With the divorce finalized and the truth still smarting, I felt as if I was the most clearheaded I'd ever been. That was both true and not-true; anger can make you feel things more acutely, but can also distort your perception about what should be done about them.
So I got it in my head to burn bridges. I wanted to be rid of every connection I had to my sniveling, mortally wounded little group of blood relatives. I would jump ship, and ride some rotting vessel to the shore.
My plan was ultimately to grab onto the fastest moving train and let it take me far far away, whether that train was a career, a lover, a hobby, a family, or anything in between. I was in a place to start charging after all of the above if I wanted to, but I really didn't care which. I was tired of treading against the waterfall; I wanted to give up and let it carry me to my doom.
And unlucky me, several of the above more or less landed in my lap at once.
...
Let's see. Mark and Jonathan take it black, Manny with cream, Beth with skim and Equal, Barb with non-dairy, Brad and Deb with skim and sugar. Mark, Jonathan, Manny, Beth, Barb, Brad, Deb... wasn't there someone else? Mark, Jon, Manny, Beth --- oh, Luiz! And Luiz takes---
"What's your name?"
An imagined shattering sound as my inane thoughts are interrupted.
Pause.
"Hey there, what's your name?"
I didn't turn around. I wasn't really feeling friendly. Whoever wanted to introduce themselves to my ponytail was probably a loser. This coffee maker was my only friend.
"Excuse me..."
Great, tenacity. Love it. "What?" I asked, pretending not to have heard all along.
"Haha, hi, I'm Greg. What's your name?" He was a short-ish, late 20's-ish guy, tawny-colored curly hair. He was dressed nicely; it was hard to tell which department he worked for.
"Hi, Greg, I'm Mandy." I gave him the standard firm handshake for good measure.
"Wow, strong handshake." No kidding. "What do you do around here?" he gestured widely at the break room. He was probably an actor; something about the way he kept looking around made me think he was used to having an audience.
"Mostly this," I said, pointing to the coffee machine.
"Ah. Mark mentioned there was a new PA. How are you liking things so far?
I really didn't want to discuss my feelings with this guy. It was starting to seem like he had just come in here to jerk me around. "It's alright. Pretty busy I guess, with so many things going on at once."
"Tell me about it! I feel like I never get any time at all between stage calls." So he was an actor. And by the look of things he expected me to be impressed.
"Yeah. I'd better get a move on with this coffee," I replied, reaching in front of us both to grab the coffee pot again. Please go away, dude.
"I see! Well, very nice to meet you, Mandy," Greg said, and retreated from the break room.
"You too," I said, already facing the other direction. I wanted to get this coffee over with. It was only part of my plan to suck up to the crew and eventually get promoted out of coffee duty, but it would be a nice bonus when they stopped sneering at me like they'd figured out something I hadn't.
But maybe what I hadn't figured out yet was ego. Sure as hell I hadn't been brought up to think of myself first. There were no other TV studios in town here, so these guys were the big fish in the small pond - cast and crew no exception. There were always things going on, but usually it was because John Q. contracted the studio to film a commercial for his tire shop, or someone from the filmmaking class wanted to shoot an experimental music video. I knew their product library very well -- I'd soaked it up from living in this town so many years. The view behind the curtain was a filthy warehouse in the shipping district.
Couldn't let them see me being so cynical, though. This was all a paradise of distraction compared to the sulfuric hell of the Wallace family downfall. I can't afford to think about that, even for a second.
Armed with a tray full of coffee cups, I made my way out onto the studio floor.
...
I was getting my jacket on and contemplating what I was going to fix a single serving of for dinner, when one of the lighting techs, Mark, came down the hall.
"Hey, Mandy, hold up?"
"Uh, yep?"
"Hey, so I know you haven't met everyone yet, but a few of us were gonna go grab some dinner down the street. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."
"Oh, um..." Shit. This was exactly the kind of thing I was terrible at - chit-chatting and talking shop. But I was hungry... and this probably needed happen sooner or later. "...Yeah, sure, ok."
"Hey, great. I think we're gonna meet out by the main entrance. I gotta grab my stuff -- see you outside!"
Whew. It was moments like these that I got to experience the rare feeling of seeing myself from two very different points of view. On the one hand, I was terrified to go. What if they didn't like me? What if I made some huge faux pas, and really embarrassed myself? What if they expected me to know all kinds of movie trivia and broadcasting lingo? On the other hand, I hated myself for that fear. What an idiot I was to second guess myself in front of these people, whose lives were as deep as puddles.
All of these feelings ran through me in an instant, like an electric current. I don't know if this is the true answer or not, but in my heart I believe that it's that current that the change comes from. Everything I've just described I've heard Eva describe in one way or another -- feeling overwhelmed and intimidated one second, then hostile and elitist the next. I used to think it was those second set of feelings that took a person over and caused the change, but there's more to it than that. There's fear in the change, and loneliness -- it's more a combination of the two points of view than anything else. Then something goes wrong, or maybe the feelings get too strong a hold of a person, but that's when the change starts happening.
At any rate, I figured I would tag along and see what I could see.
As I got outside, a group of 10 or so people were standing around, chatting, and rocking back on their heels. Most of what I caught had to do with work -- how so and so forgot their lines, or the producer was being too tough with the schedule, basic stuff. It seems this group both worked and played together, as the rest of the conversation centered around re-telling stories of parties they'd gone to together, movies they'd seen, games they'd played. Nice to know, on the one hand, that if I made it into this group, my social life would be one less thing I'd have to worry about.
"Hey, Mandy, glad you could join us." The guy from the breakroom. Apparently he was the last person we were waiting on, since the group started walking as soon as he stepped out of the door.
Was it Gary? Rob? Craig? I couldn't remember for the life of me. "Hi... What was your name again?" Smooth, real smooth.
"It's Greg. No worries. I imagine that's a lot of new faces to have to keep track of." His tone was extremely platonic.
"And coffee orders," I offered up tentatively. This was going to be a long night.
"Indeed!" Greg responded with a flourish. "What did you do before this?"
"I... was a student," I said, which was partially true. "Down at Monroe."
"Oh, that's where I first started taking acting lessons. Great place. Did you major in film, or...?"
"English, actually, but I took a couple of classes in film studies."
"Oh great, I know Mark did the film studies program there a few years ago."
"That's how I first met Mark, actually, when he substituted for a couple of weeks last semester."
"Right, I remember a few months ago we were short on lighting techs!"
By now we were approaching the restaurant - Evan's Saloon. Looked like a nice enough place, but it was pretty dead inside. Mark held the door for us as we all filed in. So far the conversation had gone well enough, but I didn't want to get sequestered in chit-chat all night long with the same person. A few clusters of people had been laughing and joking with each other -- that sounded like more fun than chatting with Greg.
"So, you went to college here. Are you originally from this area?" Greg asked, as he pulled a seat out for me. Guess I would be stuck with him all night after all.
"Not exactly - I'm from Charlotte."
"Ah, I'm very familiar with Charlotte. How about family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Um, yes." I started a little at the question; hopefully he hadn't noticed. "I have a younger brother and sister." It was feeling more and more like Greg felt sorry for me that I didn't know anyone. Perhaps interviewing me was his good deed for the day, in order to make me feel like more of a part of the conversation.
"How about you?" I asked, for a change of pace.
"Nope, I'm an only child. I didn't grow up here, though; my family is originally from Canada." Greg seemed proud of this fact.
I knew nothing of Canada, however. "Interesting."
The rest of dinner pretty much followed suit. Although I couldn't really read Greg that well, my overall opinion of him was that he was proud, and a bit of a jerk because of it. He had told me about the skiing trips his family used to take up in Canada, and how he recently purchased the building his apartment had been in. In turn, I spilled my unclassified guts, telling him about what I studied in college, what my hobbies were, and the general climate of Charlotte. He mentioned he was just about to start a new documentary project next week that was going to take up a lot of his time, so at least I wouldn't have to worry about seeing a lot of him during the day.
Could be worse.
--------
Word count: 1,804
Showing posts with label nanowrimo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nanowrimo. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Day 2: Churchagaw?
When we were kids, I remember thinkin' that our house was the most beautiful one I'd ever seen. Sammy an' my bedroom was the first one on the left when you went down the hallway, right next to baby Ruthie's little room. The sun would stream in through the windows on that side of the house, dappling through the leaves on our plum tree outside. Really it was just a plain one-story vinyl-sided deal in a nondescript cul-de-sac a couple miles from the rougher part of town. We didn't get much crime out our way, though; it was almost as if burglars and everyone else knew they'd get too little loot for it to be worth the trouble.
In the summers we were pretty much left to our own devices - Papa was either down at the shipyard or down at Jack's drinkin', and Mama spent a lot of time in her room. So Sammy an' I would make up games together, y'know, shoot squirrels in the back yard, and run an' steal people's things from their yards, whatever we could find. When I think about it now, a lot of our games had to do with collecting things, specifically stolen things, an' then either hidin' 'em again like treasures or breakin' 'em down so no one could find out what we'd done.
One summer we got to spend a whole month with Gramma an' Grampap Rodgers, out in the mountains. We were so excited we couldn't sleep, and we stayed up late into the night whispering about how we were gonna take out Grampap's huntin' dogs, and explore the entire woods, and build a fort that no one could find that we could keep all our treasures in. We talked a lot about that fort, and the nonsense logistics of how to keep it perfectly hidden from everyone but ourselves. The Fort filled our thoughts all the way up to the driveway of the old brick church that Grampap was the pastor of. Papa pulled up slowly, and Grampap was there waitin' for us outside the sign that read Pentecostal Church of God.
Sayin' that name again reminds me of something that, now, seems to shed a little light on how things turned out. It took me all summer to find out that the Churchagaw wasn't real, an' I'd made him up out of Grampap saying 'Church 'a' Gawd' in his thick accent. When Grampap first told us he was in charge of the Churchagaw, I imagined it as a great big black bird holed up in the secret passage behind the pulpit. Grampap was the Churchagaw's slave, and he would bring it the big silver bowls from the church, full of the offering papers and leftover bits of bread and juice to eat. I stopped takin' communion when I found out about the Churchagaw, because I didn't want 'im to be too hungry. While I figured most people were content to sing their hymns to the Churchagaw, I knew my little sacrifice would really make his Sunday.
So I quick built up an obsession with the Churchagaw, and multiplied it to the excitement Sammy 'an I had already built up for the Fort. An' of course Sammy had no idea what I was talking about. That first night we were there, we'd already planned on sneakin' out to explore the woods, but I wanted to go across the parsonage yard to the church, to see if we could catch a glimpse of the 'Gaw himself.
...
"What are you talkin' about, Eva?" Sammy whispered loudly, with brotherly disgust in his voice.
"Well, but... the Churchagaw! Y'know, what Grampap said at dinner!" We were both tryin' to keep our voices low, so Gramma and Grampap wouldn't hear us chatterin'. They might'a both been deaf by then anyway, but whisperin' was necessary for a thrillin' adventure.
"Yeah, the Church, I know. But there's nothin' to see over there, Eva, just books an' an empty church is all!" Sammy's face was too hard to see in the dark, but I can guess he was confused by the change 'a plan, after all the time we'd spent decidin' on how the Fort's trap door was gonna work. Even so...
"But, Sammy, you're not hearin' me right! The Chur--"
"Just shut up about that, now! We already said we were gonna go sneak into the woods! We can go see the Church on Sunday with Gramma an' Grampap." I'd made him mad.
"Ok, ok, Sammy," I gave over, reluctantly. "But let's be real careful they don't hear us - I just don't wanna go home before we get to see the Churchagaw."
------
Word count: 779
I didn't get nearly as far as I wanted to tonight. The fact sheet really robbed me of my energies, but I think it was a necessary task for being able to keep up momentum in the long run. I'm down some 500 words, but hopefully I'll be able to work that out over the next few days.
In the summers we were pretty much left to our own devices - Papa was either down at the shipyard or down at Jack's drinkin', and Mama spent a lot of time in her room. So Sammy an' I would make up games together, y'know, shoot squirrels in the back yard, and run an' steal people's things from their yards, whatever we could find. When I think about it now, a lot of our games had to do with collecting things, specifically stolen things, an' then either hidin' 'em again like treasures or breakin' 'em down so no one could find out what we'd done.
One summer we got to spend a whole month with Gramma an' Grampap Rodgers, out in the mountains. We were so excited we couldn't sleep, and we stayed up late into the night whispering about how we were gonna take out Grampap's huntin' dogs, and explore the entire woods, and build a fort that no one could find that we could keep all our treasures in. We talked a lot about that fort, and the nonsense logistics of how to keep it perfectly hidden from everyone but ourselves. The Fort filled our thoughts all the way up to the driveway of the old brick church that Grampap was the pastor of. Papa pulled up slowly, and Grampap was there waitin' for us outside the sign that read Pentecostal Church of God.
Sayin' that name again reminds me of something that, now, seems to shed a little light on how things turned out. It took me all summer to find out that the Churchagaw wasn't real, an' I'd made him up out of Grampap saying 'Church 'a' Gawd' in his thick accent. When Grampap first told us he was in charge of the Churchagaw, I imagined it as a great big black bird holed up in the secret passage behind the pulpit. Grampap was the Churchagaw's slave, and he would bring it the big silver bowls from the church, full of the offering papers and leftover bits of bread and juice to eat. I stopped takin' communion when I found out about the Churchagaw, because I didn't want 'im to be too hungry. While I figured most people were content to sing their hymns to the Churchagaw, I knew my little sacrifice would really make his Sunday.
So I quick built up an obsession with the Churchagaw, and multiplied it to the excitement Sammy 'an I had already built up for the Fort. An' of course Sammy had no idea what I was talking about. That first night we were there, we'd already planned on sneakin' out to explore the woods, but I wanted to go across the parsonage yard to the church, to see if we could catch a glimpse of the 'Gaw himself.
...
"What are you talkin' about, Eva?" Sammy whispered loudly, with brotherly disgust in his voice.
"Well, but... the Churchagaw! Y'know, what Grampap said at dinner!" We were both tryin' to keep our voices low, so Gramma and Grampap wouldn't hear us chatterin'. They might'a both been deaf by then anyway, but whisperin' was necessary for a thrillin' adventure.
"Yeah, the Church, I know. But there's nothin' to see over there, Eva, just books an' an empty church is all!" Sammy's face was too hard to see in the dark, but I can guess he was confused by the change 'a plan, after all the time we'd spent decidin' on how the Fort's trap door was gonna work. Even so...
"But, Sammy, you're not hearin' me right! The Chur--"
"Just shut up about that, now! We already said we were gonna go sneak into the woods! We can go see the Church on Sunday with Gramma an' Grampap." I'd made him mad.
"Ok, ok, Sammy," I gave over, reluctantly. "But let's be real careful they don't hear us - I just don't wanna go home before we get to see the Churchagaw."
------
Word count: 779
I didn't get nearly as far as I wanted to tonight. The fact sheet really robbed me of my energies, but I think it was a necessary task for being able to keep up momentum in the long run. I'm down some 500 words, but hopefully I'll be able to work that out over the next few days.
NaNoWriMo Day 2: fact sheet
I need a place to start keeping the facts straight as this story grows. I and others have thought of some great ideas for different scenes which I'd like to include. Hopefully that will help with the overwhelmed feeling of filling this bitch up with 5o,000 grunts of content. So.
The Cast:
The Cast:
- Eva, or Mrs. Wallace - the mother, and perhaps occasional narrator
- Mandolin, or Mandy - the daughter, and main narrator
- Abraham, or Bram - Mandy's father
- Lila & Jacob, or Jake - Mandy's kids, Eva's grandkids
- Isaac, or Ike - Mandy's brother
- Alexandra, or Ali, or Alex - Mandy's sister
- Sammy, Ruthie, Ronnie - Eva's brothers & sister
- Eva's grandfather, or maybe brother, molests her as a kid
- Eva meets & marries Bram
- Bram turns out to be a drug addict
- Eva has kids - Mandy, Ike, & Alex
- Eva & Bram separate
- Eva molests Ike?
- Eva & Bram get divorced
- Mandy meets Greg & they move in together
- Alex becomes a stripper
- Mandy gets pregnant & has an abortion
- Mandy gets pregnant again with twins
- Greg turns out to be gay
- Mandy ditches Greg - does she kill him? does Eva kill him?
- Bram dies (heart attack?)
- Mandy has Lila & Jacob
- Ike meets & marries someone
- Eva burns Mandy's face & body with some kind of acid
- Alex takes custody of Lila & Jacob
- Eva goes to jail while awaiting bail
- Ike's wife leaves him
- Mandy visits Eva in jail
- Ike visits Eva in jail
- Mandy confesses to the burned face herself, claiming insanity
- Mandy is institutionalized instead of Eva
- Eva dies somehow (cancer, maybe?)
- explosive ending! Ike burns down someone's house & dies?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
NaNoWriMo Day 1
Here's my first day's work for NaNoWriMo 2009! Introduction / explanation is at the bottom, but read that last so that your reading isn't biased. And let me know what you think!
-------
She was so beautiful.
I remember when she turned 22, circa 1983; we have a video of her sunning in the back yard, kids playing in the plastic pool. Her hair was curled, but not permed - the terrible 80's frizz somehow missed her - and her skin had darkened that summer to a golden tan. She was about 7 or 8 months pregnant then, glowing with it and with the sunlight. Looking pained but happy, and the kids running up to her all blonde and in their bathing suits, getting drops of water on the tops of her legs as they begged her to watch them go down the slide on their tummies.
Even then, though, I think the change was taking root inside her. None of us knew it, least of all she, but looking back I think it was already underway. I love her so much, even now. Now most of all, really, when all I am left with are these video memories. It's hard to tell the difference between stories told to you and stories you were there to see. My strongest memories are of the times she really came to me, really needed me -- helping her through the separation, and several years later, through the divorce. Oddly enough, even helping her through the process of putting me away, where I could be looked after properly - even then I was her shoulder to cry on. That was a hard time for us, and a tough decision, but I think it was the right one. And I will always, always be there for her - she's part of me, whether for better or worse.
The change was well manifested during that time, which I think is why she needed me so much. Normally she was so independent - fiercely strong and insanely courageous. I mean, that's exactly it. Every day of her life she was like a wild, beautiful beast - warm at the best of times, savage at the worst. Mysterious the most. And it was reproach that got her riled up most of all - she never could take correction, especially from me. How it was that we could be mother & daughter, built of much the same stuff, I'll never understand.
But she died last spring. I may as well acknowledge it, out loud, and stop gently forgetting. But I can't have outlived her! Not after we set up this place for me to die in, after she cleaved to my chest like a child in the doorway before she took off. We had made a deal with each other, to keep from going crazy while the investigations were going full bore - long as I was still around she wouldn't disappear, wouldn't forget about me in here. She'd kept her word for, what, 6 years. And finally disappeared. Radiantly beautiful until the very end, despite what the change had done to her. I'll admit my words aren't unbiased, but I know it was true because I saw it reflected in everyone's eyes after all was said and done - how could someone so beautiful have gone so wrong.
Her grandchildren - grandchildren! - will have nothing to do with me. They're the only ones left, the heirs of all this madness, they and their uncle, her only son. Although it pains me so much that they're hurting, I suppose I can understand. I know a lot of the media speculated that I had driven her to become what she did - not directly, of course, but because we clashed, or I pushed her buttons, or whatever you want to call it. I think that's ridiculous, but blame just doesn't stick to beauty. Nor to mystery, at least that which is romantic. There was nothing ever really beautiful or mysterious about me - I worked hard and I loved harder. I can say with a clear conscience that I have always been there for anyone who has ever needed me.
And Lila and Jacob - Eva's grandchildren - don't. That might sound cold, or maybe petulant in some roundabout way, but I've always known that the best way to get a horse to drink is to leave it wander until it finally gets thirsty. If my estranged family ever needs my help - and honestly I don't know what I could ever do for them here in this place - they at least know where to find me.
But of course, that said, I suppose I could dredge up some guilt for the fact that I let Eva herself fill me up with her neediness, rather than forging relationships with the two of them earlier on. Lila and Jacob are dear, but I only had eyes for Eva. They were strange to me when they were born, my little funnies. I suppose I had just reached an age where babies no longer made sense to me. You go through that caretaking process and it just saps the life out of you. I think that really disappointed Eva, but by then the change had all but burned us both at the stake - I had little room for else but her, and she for naught but herself.
...
"Do you think you could make that breakfast strudel for us tomorrow, Mom?" I asked, wanting to impress my new friends with her cooking.
She looked at me coolly. "Mandy, no. It's enough that I allowed you to have your friends sleep over. You know I can't relax when there are other people in the house. Your friends--"
"I SAID thank you, Mom. But I wanted to have a fun breakfast too, and I know they'll love the strudel, and we can help--"
"Don't beg me, Mandy. There's plenty of cereal, and, let's see, you can make oatmeal for everyone if you want. But that strudel is a lot of work, and I won't be making it tomorrow."
Huff. "Mom, plea---"
"No 'Mom, please.' I said no. Just be grateful you get to have your friends over at all." Her mouth was set, eyebrows raised slightly. She was waiting to see if I would keep asking, go for the 3rd strike.
"Fine, Mom. Sorry. I promise we won't bother you." I knew better than to push it when a Privilege was on the line - I'd been on my best behavior for weeks, waiting and waiting for her to deem that I'd earned a reward. Getting her to agree to a sleepover was a stretch, but I had gotten away with it by playing up the fact that I had only had a couple of friends anyway, whom I never got to see after school because they rode the bus and I didn't. I turned and started for the den.
"Good girl," she said to my back. A few seconds later I heard her call, "Goodnight, girls!" down the stairs after me.
My friends were almost done setting up sleeping bags and pillows in front of the TV for the night. I was a little nervous around them - I rarely got to have friends over, and was fairly clueless as to what little girls normally did together outside of school. I had a vague notion that they stayed up late and ate snacks and talked, so snacks we had a-plenty, though now came the talking part. I wanted them to like me SO much. I wanted to be swept up in their world, learn from them how to go shopping at the mall, how to deal with boys, the whole bit. And if they invited me over to their houses in turn, surely it would make sense to Mom to reciprocate.
"Did she say yes?" Amber asked excitedly. Time for a reckoning. I'd been talking up the strudel to them, confident my mom would have said yes when she saw how well everything was going.
"Um, she... doesn't have the ingredients right now," I lied, embarrassed. "Well, but, she said..." I thought for a second to explain how my mom doesn't usually like to have other people in the house, but it's-not-you-it's-her. Just as quickly decided against that. "She said we could have oatmeal if we wanted...." Oh well.
"Ooh, I know how to make the best oatmeal!" Sarah piped up. She was probably the sweetest of all the girls, and liked me the most. Usually this fact annoyed me, but for the moment I was grateful.
"Cool, ok," I exhaled, more with relief than excitement. While not glamorous, it would at least be a step up from cereal.
[what happens during the sleepover?]
...
"Breakfast, girls!"
I was already awake, but had been lying still, waiting for the other girls up. I had heard about people loving to sleep in, but had never been able to sleep past about 8am myself. But, breakfast. What was this about?
"Girls!" I heard her call from the top of the stairs. "Time to wake u-up! Breakfast is ready!"
The girls were waking up slowly, rubbing fists into eye sockets and untangling from the sleeping bag jungle. I made my way up quickly, bounded the stairs to see what she was talking about. Maybe she had just set out the oatmeal stuff for us to use - maybe my suspicions weren't actually true. As I approached the dining room, I saw a perfect blueberry strudel sitting on the table, cooling. A cold knot grew in my spine.
"Good morning honey," my mom said from the kitchen. She was facing the stove, using a spatula on something. It was only about 10am, but she was fully dressed. She even had shoes on.
"Th...anks, Mom," I said hesitantly. This felt like some kind of trick - I wasn't sure how to respond.
"Hey, thanks Mrs. Wallace!" Amber piped up behind me. I had failed to notice her arrival shortly after mine. "This looks delicious! Did you make this from scratch?"
"Oh, no trouble. Did you girls have a fun night?" She wheeled around with a plate of pancakes in each hand. I was mystified.
"Yeah, we played games until like four in the morning!" Megan said, sliding into a seat at the table. I silently joined them, the cold knot growing.
"Wow, banana pancakes too! You really went all out, Mrs. Wallace," Sarah said. I winced. I was going to have to pay for this later.
Everyone echoed their thanks, filling their eyes with the spread.
[more breakfast conversation, then everyone leaves]
...
"Thanks, Mom, for doing the strudel. And the pancakes. You didn't have to," I said, forcing open the door that she had left ever so slightly ajar.
"Well. I wanted to." She was digging in the drawer for aluminum foil and didn't look at me while talked. Maybe the thanks had caught her off guard, and this wouldn't all explode like I had thought it would. "You said you wanted to have a fun breakfast for your friends."
There it was. Good tactic - make me own it. "They all really liked it. I told them you were a good cook." She turned to look at me. Softening her up before the blow came was all I could really do.
"I just hope you remember this the next time you ask for a privilege. Remember that I'm the one who has to take care of it." Her eyes were black orbs.
"I'll... go clean up the den...." I tried to sneak away--
"Mandy! No. LEAVE IT." Her voice thundered, and she was quick behind me. "I'll clean that up later, too," she said, at normal volume but higher pitch. She was stooping over, almost at eye level with me.
"I JUST want you to know, Mandy," she said, boring into my face with her eyes and her hot breath. Her right hand found my left wrist and squeezed. "EVERYTHING I DO for you."
"Yeah, Mom--"
"DON'T YOU TAKE THIS ALL FOR GRANTED!" She was now screaming directly at me, her face distorted and terrifying.
"No, Mom, I---"
"YOU WHAT! You WHAT, Mandy?!"
"I... I don't! I mean, I really appreciated it! Like, I'm not taking it for granted--"
"You kids take everything I do for granted."
[how to resolve this argument?]
--------
Word count: 2,046 / 50,000
Ok, so. I'm trying to take a lot of inspiration from Geek Love here in the narration style and POV. What I'm ultimately going for, though, is a larger statement, a la Mary Shelley, about monster-making. How parents can scar their children in the name of love, or act as monsters themselves and tell themselves it's for their kids' own good. I'm laying the groundwork now for what will hopefully become clear as a twisted network of complex, subverted family roles - kids as parents, parents as kids, siblings as both strangers and self.
I can tell I am going to have trouble, though, with the narrator being too much in her own head. A lot of this is written as post-liminal stream of consciousness, so I need help in identifying which passages need more description & back story, and which need less exposition in general. I'm also finding the active scenes a bit more taxing - I'm not sure I do so well with dialogue. Please let me know any thoughts you have about how this could be stronger.
-------
She was so beautiful.
I remember when she turned 22, circa 1983; we have a video of her sunning in the back yard, kids playing in the plastic pool. Her hair was curled, but not permed - the terrible 80's frizz somehow missed her - and her skin had darkened that summer to a golden tan. She was about 7 or 8 months pregnant then, glowing with it and with the sunlight. Looking pained but happy, and the kids running up to her all blonde and in their bathing suits, getting drops of water on the tops of her legs as they begged her to watch them go down the slide on their tummies.
Even then, though, I think the change was taking root inside her. None of us knew it, least of all she, but looking back I think it was already underway. I love her so much, even now. Now most of all, really, when all I am left with are these video memories. It's hard to tell the difference between stories told to you and stories you were there to see. My strongest memories are of the times she really came to me, really needed me -- helping her through the separation, and several years later, through the divorce. Oddly enough, even helping her through the process of putting me away, where I could be looked after properly - even then I was her shoulder to cry on. That was a hard time for us, and a tough decision, but I think it was the right one. And I will always, always be there for her - she's part of me, whether for better or worse.
The change was well manifested during that time, which I think is why she needed me so much. Normally she was so independent - fiercely strong and insanely courageous. I mean, that's exactly it. Every day of her life she was like a wild, beautiful beast - warm at the best of times, savage at the worst. Mysterious the most. And it was reproach that got her riled up most of all - she never could take correction, especially from me. How it was that we could be mother & daughter, built of much the same stuff, I'll never understand.
But she died last spring. I may as well acknowledge it, out loud, and stop gently forgetting. But I can't have outlived her! Not after we set up this place for me to die in, after she cleaved to my chest like a child in the doorway before she took off. We had made a deal with each other, to keep from going crazy while the investigations were going full bore - long as I was still around she wouldn't disappear, wouldn't forget about me in here. She'd kept her word for, what, 6 years. And finally disappeared. Radiantly beautiful until the very end, despite what the change had done to her. I'll admit my words aren't unbiased, but I know it was true because I saw it reflected in everyone's eyes after all was said and done - how could someone so beautiful have gone so wrong.
Her grandchildren - grandchildren! - will have nothing to do with me. They're the only ones left, the heirs of all this madness, they and their uncle, her only son. Although it pains me so much that they're hurting, I suppose I can understand. I know a lot of the media speculated that I had driven her to become what she did - not directly, of course, but because we clashed, or I pushed her buttons, or whatever you want to call it. I think that's ridiculous, but blame just doesn't stick to beauty. Nor to mystery, at least that which is romantic. There was nothing ever really beautiful or mysterious about me - I worked hard and I loved harder. I can say with a clear conscience that I have always been there for anyone who has ever needed me.
And Lila and Jacob - Eva's grandchildren - don't. That might sound cold, or maybe petulant in some roundabout way, but I've always known that the best way to get a horse to drink is to leave it wander until it finally gets thirsty. If my estranged family ever needs my help - and honestly I don't know what I could ever do for them here in this place - they at least know where to find me.
But of course, that said, I suppose I could dredge up some guilt for the fact that I let Eva herself fill me up with her neediness, rather than forging relationships with the two of them earlier on. Lila and Jacob are dear, but I only had eyes for Eva. They were strange to me when they were born, my little funnies. I suppose I had just reached an age where babies no longer made sense to me. You go through that caretaking process and it just saps the life out of you. I think that really disappointed Eva, but by then the change had all but burned us both at the stake - I had little room for else but her, and she for naught but herself.
...
"Do you think you could make that breakfast strudel for us tomorrow, Mom?" I asked, wanting to impress my new friends with her cooking.
She looked at me coolly. "Mandy, no. It's enough that I allowed you to have your friends sleep over. You know I can't relax when there are other people in the house. Your friends--"
"I SAID thank you, Mom. But I wanted to have a fun breakfast too, and I know they'll love the strudel, and we can help--"
"Don't beg me, Mandy. There's plenty of cereal, and, let's see, you can make oatmeal for everyone if you want. But that strudel is a lot of work, and I won't be making it tomorrow."
Huff. "Mom, plea---"
"No 'Mom, please.' I said no. Just be grateful you get to have your friends over at all." Her mouth was set, eyebrows raised slightly. She was waiting to see if I would keep asking, go for the 3rd strike.
"Fine, Mom. Sorry. I promise we won't bother you." I knew better than to push it when a Privilege was on the line - I'd been on my best behavior for weeks, waiting and waiting for her to deem that I'd earned a reward. Getting her to agree to a sleepover was a stretch, but I had gotten away with it by playing up the fact that I had only had a couple of friends anyway, whom I never got to see after school because they rode the bus and I didn't. I turned and started for the den.
"Good girl," she said to my back. A few seconds later I heard her call, "Goodnight, girls!" down the stairs after me.
My friends were almost done setting up sleeping bags and pillows in front of the TV for the night. I was a little nervous around them - I rarely got to have friends over, and was fairly clueless as to what little girls normally did together outside of school. I had a vague notion that they stayed up late and ate snacks and talked, so snacks we had a-plenty, though now came the talking part. I wanted them to like me SO much. I wanted to be swept up in their world, learn from them how to go shopping at the mall, how to deal with boys, the whole bit. And if they invited me over to their houses in turn, surely it would make sense to Mom to reciprocate.
"Did she say yes?" Amber asked excitedly. Time for a reckoning. I'd been talking up the strudel to them, confident my mom would have said yes when she saw how well everything was going.
"Um, she... doesn't have the ingredients right now," I lied, embarrassed. "Well, but, she said..." I thought for a second to explain how my mom doesn't usually like to have other people in the house, but it's-not-you-it's-her. Just as quickly decided against that. "She said we could have oatmeal if we wanted...." Oh well.
"Ooh, I know how to make the best oatmeal!" Sarah piped up. She was probably the sweetest of all the girls, and liked me the most. Usually this fact annoyed me, but for the moment I was grateful.
"Cool, ok," I exhaled, more with relief than excitement. While not glamorous, it would at least be a step up from cereal.
[what happens during the sleepover?]
...
"Breakfast, girls!"
I was already awake, but had been lying still, waiting for the other girls up. I had heard about people loving to sleep in, but had never been able to sleep past about 8am myself. But, breakfast. What was this about?
"Girls!" I heard her call from the top of the stairs. "Time to wake u-up! Breakfast is ready!"
The girls were waking up slowly, rubbing fists into eye sockets and untangling from the sleeping bag jungle. I made my way up quickly, bounded the stairs to see what she was talking about. Maybe she had just set out the oatmeal stuff for us to use - maybe my suspicions weren't actually true. As I approached the dining room, I saw a perfect blueberry strudel sitting on the table, cooling. A cold knot grew in my spine.
"Good morning honey," my mom said from the kitchen. She was facing the stove, using a spatula on something. It was only about 10am, but she was fully dressed. She even had shoes on.
"Th...anks, Mom," I said hesitantly. This felt like some kind of trick - I wasn't sure how to respond.
"Hey, thanks Mrs. Wallace!" Amber piped up behind me. I had failed to notice her arrival shortly after mine. "This looks delicious! Did you make this from scratch?"
"Oh, no trouble. Did you girls have a fun night?" She wheeled around with a plate of pancakes in each hand. I was mystified.
"Yeah, we played games until like four in the morning!" Megan said, sliding into a seat at the table. I silently joined them, the cold knot growing.
"Wow, banana pancakes too! You really went all out, Mrs. Wallace," Sarah said. I winced. I was going to have to pay for this later.
Everyone echoed their thanks, filling their eyes with the spread.
[more breakfast conversation, then everyone leaves]
...
"Thanks, Mom, for doing the strudel. And the pancakes. You didn't have to," I said, forcing open the door that she had left ever so slightly ajar.
"Well. I wanted to." She was digging in the drawer for aluminum foil and didn't look at me while talked. Maybe the thanks had caught her off guard, and this wouldn't all explode like I had thought it would. "You said you wanted to have a fun breakfast for your friends."
There it was. Good tactic - make me own it. "They all really liked it. I told them you were a good cook." She turned to look at me. Softening her up before the blow came was all I could really do.
"I just hope you remember this the next time you ask for a privilege. Remember that I'm the one who has to take care of it." Her eyes were black orbs.
"I'll... go clean up the den...." I tried to sneak away--
"Mandy! No. LEAVE IT." Her voice thundered, and she was quick behind me. "I'll clean that up later, too," she said, at normal volume but higher pitch. She was stooping over, almost at eye level with me.
"I JUST want you to know, Mandy," she said, boring into my face with her eyes and her hot breath. Her right hand found my left wrist and squeezed. "EVERYTHING I DO for you."
"Yeah, Mom--"
"DON'T YOU TAKE THIS ALL FOR GRANTED!" She was now screaming directly at me, her face distorted and terrifying.
"No, Mom, I---"
"YOU WHAT! You WHAT, Mandy?!"
"I... I don't! I mean, I really appreciated it! Like, I'm not taking it for granted--"
"You kids take everything I do for granted."
[how to resolve this argument?]
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Word count: 2,046 / 50,000
Ok, so. I'm trying to take a lot of inspiration from Geek Love here in the narration style and POV. What I'm ultimately going for, though, is a larger statement, a la Mary Shelley, about monster-making. How parents can scar their children in the name of love, or act as monsters themselves and tell themselves it's for their kids' own good. I'm laying the groundwork now for what will hopefully become clear as a twisted network of complex, subverted family roles - kids as parents, parents as kids, siblings as both strangers and self.
I can tell I am going to have trouble, though, with the narrator being too much in her own head. A lot of this is written as post-liminal stream of consciousness, so I need help in identifying which passages need more description & back story, and which need less exposition in general. I'm also finding the active scenes a bit more taxing - I'm not sure I do so well with dialogue. Please let me know any thoughts you have about how this could be stronger.
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