caramel.  "Don't like my pet?"

     The spider crept closer.  Too many eyes shined at Matt.

     Annabelle ran into the dining room of Georg's Song and grabbed a chair.  She had to break through a company of spectators to get back outside.  Many villagers stood looking in wonder at the sky as the vixen's voice continued pulsing in the air.

     Annabelle swung the chair at the spider, which squealed at contact.  A leg crumpled in pain.  A second blow with the chair had the large spider rolling into the street.  Annabelle closed her eyes and thrashed at the creature with the chair until she could no longer hear its squeaking cry or the crunching of its fine body.  She looked down.  The sight of the mangled body, one leg twitching, made her skin crawl.  She dropped the chair. 

     The witch gave a throaty chuckle.

     "This is not the end,” she said.

     Annabelle reached under Matt’s arms. 

     Once to his feet, Matt blew out the scream that had frozen in his throat.  He flung his limbs – arms and legs – in an erratic dance, swiping his arms to rid himself of the creeps.  "Well – I – never.  Ugh!" He stopped by the now calmed horse.

     "Are you okay?" Tobin said.

     "Better now, thanks."  Matt mounted the horse.  When he reached down to help Annabelle up behind him, he rolled his eyes. 

     She was giggling.

     "What?" he half shouted.

     "You just had your butt saved by a girl."  She laughed harder.  "You weanie."

     Haughtily Matt said, "I don't like spiders.  Now get up here, Smith."

     Tobin gave Annabelle a leg up before hopping on his own horse.

     "Nancy boy," Annabelle continued her ribbing. 

     "That was a big spider."

     Tobin snorted at the two and led the way leaving the still twitching arachnid behind.

London trip 2015: Day One 21 June

     My friend Heather and I (finally) arrived at London Heathrow via Air Canada.
     With all the Canadian celebrities there are, I've never thought much on how how I feel about Canadians -- all seemed a decent lot to me; however, after flying Air Canada, I've a new perspective, and I now lean more toward the opinion that they're cold and unfriendly.
    
     From Heathrow, we rode the Express to Paddington station   

and then went on a relaxing train ride through the English countryside to Paignton, Torbay in the southwest.  Everyone deserves to take some time from their day to enjoy the English countryside.
     We trekked, the wrong way, and then the right way to our lodgings -- the Wulfruna Hotel, a tiny, yet comfortable place run by a lady named Wendy.

     The weather was gorgeous -- sunny and warm with a lovely breeze from the harbor, which rests directly across the street from our hotel, though the 'hotel' is really more a bed and breakfast than an actual hotel.  Heather described the weather differently from me -- cloudy and cool/cold -- and did not find it so wonderful, though the differences may be found in where we each grew up: me in a valley of Virginia surrounded by the Blue Ridge Mountains, Heather in a quaint beach town of southern California.
     Paignton is a darling place; across the harbor lies another of the beach towns this way of England called Torquay (pronounced 'tor-kee').  Many people are about, a healthy mix of locals and visitors.  Heather and I ate dinner at a tapas-style place called Olive.  For the uneducated, such as I was, tapas is Spanish for 'small meal'; the idea is to order three or four items, which are small samplings, to create a meal.  The samplings can be shared amongst everyone at the table.  The food at Olive (including the Rockslide Brownie) was delicious, but the service -- I think they forgot we were there most of the time.  At one point, waiting an eternity for our check, I almost threw some cash on the table and walked out.
      * (This next bit is a bit long and boring, so feel free to skip down to the next asterisk below.)  Let me explain the confusion and frustration.  In England, when one eats at a pub/bar, you order and pay at the bar, and then someone brings your food to the table; you may either pay as you go or ask the bartender to give you a tab.  As an American and someone not used to this, I find it all a little confusing and intimidating.  Restaurants operate as restaurants everywhere do -- you're seated, you order, you eat, you receive a check/tab and pay.  
     Olive (the place we ate at) had two options: eat on the terrace for which you would pay as you go, or eat inside for which we had to wait to be seated.  Heather and I were given a table.  Everything was going as is normal in a restaurant.  The table behind us was given a check, so we assumed, our check would also be brought to us.  I ended up going to the servery, as they called it, and paying.*
     So our biggest...um, 'adventure' since arriving in England has been the toilet in our ensuite at Wulfruna!  Apparently British plumbing is designed for the sole purpose of making spoiled Americans feel like total eejits.  We were pushing the handle on the toilet as we would in America, but the toilet, alas, was not flushing.  After reading a few articles/blogs on the internet - thank you once again Google -- I finally figured out (for the most part) how to flush our bloody toilet so that we didn't, with much shame and embarrassment, have to ask our proprietor.  So today, Monday the 22nd, as I write this, I am thankful for being able to flush a British toilet and for American plumbing.
     For those still laughing at the thought of what kind of an idiot can't flush a toilet, Google either "how to flush a toilet in the uk" or "I can't flush the toilet in the uk" -- it is a real issue!

Me and my new pal Paddington Bear

Fairy Cove in Paignton

Version 2: DF Story selection

     Then she appeared, a tall, thin woman.

     She was handsome in her severe-ness.  A linen dress stopped midway down her slender calves.  With her elegant, long fingers she drew her brown shawl tighter around her bony shoulders.  Her face was all sharp lines: her high cheekbones sloped beneath sloe, crystal-blue eyes to her pencil-thin nose, which had a slight upturn at its end.  Her wide mouth showed neither friendly nor stern, yet the only thing soft about this woman was the loose, brown curls that framed her angular face.

     Annabelle swallowed hard; she was not able to look away. 

     "I am the Forest Wife, Matt Jones and Annabelle Smith."  The woman’s voice was deep, feminine and rich, like liquid caramel.  "It is my cottage in which you find yourselves.  I hope the stew has filled your bellies."

     Annabelle pressed her lips together before saying, "The stew was delicious.  Thank you.  And thank you very much for your hospitality, but my friend and I," she broke from the woman's stare to glance at Matt, who stood stricken, "we've decided to find accommodation elsewhere."    Annabelle reached to Matt and tugged his sleeve.  He stumbled to her side.

     The woman's mouth widened slightly further into a smile.  "There is nowhere else," she said.  "You will not survive out in the night.  You will stay here.  I will take care of you."

     "Thank you for your warning, but we'll be leaving just the same."

     The conundrum was before the pair like lightening, and Annabelle gasped while Matt moved between the two women.  “Sit,” she said.

     Standing so close, Annabelle could smell the fragrance of fresh trees, petrichor and newly turned dirt wafting from the woman, who could nearly look 6'1" Matt in the eye. 

     “Please.  I am anxious to hear of your journey."

     Matt and Annabelle sidestepped the woman and made for the door, Annabelle clinging to the tail of Matt’s jacket like a leash.

     "Matt Jones, Annabelle Smith," spoke the woman. 

     Matt stopped and lingered at the door.  Annabelle found herself lingering too, shoulder bag swinging from her hand. 

     "You will stay.  Only terrible danger awaits you out there.  Stay here, where there is a warm fire and food to fill your bellies.  Listen to what I say; then tomorrow you may make your…decisions."

     Something in Annabelle's head, like a small, insistent voice softly pounded an encouragement to not leave the cottage.  Annabelle shook her shoulders and guided Matt forward with a hand on his back.

     "Thank you, but we really must be going."  She closed the door behind them.