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bjbj Lenore Elizabeth Mackenzie Enid Greene Mrs. Mary Miller Mr. George Filiberty Mrs.
Cassandra Filiberty The Story of Virgil Curly hair weeping by the dawn's dew and pursed
lips were set in stone on a pale face perched on a lanky, slumped body at the bar. This
posture would lead an onlooker to believe this person had a terrible night precluding
the sound of the seven o'clock chime from the old coo-coo clock. Once perching gaily
on the paisley wallpaper, now barely hanging on and tilted awkwardly left, the little bird
still sang the toll of the day's hour but not quite as richly as it once had. Everything
in the rustic tavern, from its wooden plaques pointing the way for "Ladies" and "Gentlemen"
to relieve themselves, to a pristine sounding victrola had seen its visitors have better
days and nights. There was nothing here to be sought after; no riches nor wealth nor
fame. Not one bit of reasoning could come to one's mind, especially to the mind of an
outsider, as to how a transient s body ended up here at now 7:04 a.m. on a dreary Tuesday
morning after what should have been a glorious evening. This person was clearly not of a
lower class. Fully equipped, yet fashionably clad in winter clothes, protection from this
winter s elements was not a problem to ward off; dark suede, a seal skin coat with fur
forming itself into a hood, mittens thrust onto the counter, and a turtle neck. Yes,
that is what was particularly right for the season. Although the attire was fit for the
weather, this person was not fit to be in this bar. This is a one-horse town in which
everyone knows everyone else s business, dating back to 1853 when George Filiberty founded
the city. Strangers constantly came in and out, but none quite so intriguing as who was
now sitting alone, being looked at now and then. There are, however, a few people whom
would be expected to gather around the fireplace at this time of a new day. Mr. Rosco, a sprite
old man, placed his coat, hat and cane against the fireplace while he sat and pondered what
he might do that day. Every morning, he gathered his coat, hat and cane for his daily walk
with Brewster two miles down the road to the tavern. Upon their arrival, the two would
take their usual seats by the welcoming fire; Mr. Rosco with a daily paper, sitting back
turned toward the entrance, cup of Joe in hand, and Brewster gnawing contentedly on
a rawhide bone. He was treated so well by the tavern owner who kept dog treats and bones
in a bucket on-hand just for Brewster and his brother. Morris always came second. Quite
the groggy one, Morris never seemed to enjoy the idea of waking up so early to meet up
with anyone anywhere since his wife died a few years ago. Somehow he was always there
right on cue, however, just two minutes after the coo-coo chimed seven o clock. His first
words of the day usually involved mentioning something about how he thinks the sun should
be put on a lasso held by his hand so he could yank it back and forth to be whatever hour
he pleased. He would pull the good ole well-used deck of cards from the mantle and deal the
first hand for an always rousing game of Hearts soon to be ritually played moments after all
the men had arrived. He took his coat off then went to the fireplace, hovered his hands
close to the warmth, and began light conversation with Mr. Rosco. You know, Ed, I can t seem
to find where I put my wrench. I ve got this old pipe I need to fix but can t find my wrench.
It s hard when you get to be this age and can t find anything, you know, when the old
sets in. Ed always had a way of listening to Morris without actually paying any attention.
Well, Morris, you can borrow mine. That won t do, Morris retorted. I mean, it will do
for now, but it is my wrench I should find. In from the back patio came Gil, greased towel
in hand. Gil is the oldest of the men here, but he somehow seemed decades younger. Everyone
suspected he had a bit of Indian in him, seeing as his hair was still jet black and his skin
so taught. Sometimes people jokingly referred to him as Rides with Wind because Gil rarely
plans anything and would travel across the country in an instant if there was talk of
new land to discover. Gil is what people would refer to as a man s man and he fit so perfectly
into the tavern that newcomers oft thought he was the rightful owner! Mac didn t mind.
The two had become so close over the past few years that neither could do any wrong.
Well, how about I go over to your house some time today and help you fix whatever pipe
it is that needs fixin? Gil suggested. I appreciate the offer, Gil, but I can manage on my own
as soon as I find my wrench. Then it s settled - I will help you find your wrench! Morris
peaked over at Gil, who was staring at himself in a mirror combing his hair. Scratching his
head, Morris decided, You know, Gil, on second thought, I think the pipe is fine for now.
Mr. Rosco couldn t resist, Ah, Morris, just accept Gil s help and get on with it. Morris
crossed his arms and pretended to ignore Mr. Rosco s jest. Their little spats would have
been interrupted by the sound of a warn down truck sputtering up the drive, and they would
all know it was Denver, were it not for the thick walls and loud Livery Stables Blues
- Fox Trot music blaring away near the entrance. Brewster, being the sensitive-eared pup that
he was, heard it though. At the sound he grew very excited and leaped to all fours and began
bouncing around. He knew that Denver, like Mr. Rosco, never came alone. Brewster quickly
picked up his bone and waited for the door to swing open. Denver s silhouette was seen
while he held the door open and in a powering jog from outside, Buford charged through the
front door and pounced on his Newfoundland brother. The two dogs playfully mauled each
other for the rawhide bone for awhile until the tavern keep delved out another so they
could be contently chewing together. You decided not to walk again, eh, Denver? Mr. Rosco asked,
a little concerned. He knew his old friend was having some joint problems from time to
time. Denver and Mr. Rosco only lived two houses away from each other. You know, you
ve gotta get Buford out for some exercise now and again. Denver was used to Mr. Rosco
s constant fatherly advice. Denver was actually the youngest of the men. It seemed like everyone
at the tavern liked to take care of him most. He and Morris sadly bonded over their wives
deaths, Denver s having happened only half a year prior to today. The tavern keep, Mac,
of course was there greeting all the loyal customers and good friends as they routinely
one by one came through the front door. Ever since this tavern was built, Mac was there
with open arms and doors and chairs inviting anyone and everyone to come and have a drink.
The tavern was built and then a few years later, Mac s family decided to add a second
story with a few comfortable rooms so that passersby could stay for the night. Still,
business was slow since the town had not gotten much bigger than 4,000 residents in the last
ten years. Every morning Mac set out the deck of cards, a newspaper or magazine, made fresh
cups of coffee and set them out on the table, picked the perfect record to put on the victrola,
and waited for the treasured guests and companions to come through whichever door. Mac, being
a barkeep for so long, did come across the new face's name. Tired eyes and a hoarse voice
greeted Mac with a barely audible hello about an hour before the men had arrived for their
daily game. "Hello," Mac said. "How would you like a drink, stranger?" "I will just
have to take you up on that offer. And my name's Virgil." After ordering, receiving,
and taking a sip of a neat scotch, all the world faded away and every moment leading
up to today began to melt into one. ************* Let go of me! screamed a little boy at the
top of his lungs. m gonna tell mom on you! Oh, ya right, you ain t gonna tell nobody
about nothin' I m doin'! I couldn t tell what the two boys were playing tug of war over,
but I knew I didn t want to get involved. There is nothing worse than trying to break
up a fight between two strange kids. They were so obnoxious though, and the only thing
I could think of doing to help at least a bit was to kindly yell, Why don t you just
knock it off, huh? Well that would have provoked them! Today s weather was one that only a
great poet could describe to you. I don t know, it had a lot of hues of blues and grays,
and maybe even some greens sneaking in there now and again. It was the day of the first
snow - my favorite. There s something about the first day of snow which is not palpable
by the first day of any other solstice. You know, when you are inside, say, waking up,
and then you are looking outside, sitting on the bed, peering out the window, maybe
perched on the sill. Wearing a warm robe and bed cap, you look through the icy panes and
there it is; before you lies a perfect world where there seems to be no hunger, no pain,
no hatred. The world looks so fragile this way and it makes me regret having a job which
will soon force me out of my warm and fuzzy pajamas, out of my cozy bedroom, out of the
comforting arms of everything I love the most and into that wonderland. Don t get me wrong,
I think it is beautiful and enjoy romping around in the white snow, in the cold air,
under the pretend warmth of the golden sun. I do, however, regret having to go out there
and ruin the splendor by traipsing through it with my plaid galoshes. Lucky for me a
group of children are running amuck, frolicking, acting like complete idiots not realizing
just what splendor they are screwing over, muddying up the street for me. Suddenly I
realized I was late for the day. Clocks - I wish they never existed. I d love to go
back in time to the days where the only way in which people judged the day s hour was
by watching the sun and following the beating of their hearts. I continued the thought while
turning on the shower. It is, of course, that time of year again wherein the pipes take
a mite longer to warm up. It is strange to me how a cold shower feels so spectacular
in the middle of the summer, temperatures blaring, but then in the winter, oh, how I
love to be blanketed in warmth. If only the shower could be portable, I d be in it all
day long! How much fun would that be? I think that I m going to go to work and insist that
there be showers installed throughout the whole of the building. While taking off my
robe, I began looking at myself in the mirror and ranting as usual. Oftentimes I would go
over moments of past conversations and reenact them. Oh, that s ridiculous. How on earth
could you expect me to act that way? No, wait, that s not right. I ve got to be facing to
the left, tilt my head like that. Oh, how about with an English accent! Oh, my good
man, that is higgledy-piggledy. How on earth could you, of all the people, expect me to
act in such a manner? I am rehearsing for future conversations with someone who might
ask me to do something I disagree with. Haha, that won t do. Oh, my favorite accent of all,
a little southern belle mixed with Texas oil plantation owner, Oh, dear me, what a sight.
He mustn t have known just how befuddled he looked just sittin right ova there. You have
got to hand it to those southern belles. Those girls can take the black in any tea and turn
it sweet as sugar with but a wink and a smile. You know, it is quite amusing to me how whenever
I hear a female speaking with a southern accent, she is the sweetest thing I have ever met.
While, on the contrary, if a man is speaking with the twang he sounds like a down right
dunce. I laugh to myself at the thought and realize that, oh, the water is still running.
I always do this, too. Gosh, it would be so nice to be environmentally friendly but I
just get so caught up in my thoughts that I cannot for the life of me remember to be
so darn conscious all the time! So I take off my robe and jump into the shower, almost
tripping on my cat. Oh, Lucifer! You..! For whatever reason, my cat Lucifer always enjoys
being with me in the shower. It s so odd to me, but for the most part I don t mind. Whatever
makes him happy, as long as it doesn t interfere with my lifestyle, so be it. At this particular
moment he was getting in the way of my lifestyle, leaping in front of me as though he had a
vendetta against me. I nudged him out of the way with my foot and stepped into the sheets
of heat, closing the curtain behind me. Have you ever just stood under the water, feeling
the rush of the pellets fall over your body? That is one of my most favorite things to
do. I know, I know, it isn t very environmentally friendly and all, but I can still classify
it as a favorite feeling. That s not to say I actually do it whenever showering, heaven
s no! Simply put, however, if I could I would. It is a moral issue, I suppose. I mean, I
literally could stand in the shower for hours on end and nobody in the world would care
- except for the poorest people in Africa and all the drought-ridden third worlds. That
would get to my conscience. Is that not how it usually goes, though. Were it not for other
people trying to make us feel bad, there would be all sorts of indulgences! Well, that and
skin with the consistency of prunes does not suit me well. Okay, so here I go on yet another
rant while forgetting what I am actually here to do. Virgil, you are here to take a shower,
to clean off your body before going to work, so that the people at work can tolerate your
smell at least for the few hours in which they must interact with you. Wash your hair.
Ya, that s right, lather it up and breathe in that lovely honey aroma just seeping from
the bottle, into your nose. What a wonderful invention, soap scents. Now, washing my face,
letting it become fully enveloped by the water, rinsing it all off, I think I hear someone
at the door. I peak my head out through the curtain for a second. No, it must have been
my kitten. Continuing my shower regiment by grabbing the shampoo bottle, squeezing a dollop
into my palm, then putting my hands together to cover both hands, a faint rustling comes
from the living room and still I think it is Lucifer. I step to the farthest side of
the tub, out of the water, and stand there listening, only to hear nothing. So I shrug
it off and then raise my hands and start lathering my hair. All of a sudden I hear another rustling
and see Lucifer s shadow indicating that he is sitting on the edge of the tub, between
the curtain and the liner, and I become a bit nervous. Out of nowhere a man rushes into
the shower, throws open the curtain, and lifts a mallet in preparation to throw heaving,
angry blows right onto my head!! No, that isn t what happened at all. It was just my
mind getting carried away. I finished in the shower, dried off, and put on some clothes.
Now it is time to just go out into the world and start my work day. Oh, it is such a difficult
task from time to time, but, I don t know, it also can be quite enjoyable. My place of
employment is only a couple of miles from my home so I walk there every day at a slow
pace taking in all the scenery around me. This is about the only exercise I get, aside
from my lunch break jaunt, and typically the only time I spend outside. This is not on
purpose, mind you. I d love to go skiing or hiking or bike riding or swimming, but that
just does not suit my lifestyle these days. The 30-45 minute walk to and from work is
enough to satisfy my outdoorsy urges. I put on my boots, gloves, jacket and hat, in that
order, and leave my apartment, lock the door, walk to the end of the corridor, turn left
to the flight of stairs, go down, and then stand in the foyer for a moment, thinking.
About what, it is hard to say; about everything and nothing all at once is safe. The foyer
is quite nice. The entire building is actually a very nice one, each apartment with its own
secret nooks and crannies. This would be called a craftsman home. The foyer had a towering
wooden staircase, a large Gustav Becker clock, and a hallway leading to the back of the complex.
Lining the hall were brass mailboxes. The floor had small black and white tile forming
an intricate pattern, all black ones where the floor met the wall. Thin slats of black
paneling went a little less than halfway up the wall, and were met by a splash of gold
- the wall s color. Somebody thought it would be a good idea to have crown molding in the
ceilings, a dangling chandelier, and claws on the foot of the stairs. Well done, interior
designer. I open one of the French double doors and find myself on the front stoop,
then begin my walk. Now that I am actually out of my house, and in the street, I see
these two children fighting. Oh, right, back to where I started. There s nothing I want
more than to walk over to them and quiet them up by yelling some sort of profanity. That,
however, is not the best way to go about getting any kind of positive results from anyone,
especially snot-nosed kids. I don t like kids. Don t get me wrong, I understand the need
for them in the life cycle and all, but I just don t like them being around, coughing,
getting their sticky fingers all over everything. Let s not steer too far away from these particular
children playing out in the snow. Who knows what kind of harm they are going to cause
to the cars and people around them. What if other little kids come out, and want to wrestle
as well? Someone is bound to get hurt and I am grateful that I don t have to stick around
to witness it. Oh, here is a thought - what if they play with the snowballs and then break
one of my windows! That would be a hundred percent displeasing. Although, I could then
probably not show up to work on account of the vandalism occurring in my neighborhood,
financial setback, emotional setback, things of that nature. What about Lucifer. To think
of him climbing out through the shards of what is left of the window s glass. My boss
would understand that I can t let my precious Russian Blue run free! So I did what any adult
looking for a scapegoat in this situation would do - I picked up a pile of fresh snow,
packed it tight into ball form, and lobbed it in the direction of one of the older looking
boys while ducking down behind a car. Oh, great, I should have gotten a better look
at my surroundings before egging on this fun spar. Instead of a controlled crouch, I found
myself flat on the ground, boots in the air, head surrounded by the cold, cold snow. I
can t tell if the kids could see or hear me, so I just continue to lie there, motionless,
waiting for some sort of inclination of their presence. Now I simply don t want to move
because I realize that lying in the snow is no fun at all unless, and only if, you are
making snow angels! So I do just that. I haven t done this in ages, stretching my arms up
as far as possible, legs out, toes pointed, smiling up at the sun. We sure do pay so much
attention to schedules, as adults, that we forget about living in the moment. The time
is now, and right now I am making snow angels. I close my eyes and picture the warmth of
a fire place, the comforting clutch of a companion s warm arms, soothing hot chocolate in my
belly. Suddenly the children come racing toward me in a frenzy wanting to pound my face into
the snow! They started yelling at me, trying to pick a fight. They were all surrounding
me, standing over me, and I couldn t get up, despite my significant height advantage over
them. I shouldn t have made that snow angel, I thought to myself. The older boy who I had
aimed at came toward me with brute force threatening to send me to my maker. His fist came inches
within my face when I snapped out of it. That isn t what happened at all. The children must
not have known where I threw the snowball from, so they simply dispersed. I stopped
creating my angel s wings and sat up, looking around. Great, now I m just plum going to
be late to work. My job is so dull. I m a typist, and cannot wait until the day that
I will burst out of here, never to return. All day I type whatever correspondence my
boss asks of me. He sits in his office and writes notes on pieces of paper, backs of
receipts, even on the back of his hand! What an oaf that guy is. Why is it that people
like him always somehow end up getting married and having a great financial success while
people like me, well, have to go through all this trouble to get anywhere in life. My boss,
the great whale of a man with his handlebar moustache; if he didn t smoke on a pipe, I
doubt he d be able to survive. The smell of cigar seeped through his pores. After working
I had to run home and scrub every last bit of tobacco off my body. So yes, I shower twice
a day. I oftentimes catch myself glaring at Ted. That s what I call the house of the man
whose correspondence I write; Ted. I could really care less what his real name is. It
might as well be John or Henry, but Ted is perfect. Well, anyway, I find myself glaring
and staring at Ted now and again. Sometimes I wonder if he sees me. Ted is not a beautiful
man, quite the opposite, actually. He sits there with grease in his hair, stains under
his arms and crumbs on his big belly. Does he think anything of my persistent glances?
It wouldn t bother me one bit if he did, see, because I cannot imagine him having a single
thought at all. As it quite often does, my mind sets off in a wander. Ted notices that
my workflow has been halted and yells across the room, something about getting a move on.
Suddenly I get this urge in the seat of my pants to rise up, walk over to Ted, thrust
my face quickly into his and suggest, Why don t we forget about the workplace, Ted,
and make passionate love right here right now. Of course Ted is taken aback, but not
a nay escapes his lips, not a struggle makes his hips, not a single ounce of resistance
comes from his fingertips as my body dips forward, and now sits on his lap. Ted s cigar
rolls from his palm, to his fingers, then onto his desk and comes to a stop, leaving
a small trail of ash. I press my body against his and plant the most seductive kiss on him
I could. Ted didn t seem to mind. He yells from his chair once again and jolts me out
of my trance. I quickly get up and find what he needs. My job is so tedious I have to make
up scenarios to keep my brain occupied, and out of sleep. It seems that most of my days
are so lacking in excitement that my mind is constantly filling in the empty spaces
with a more adventurous life. Finally the lunch hour arrives, and I can leave for the
full minutes of my break, count em 45. I grab my coat, clock out, and briskly leave the
building. Once again I find myself loving the air I breathe. Don t get me wrong, my
life has been quite bland up until recently. Even still the days creep by and I yearn for
something more to come of the patterns I allow myself to fall into. For now, however, the
only thing to do is accept my position in life and go with the flow, sort of. I head
to the nearby bakery to get a pastry and coffee. I don t even like pastries or coffee that
much but there is rather an attractive cashier with a smile so divine it d break your heart.
Some may argue that it is difficult to have a crush on someone who doesn t even notice
your presence. Actually, perhaps this is easier. Usually I ll sit at the table with a pen and
paper and write romantic love letters and hope no one ever sees them, especially said
attendant. Today I go for a more solemn tone: I'm falling feet first into you, a gentle
test of the waters with my big toe. I found your water to be comforting and inviting,
so I did what any curious person would do: I dove feet first pencil-dive style into your
pool of warmth. This is my first time, so be gentle. Now I'm in and I never want to
leave, just wading here, having the grandest of times. I come up for air, but I don't want
it! The last thing I want is to be smothered by the reality of oxygen. Everyone has to
breathe, but oh, why can't I be a fish so careless and free to float so lovingly on
your gentle tide. I feel your love for me, because you protest it with such an earnest
tone. Usually I'm more timid about jumping right in, and I worry I won't be able to make
it out safely. But I think everything will be alright for me, and you. Oh, you. You,
you, you Mid- a shadow appeared out of the corner of my eye. It was the cashier. Is this
yours? I was being handed a wallet. No, but I wish it were. Mine is hardly so unscathed.
Okay, just thought I d ask. Have a nice day. Then I was alone again. Oh, what a rush! Words
of an Angel fell onto my ears and all I could do was pretend the experience was nothing
more than speaking to a lost and found clerk. If only some people knew just how much fantasizing
is done about them. I wonder if anyone fantasizes about me? I mean, I m not half-bad looking,
have a tantalizing walk, and sometimes even a sophisticated talk. This is just too risky
to think about. For now I have to re-gather my things and head back to the grind. Walking
down the street, I noticed something quite peculiar. The sun was blaring through the
clouds, yet it was cold as an ice box. People were going about their business, hustling,
bustling, cursing up and down the streets, shivering. There was, however, one thing I
don t think I ever noticed before. A dingy placard was hanging from outside a shop which
read, Trinkets. Hmm, trinkets, I thought to myself. Might as well take a look and see
what exactly is sold here. * * * * * * * * * Good morning, Denver, Mac gruffly said.
Denver nodded and quietly let out a loose hello. The two haven t had the relationship
they once did since Lenore s passing. Mac and Lenore were old school chums, spending
nearly every day together. They knew everything about one another and rarely left the other
s side ever since beginning their friendship. Mac and Denver met at a town hall meeting.
Denver was new to the town and wanted to see what it was all about. The two hit it off
immediately, laughing about their janky government system, discussing ways to beautify the town,
and ultimately plans to attract guests to Mac s tavern. Visions of their time together
had been flowing in and out of Mac s brain like a choppy river bed filled with pebbles
that created many miniature waves. Does anyone know where I can get a drink around here?
Mac overheard a male s voice loudly ask over the din of townspeople. Immediately Mac looked
up, spotted where the voice came from, and caught sight of Denver. What a beautiful man
Denver was. His tall stature, dark complexion, and deep voice caught Mac off guard for a
moment. s got a tavern down the road a piece, Lenore stated on Mac s behalf. Oh, right,
right, yes, I do. Hi, I m Mac. Mac reached out a hand for an introduction, to which Denver
joyfully gripped and expounded, Pleasure to meet you! This is my friend Lenore, Mac motioned
to Lenore. How do you do, She stated with a full curtsy, to which Denver tipped his
hat. Mac had never seen Lenore act in such a manner around men, especially not a newcomer.
Her golden brown hair was worn loosely today and she had suddenly had an air of glee seeping
through her skin. That was the first day of their three lives together. Mac came back
from the memory and looked around at all the men. Judging by Morris facial expressions
and fidgety movements, it was probably time to get the game started. Morris had a way
of fiddling with the cards, constantly shuffling them and giving all the players a once over
to indicate that he was ready to get the game going. Morris didn t seem to realize that
this was a tell-tail sign of his getting antsy, but Mac is rather perceptive and usually picks
up on those kinds of things. That and after knowing someone for so long all their quirks
and nuances stick out like a soar thumb. Mac took a seat at the table after pouring a cup
of coffee and glancing at the door, half hoping to see someone come in, yet half knowing that
it was too early in the morning for that. Settled in, the four players, Mr. Rosco, Morris,
Denver and Mac, eagerly began their game. Gil, are you going to play a few rounds? Gil
was pacing around the room, wringing the towel out that he had recently wiped his bike down
with. Morris was the type of guy who liked order and to know who was all in, all the
time. Oh, I don t know. Just deal me in and fold for me until I decide, will yeh? You
know I don t like -- Mac cut Morris off, ll do that for you, Gil. Just take your time.
Morris candidly smirked at Mac, but Mac shrugged it off. Sometimes Morris can be a bit ornery,
but the group learned to simply ignore him when he gets that way. Their game went through
a few hands before Morris hollered out asking Gil if he was ready to join yet, but he was
nowhere to be seen at that moment. The men started to casually discuss the individual
at the bar. Who orders a neat scotch at six in the morning. I guess somebody with the
name Virgil. Oh, Virgil, huh? That s quite the name. Well if Gil isn t going to join
us, I say we ask this Virgil character to join in on a few hands. Not many people know
how to play Hearts, Morris. Well we ll all be teachers for a day! I m tired of waiting
on Gil all the time. Perfectly good cards are staying out of play. Mac shrugged, placed
the cards face down, slowly stood up and went over to the bar. Virgil was still slumped
over, clearly in deep thought. Mac didn t want to interrupt, but wanted to comply with
the guys request. Hey, there. Virgil was in the same position as earlier, slumped over,
not really paying much attention to any of the surrounding commotion. Mac put a hand
on Virgil s shoulder and asked, Are you okay? Virgil jolted, almost as if frightened. Didn
t mean to startle you, Mac sincerely stated. Oh, I apologize for being so rude, Virgil
proclaimed. Do I need to leave? Not at all, hon. Mac chuckled then motioned to the table
of onlookers. We were just playing a few hands, waiting on our guy Gil, and got to wondering
if you would like to throw some cards around with us old folks. Virgil turned to see who
exactly Mac was referring to. All three men were goose-necking with full, interested eyes
all on Virgil and Mac. Even Brewster and Buford who had been napping noticed that something
of at least minor importance was taking place. As Virgil s glance shifted to the table of
older gentleman, six pairs of eyes averted themselves back to the card game. Brewster,
whom is a bit stockier than his brother with large patches of brown on his coat, lifted
his head excitedly and dropped the rawhide to the floor. I hadn t even noticed that there
was anyone else here but me, and you of course. Do you know, what time is it? Mac looked up
at the coo-coo and back at Virgil. It looks like it is nigh eight o clock. Wow. Have I
really been here that long? Virgil s brain had been ticking away, but a lot slower than
its regular pace. You have. So do we have another player or what? Morris impatiently
yelled over. What do you say? Would you like to join us? Oh, sure, I haven t played any
card games in quite a spell, though. That s all right. We are more than ready to teach
any newcomers. Virgil seemed to suddenly realize just how warm the large room was and took
off the large jacket saying, I can t believe I didn t take this off sooner. Would you like
me to hang that up for you? That s quite all right. I ll just keep it right here, if you
don t mind. I don t mind at all. When the room fills up, I might have to ask you to
put it elsewhere though! Mac joked; the room hadn t filled up in ages. Wishful thinking
never hurt anybody, one of Mac s philosophies. Virgil got up and followed Mac to the table,
took a seat, and a look around at the men. * * * * * * * * * * Now, I don t want to
be pushy, Denver began, But how about showing me where that tavern is? I ve been on a long
journey and -- Mac interrupted, Oh, of course. We can go right now. It is only a hop, a skip
and a jump away after all. The three started on their way from the town meeting to the
local watering hole. Mac couldn t help but notice how intrigued Lenore was by this Denver
man. He was a tall guy, clean cut in a rugged sort of way, with a thin mustache sitting
just above his upper lip. His dungarees had a bit of wear and tear, but not as much as
the used-to-be white short-brimmed hat on his head. Denver looked just like he belonged
from the country, dark leather boots, a bolo and a vest. Mac couldn t help but wonder if
perhaps Denver once had a job as a sheriff. Though there were some knicks on his clothes,
Denver still looked very well kept. There were only a few moments of silence before
Lenore broke it by making small talk. So, what brings you to Wicker Falls? She asked,
casually. Denver s eyes slightly lit up, or maybe it was the glare of the bright sun beating
down from above. A bead of sweat started to form on the nape of his neck, but not because
of Lenore s question. That was just coincidental. I figured it is about time I get out and see
some more of this beautiful country of ours. Denver gleefully informed his two tour guides,
then he chuckled. Well, I d hate to start off our friendship with a bout of dishonesty.
In truth, I left a cattle drive about, oh, seven days ago. So you re an outlaw! Lenore
s eyes widened as she stopped in her tracks. Mac kept walking because although this Denver
fellow was from out of town, it was still obvious that he was no outlaw. Denver stopped
quickly, though, turned toward Lenore, and let out a full-bellied laugh. Why, no, ma
am! It was decided before we left the ranch that I was going to head out on my own for
some time. Oh, I see. That seemed to make her more curious, and Mac could see the questions
building behind her blue eyes. Well, it s mighty hot to be doing a lot of traveling,
if you ask me. That s why I am ever so grateful for the two of you taking me to this tavern.
What do you think you would want to have to wet your whistle, some whiskey? Mac figured
if anything the drink order could be decided before arriving at the bar, for no logical
reason. Those are just the kind of ideas Mac gets. Why not just speed the monotonous processes
right up so there is more time for the finer things in life, such as enjoying time with
new friends. Let s see Denver thought a moment, but was interrupted by something that caught
his eye. Would you have a look at that! he expounded. Lenore smiled. She and Mac both
knew that it was the split tree he noticed. Oh, you should have seen it! One day, years
ago, Mac and I were walking this very path home from school during a thunderstorm when
out of nowhere a bolt of lightning struck that tree and split it right in half, just
like that! What a vision that was. Mac started to laugh. And you two just stood there and
watched it happen? Denver couldn t believe that. Oh, you better believe we both ran home
to our mamas arms right quick! Mac explained, laughing louder with Lenore. It was so amazing!
Oh, I reckon it was quite the sight. How long ago was this? Goodness, Lenore started. What
do you think, Mac, eight, nine years ago? she trailed off. You know, I think it was
right after old man Crocker passed away. That must have been at least nine years ago. So
you two have been friends for awhile? Denver liked to find out the smallest details about
people before learning more. It made him feel closer to the ones he was talking to. Mac
felt a little strange answering a kind of question like that, so didn t. Lenore, on
the other hand, just loved to dole out all kinds of personal information. She began to,
the way Mac saw it, tell their whole life story, leaving out a few details of course.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It was summer again, but it somehow seemed hotter
than the year before. Perhaps it was the tension in the air, so thick it could have been cut
with a knife, which made the heat in the room rise. Maybe all the heavy breathing coming
from the birthing girl writhing in her bed, thrashing around, crying and screaming, helped
contribute to the density of the air being shared by the three people in the small bedroom.
Lenore, sweating, crying, not knowing what to do, tilted her head to the left toward
Mac. Being so young, neither of the two knew just what would come next. Lenore was barely
14 years old, and though against her parents knowledge, decided to not only keep the child
in her belly growing, but also keep it a secret. Mac was willing to support whatever decision
Lenore made, and was by her side every possible minute of the experience. You should have
seen some of the excuses Mac and Lenore made up when Lenore eventually started showing
signs of pregnancy. Concealing her oblong stomach at its largest was an extremely difficult
task. Lenore eventually started spending more time at Mac s home so that her parents would
be none the wiser. Just recently, however, the two were almost caught as Lenore s mother
had just made her a beautiful dress to wear to the upcoming Spring round-up. It was real
tight around the bust, and loose around her waist, but since her shape had changed quite
a bit the dress did not fit properly and was not loose enough by any means. Why, Lenore
could not even get the zipper to go halfway up her back. Her mother insisted that she
see it on Lenore before adding the finishing touches. Lenore told her mother that she loved
it, through the door, and wanted to add her own level of creativity to the gown before
showcasing it. Her mother agreed after a bit of coaxing after which Lenore and Mac feverishly
toiled through the night undoing all her mother s seams, and refitting the dress to the pregnant
girl s form, adding a few of their own finesse to hide the drastic changes. Lenore s mother
thought that the gown now looked over done, though she used the word gaudy, and insisted
that some of the styling ribbons and flowers be removed. Mac had a way with Lenore s mother
to make everything seem to fit just as it should in her mind, the pliable woman she
was. Mac assured Mrs. Shafer that by the time the round up arrived, the dress would not
be so garish and no one in the town would be able to keep quiet about what a wonderful
dressmaker she is. This statement made Mrs. Shafer blush, then agree to let the two do
as they wished with the gown. And what will you be wearing? Mrs. Shafer asked Mac. I haven
t thought about it too much yet. You better hurry. The round-up is only a few weeks away.
I can make you something if you like. Mac didn t particularly care for the style of
clothing Mrs. Shafer concocted and would under any other circumstances be resistant to this
type gesture. This time, however, it might be best to stay under the radar for a little
bit and comply with her suggestion, disguised as a request. Lenore was the youngest child
of six children, the other five being boys. All of the boys were of age to lend a hand
on the farm and no longer needed their mother to take care of everything for them. Therefore,
these days Mrs. Shafer oftentimes found her hands idling, mind wandering, and her time
slowly slipping away. She had found hobbies here and there, and had been sewing since
she was very young. If she ever had the opportunity to begin a time consuming project, she would
soak it up like an adolescent enjoying a malt shaker for the first time. Wonderful! Mrs.
Shafer excitedly clasped her hands together then rushed around the room, scouring surfaces
and drawers. My measuring tape is around here somewhere. Just hold tight and we will get
started. Lenore couldn t help but laugh at Mac because she knows just how overbearing
her mother has gotten over the years. Saying no to her had become harder than saying no
to an injured animal on her doorstep. As a matter of fact, she did not act much unlike
an injured animal as the sound of the combined letters and formed the terrifying word and
landed on her ears. Mrs. Shafer s face would scrunch up and tears would form behind her
eye lids. Neither Lenore nor Mac could figure out if this was just a ploy to get her way,
but they didn t mind playing along. It was a lot easier to be agreeable than to protest
the mother s wishes. Besides, if Mac did not like whatever outfit was made, it, like Lenore
s dress, could be easily altered. Now, the evening of the Spring round-up, Lenore was
wearing the dress her mother made for her from scratch for this very event. It was not,
however, suitable attire for this particular circumstance. The dress was sopping wet all
over, muddied, bloodied and not a sight for soar eyes. Lenore had been wearing it for
only a couple of hours while struggling to keep a pleasant disposition even though her
body was sending all the signs of labor to her core. Many of the townspeople, including
Mac, had commented on how lovely her dress looked, and Lenore simply smiled trying to
hide the pain. Her mother willingly took whatever credit was thrown her way and began discussing
with the women folk all the detail that went into creating such a breath taking vision.
Mac and Lenore couldn t help but notice how the Town Hall Committee did a real number
on the town square. Over the months, the volunteers had taken great measure to beautify the usual
spot for everyone to meet and greet on. A small River was forming its way down the countryside
and decided to split itself into two separate veins, only to be rejoined not more than a
hundred yards down the streams. George Filiberty, the founder of Wicker Falls, decided that
he wanted to put the hot spot of the village right there in between those two veins. The
only buildings that were located there were the church, a drugstore, the saloon, and the
school house, the court house, the sheriff s office, and general business things of that
nature. Also in the center was the town s square of course. The area was landscaped
marvelously, but like clockwork would turn to mud after the winter season. In preparation
for the Spring Round-up, though, the Town Hall Committee and its volunteers worked tirelessly
to plant new grass seed and water it at the proper intervals. They also planted flowers,
put fresh paint on the gazebo, spread ivy around it -- just went all out. The thing
that impressed the children the most was the main wooden walkway leading into town. Mr.
Filiberty had made sure that there were a total of three ways in which to get into the
center of the town between the two streams. He had in the beginning only one point of
entry which, after crossing over the water, turned into a very flat walkway which led
straight to the town s large gazebo. Then he added the three other bridges as the years
went by, the outskirts of town expanded, and the need for multiple pathways arose. From
the very first day George set his eyes on this bit of land, he had the whole city planned
out. He decided that he would only want people to be able to enter by foot, so the bridges
were made too small for the mess of a horse and buggy. Each bridge was made of the surrounding
oak trees. What the children especially enjoyed was that the volunteer folks had wrapped bulbs
of lighting and ivy around the four different banisters, and even put an archway above one
of the entrances. This entrance, after crossing the water, turned into a flat path leading
straight to the gazebo which was housing a small group of men playing their instruments
with flare. Large, full pine trees were planted along the water creating a makeshift wall
connecting the drugstore, the bridge s arch, and the library. A few decorative cloths were
draped over the archway so that those who crossed here would not be able to see what
was beyond the bridge until parting the drapery. It seemed like a perfect wonderland and reminded
Lenore of the castles she had once read of, the kings building moats around their treasured
kingdom for protection. She and Mac arrived at this entrance and felt a giddy surge coarse
through their bones. This was the first year that the two were able to enjoy the festivities
from this perspective. It is a town rule that the children spend the time with the other
children during the round-up. There was a wooden fence built that the children could
not get beyond. Once a person became 14 years of age, it was decided that they were to now
be given more responsibility, treated more like adults, and therefore let in on adult
activities such as town hall meetings and participating on the adult side of a function.
Upon parting the curtain, the two noticed all the lovely paper lanterns hanging from
the trees. s go find Cuddy Fletcher, Lenore squealed. His family was rather well off and
oftentimes he was clad in what the fellow children considered to be the most ridiculous
garb. Mac started walking off in agreement, Lenore following. Sure enough, his attire
was not over estimated right down to the feather sticking out of his hat as if he were Yankee
Doodle Dandy himself. Lenore then decided she was thirsty, and needed to sit, so Mac
went off to find her something cool to drink. It was not a particularly warm not, but her
body was sending hot and cold flashes quickly up and down her spine. Every now and then
she would wince from pain of contractions. While Mac was gone, Cuthbert walked over to
Lenore. Good evening. Don t you look lovely tonight, Lenore. He smiled at her brushed
the feather out of his face. Lenore found Cuthbert to be a rather unattractive boy,
but she enjoyed his company nonetheless. His almost black eyes and jet black hair mixed
with his very pale skin were complimented well by the tan pants and jacket adorning
his body. Why, thank you, Cuthbert. Ah, Lenore, you know you can call me Cuddy. She smiled
knowingly. Would you like to dance? Cuddy held out his right hand, palm up, and bowed
slightly while sticking his right foot out a bit. The band was playing an upbeat waltz,
the singers lively dancing around the stage. Lenore tried to prepare herself for a moment
like this while heading to the round-up. She just knew that at least one boy was going
to get the idea to ask her for a dance. It s not that she didn t want to dance with Cuddy,
it is just that she didn t want to dance with anyone at all on account of the contractions,
sore ankles, and all around weakness she was feeling. Oh, Cuddy, I -- Here you are. Mac
interrupted Lenore s heart felt protest to Cuddy by handing her a cup of punch. She took
the cup in her right hand. Thank you, Mac. Cuthbert stayed in his position for a few
seconds, waiting on Lenore s official response. She said nothing, so he straightened up and
said, Well, I guess I will just leave you two alone then. Cuddy, I m sorry, but I just
don t feel well tonight. Please don t take this to mean anything else. That s quite all
right, Lenore. I will be around if you change your mind. He turned on his heel and walked
over to a female classmate. t worry about him, Lenore, he s just making the rounds.
Lenore jabbed Mac with her elbow. Well, I do believe he came to me first, so that s
something. What, are you interested in Cuddy Fletcher now? Mac almost fell out of the chair
laughing. No, not at all. Don t be ridiculous. He is a really nice boy. Lenore jabbed Mac
harder this time, Stop it! Mac slowly stopped laughing, Okay, okay. The two sat in their
chairs, sipping punch, taking in the scenery. Look at our mothers. Mac pointed across the
yard. A large group of women were gathered by the library cackling about who knows what.
Mac started to make a joke about their conversation when Lenore dropped her cup. Its pink contents
spilled to the ground, splashing her all white dress, and splattering slightly onto Mac s
clothing. Lenore, are you okay, Mac asked, startled. Lenore grabbed onto Mac s hand and
let out a harsh no. She put her other hand to her stomach and urgently pled, Help get
me out of here! But please try not to let anyone notice. All right. Mac didn t know
what to do, except discreetly help Lenore out of her sitting position and walk her to
the lesser used wooden bridge. They both knew exactly where they were going. On the way,
they ran in to many concerned looking adults. One of the couples stopped them. Are you okay,
Lenore? Mrs. Johnson, their school teacher, and her husband could tell that there was
something wrong. The look on Lenore s face would have frightened a ghost. Mrs. Johnson
looked very lovely in her dress. It started with a light blue basque with white floral
print, buttoned and tied across the front. This was a breathtakingly different look as
compared to what she would wear in the classroom. Mrs. Johnson s hair was swept into a knot,
her front hair curled and frizzled over her forehead. Lenore s mind was taken off her
pains for a very brief time while she gazed in admiration at the dress s details. Oh,
ya, she s fine, Mrs. Johnson. She just ate something earlier today that isn t sitting
right, Mac easily stated to make light of the situation. Run on home and get some carbonated
water and salted crackers. That should make you feel better, sweetie. Mrs. Johnson was
a real nice and pretty lady but didn t have much going on upstairs. Her husband seemed
to be more keen than she, but he didn t much like younger people and could not understand
why she enjoyed her job so much, having to deal with children all day. Get well, Mr.
Johnson brushed them off and gently pulled his wife to keep walking along. He was decked
out in a sack coat, matching waistcoat, and a bowler hat sitting nicely on his head. Yes,
just do what I say! Mrs. Johnson followed her husband s lead. Lenore watched her walk
away while being guided toward the exit with Mac. Did you see her dress, Mac? It was a
polonaise style. I don t even know what that means, Lenore, but she did look very nice.
Now let s get you to the Inn. They hadn t pre-planned where they were going to take
Lenore when she was actually giving birth, but Mac was alert and realized that no one
would be at the Inn. All of the town s people were at this round-up, and there was no one
visiting from out of town. Everyone was having a good time, without the slightest clue of
what these two were getting themselves into. The Inn that Mac s family owned was the ideal
spot for them to go right now. Lenore had wanted to go home to be in her own bed, but
Mac suggested that they didn t know just how long she would be in labor and didn t want
her parents to come home mid-crowning. The tavern was not within the two river s boundaries,
but located on the south end of the bank where they re-met to form into one river again.
The room Mac thought of faced away from the town square looking over the country. Luckily,
too, the band was loud enough to muffle any screams Lenore might let out. The night sky
reminded Mac of a poem that Mrs. Johnson had required the students to read last year: cover
me in kisses cover me in stars cover me in hot pursuit and cover my heart settle, sun,
settle down and hide yourself away tucked behind the horizon you go until we're ready
for the day remain high, jolly moon barely lighting the sky that's the way we like it
so our shadows now can hide lovers go out together each holding his and her hand mothers
learn to let their children grow and be free all over the land so settle, sun, settle down
let the moon do his part cover me in blankets cover me in hugs now I can sleep to-night
covered in your love Mac knew, though, that for tonight sleep may not be an option. While
walking as fast as they could go, Lenore squeezed Mac s hand tightly one more time, then hunched
over, and grabbed her stomach. Oh my god, Lenore gasped. Oh my god, Mac, I think the
baby is trying to come out right now. They stopped walking and looked down at the ground
where a pool of water had formed underneath Lenore. t stop, we re almost there. Mac urged
Lenore to muscle through the pain as the tavern was now only a few hundred feet away. They
hurried up the stairs, scurried to the end of the hall fast as a pregnant, waddling girl
could go, found the perfect room, into which Lenore entered and dropped onto the bed after
Mac set up the pillows. Now, Lenore, you know that I have to go find Miss. Mary and bring
her over here. I won t take any longer than I have to. Mac gave Lenore a quick hug after
helping undo her dress, then ran down the stairs, almost tripping. Lenore lay in the
bed, scared, coping with a great deal of pain. The bottom half of her dress was completely
ruined and she worried about what lie she was going to tell her mother when she never
saw it again. The room felt a little stuffy, so Lenore sat up, draped her legs over the
edge of the bed, and lowered her feet to the ground. Meanwhile, Mac was running at full
speed down the dusty road to Mary Miller s house. Mac was very grateful that the weather
was fair, and no rain was falling tonight. When Lenore found out she was pregnant, Mary
was the second person to find out, Mac being the first. Mary had come to Wicker Falls with
the Filiberty family. She was Mrs. Filiberty s house maid, and assisted with her 10 pregnancies.
Yes, the ten members of the Filiberty clan once inhabited this small town. They were
all old enough to move away, but some of them stayed. Mary helped Mrs. Filiberty rear all
of the children. Some of the Filiberty kids had married and stayed in town, giving birth
to their own children of whom Mary also helped through their labor. Over the years, if the
expectant mothers of the town couldn t make it to the bigger city hospital, Mary helped
them, too, with their births. Actually, it was Mary who delivered Lenore. Mac s family
had to go to the hospital, where Mrs. Greene died. In short, Mary was a very experienced
woman when it came to helping a fetus make it from womb to world alive. Impressively,
not a single still born came from the belly of a woman that Mrs. Miller assisted. Mac
arrived on the Filiberty property and ran through a well traveled path in the corn field
to the plot of land on which the housing was built. This was the biggest plantation in
all of Kansas at the time. Groups of children would oftentimes run wild in these very cornfields.
The family didn t mind as their own children would join the group, making up a plethora
of games to keep them occupied until it was time for bed. This time, however, running
through the field was no pleasantry. Mac did not even know if Mary was in her home. There
was hardly enough time before Lenore needed to be led out of the round-up s boundaries
to notice all the guests. Mary was getting to be fairly old and rarely went off the property,
though, so it was a safe bet that she would be found here. Lenore had cried for many days
when she realized she was pregnant and did not know who she would turn to for help. It
was Mac s idea to let Mary Miller in on the secret. They had seen her around town and
hers was a household name. There were, of course, the many jokes that come along with
being an old woman made up by the school children. At first Lenore was apprehensive about telling
Mrs. Miller. She thought she would be a cranky lunatic because of all the rumors the children
started. After crying for so long, and deciding that it was best her parents did not find
out about the bun in her oven, Mrs. Miller was the only logical person to turn to. She
kept to herself and knew a lot about child birth and could guide Lenore through her nine-month
journey. You sure are spending a lot of time at Mac s house, Lenore s mom pointed out.
She is a very wise woman. I am a very wise woman, too. Yes, mother, you are. Mrs. Miller
has taught me a lot about nature, though, something you know that I love. Knowing that
her mother * * * * * * * * * * The sun was pleasantly carrying out its descent toward
the flattest horizon in the county to mark the day s end. Usually this time of year the
townspeople found themselves in looser fit clothing, no jackets, and a little perspiration
building up around the standard places. Also, the most amount of rain seemed to fall these
months. There is nothing like hot rain. You are already walking around, sweating, and
would give anything for five minutes of dryness, cursing the humidity. Then all of a sudden
the rains come and there is absolutely nothing you can do to keep the wetness out of your
skin, your clothes, your hair, your toes. To make the day even worse, the heat can be
so stifling that one cannot find air to breathe. So now you are dripping from perspiration,
being smothered by dust which is picked up from all the rain, and can barely pull in
enough oxygen to have a strong gait. People generally sat around in their homes all day
long, waiting for the day to pass. Although the nights weren t all that much better, one
was able to at least fall asleep. Today was not like what was just described, though,
not yet anyway. Sometimes the disgusting heat had a way of sneaking up on everyone at the
end of a breezy day. While going about their daily business people would watch the sun
and just wait and mentally prepare for the weather change to come, hoping that it wouldn
About half past four the children were sent home from school. The town, Wicker Falls,
didn t have very many inhabitants but enough to send the town s children to learn how to
read, write and do arithmetic. Approximately 200 students of all ages went to the school
house every day, and sometimes a flock of them stayed after school awhile and hung out
around town just see if anything had changed, but nothing ever did. This time, however,
two of the girls decided to just go straight home. On the way, they found themselves having
one of the biggest arguments of their childhood lives. Let go of me! The two little girls
were wrestling over a blonde marionette. Now on the ground, all that could be seen was
dresses, pigtails, and dust. m going to tell my mom on you! One of the girls was very fair
with blonde hair and pail blue eyes, while the other resembled a little boy right down
to her short hair, boy s pants, and mannerisms. What do you need this thing for anyway? One
of the girls instigated, while forcing the fair blonde to the ground, and swiftly yanking
the doll from her tiny fingers. She stood up and analyzed the small figurine. Somebody
special made that for me and I like it! She didn t stand a chance. This was not the type
of girl that found herself doing much wrangling in her days or nights. No, this was the sort
of little girl who liked to keep her things neat, clean, and brand-new looking. You don
t need any dolls to play with, that s what I m for. We re supposed to be best friends.
The boyish girl, on the other hand, was always out in the fields, climbing a tree, running
fast as she could to and from everywhere. How these two were best friends is due in
part to the fact that they are neighbors and their mothers had been friends since they
were little girls. The two mothers traveled to Wicker Falls with their husbands, who were
family friends of George Filiberty, Jr. himself, and built their homes in close proximity to
each other. They had grand ideas of both having daughters that would get along well and be
the best of friends, which is a dream that did in fact come to fruition. Right now, though,
as all good friends eventually do, they were having some boundary issues. The fair girl
was still on the ground. At first she was scowling, but a distinguished air washed over
her face. She quickly got up, dusted off her dress skirt and sternly, with a tinge of brat,
stated, Mackenzie Enid Greene, you give that back to me or I will tell everybody at school
what really happened to Cuddy Fletcher s frog! while crossing her arms, glaring at Mac. t
you call me that! Mac rebelled and climbed up a dying oak tree, the marionette shoved
into her back pocket. She climbed to the highest limb she could and looked down at her best
friend. Neither of them said a word as Lenore vehemently kicked off her shoes and began
an attempt at rescuing her newest toy. Mac started to laugh, exclaiming Look at you!
You look like a lizard trying to climb a flag pole! Her laughter got louder which only made
Lenore more frustrated. To Mac s dismay, Lenore gave up about half way. She plopped down on
one of the limbs, and leaned back against the trunk, propping her feet up on another
branch, then placed her hands behind her head. Fine, then. Have it your way. You ll have
to go through me first to get down anyway. Mac and Lenore sat on their branches in silence
as the sky started to fill with gray clouds, the wind picking up. Mac got comfortable in
her spot, then glanced down at Lenore. Climbing trees just was not something Lenore would
find herself doing all that often these days. She always had on a pretty dress and shiny
black shoes that she would get scolded for if she ever arrived at home and the shoes
were scuffed or muddied up. Mac s clothes did not matter all that much. She preferred
to dress like her father and brothers because it just seemed more practical for fishing,
tree climbing, frog chasing -- Mac will probably never be doing the latter again. Good old
Cuthbert Fletcher brought to school with him an enormous frog with a gigantic pot belly
and the loudest croak anyone had ever heard before. During play time, Cuddy left his frog
out while going to the bathroom. Mac didn t want to hurt it, but to simply play with
it in the wild - so she took it out of the box and into the wide open world. The quick
jumper decided it was high time to head out, and the girl with strong shoes, brown pants,
and a button up t-shirt didn t stand a chance at trying to stop him. Well, at that point,
the only thing Mac could think of doing was to run inside, sit as far away from Cuddy
s belongings as possible, and then pretend she hadn t the slightest idea that there was
even a frog around. Of course the first thing she did was tell Lenore after school. Cuddy
was so upset that he almost started crying, which made Mac feel downright terrible to
the bottom of her heart. Apparently his father brought the frog all the way back from Tennessee.
What was I supposed to do, just confess? She thought about that for a few days, even losing
sleep over the situation. Mac thought of this and other things, and couple of hours passed,
neither girl speaking a word, the weather beginning to change as expected. The sun was
starting to be covered by the forming dark clouds in the distance. Even though the clouds
and lightning were not curtailing them just yet, they knew far too well how quickly any
storm can catch up. Mac looked a ways down the path toward their homes and noticed that
most of the cows were now on the ground, resting. A slight flash of lightning in the sky caught
Mac s eye. Loni she started cautiously. Mac? I think we should go. Lenore hadn t noticed
that Mackenzie was now sitting next to her, the marionette held out in a makeshift surrender.
Lenore plucked it out of Mac s hand and muffled a know-it-all thank you. Mac found her way
down the trunk, and Lenore followed with a helping hand. She put her shoes back on just
when sprinkles started falling from the sky. Mac just stood there under the drizzle. She
loved the feeling of the droplets on her face. Staring at the sky, arms held straight out,
she began heading down the path toward their homes, Lenore close behind. Suddenly, the
skies picked up, the wind bellowing, and the girls intuitively walked in a double time
pace. Water started pouring buckets from the sky and the lightning that had formed safely
away from their haven was now practically on their tails. It wasn t long before lightning
struck an oak tree less than 20 feet from the home-headers. Lenore screamed in a strange
delight, in awe, and couldn t help but be fascinated at what happened right before her
very eyes. The tree was split in two. Mac grabbed her hand and breathlessly said, Now
is not the time to ogle, Lenore, come on! They ran as fast as their pre-teen feet could
carry them to the safety of home. You should stay with us until this passes, Lenore cautioned,
to which Mac silently agreed. s go back tomorrow to look at that tree! That s one thing that
Mac admired about Lenore. Although she liked to be pretty all the time, she had a nature
loving side to her. Lenore had always been interested in the science and biological aspect
of the world around her, even though she had never heard those words before. She and Mac
would be running around the fields and out of nowhere Lenore would stop, thrust her arms
out straight, and just stand there more still than a scarecrow. What are you doing, silly
goose! Mac would laugh at her in vain. Lenore stayed silent, her eyes still, just staring
ahead. Finally it became apparent to Mac just what Lenore was doing, so she just sat down
and waited. Lenore knew that if she stood there long enough, butterflies with the most
brilliant colors would set on her hands, shoulders, and maybe even the tip of her nose. Oh, night
time was her favorite, though. She and Mac and a lot of the other kids would go on searches
for fireflies and catch them in glass jars. If you got enough of them in a jar, it could
be used as a light to guide you through night. They sure did have some fun, down to earth
times. * * * * * * * * * At this moment, Lenore had many memories like that running through
her head. Mac did, too, and began doing the only thing a 14-year-old could think of doing
in this type of situation - just start reminiscing to try to keep the friend s mind off the terrible
pain she was in. Do you remember, Lenore, how Deputy Miner came searching for us when
we decided to eat some of Mrs. Kaiser s tomatoes? Lenore, that was so funny. He was drunk out
of his mind. t run away from me, you rascals! he yelled at us. Lenore, do you remember the
look on his face? Lenore. Mac, that was one of the best nights of my life and I will never
forget it. I know this is going to be difficult but you are going to have to push one more
time, as hard as you can. First, take a deep breath when I tell you to, and after that
it will all be over. Okay, breathe in. Lenore dragged in as much oxygen as possible. Now
push, the midwife commanded. Her now white knuckles gripped the bed sheets as she pushed
with every last ounce of energy. Moments later the room was filled with silence, not what
anyone expected. Mac kept an eye on Lenore, still with nothing to say, waiting for anything
to happen. Neither of the three moved an inch. The midwife, caught off guard, composed herself,
held the lifeless baby upside down and smacked its bottom. What s the matter? Why isn t it
breathing? I don t know, miss, The midwife had never encountered a birth like this before.
She smacked the baby s bottom again, and nothing. Mac and Lenore were holding hands, both with
tears beginning to well up in their eyes. At last a scream came from the newborn and
Lenore started to laugh, relieved. She was caught off guard by the surge of emotion and
began to cry. Mac stood up and put two very caring arms around Lenore saying, Everything
will be okay. We ll make this work for you. The midwife interrupted their embrace by handing
the cleaned up newborn to Lenore. Her tears suddenly stopped as she gazed into the baby
s eyes. Virgil. That s all Lenore had to say and Mac knew that was what this baby was going
to be called. * * * * * * * * * * Upon entering the shop, my eyes had to adjust to the dim
lighting. This was a small room, filled to the brim with all sorts of antique items,
candles, jewelry - basically what seemed to be a glorified pawn shop. I love antiques.
I can t believe I had never noticed this place before. I guess I do tend to get so caught
up in my thoughts now and then, enough to not even notice such a treasure as this. A
sneeze escaped me and I started ruffling through my pockets for a handkerchief. It was definitely
in here earlier. Ah, yes, here it is, right next to my love letters for the cashier at
Patisserie. The papers brushed against the back of my hand, my fingers grabbing the cloth.
While pulling it out, a few things fell out of my pocket. Kneeling over to gather the
items, I sneezed again, louder this time. Maybe I am allergic to dust. s there? I heard
an elderly woman shout from a distance. For me, it was a faint sound, but she was clearly
trying to be boisterous. Oh, sorry, I m down here! Just a minute, please. Moments later,
a small Chinese woman appeared from behind a curtain in the back of the shop. Hi, I m
sorry, I just dropped some items, sneezing again. Come back here. There is less dust.
I didn t really have much time to do too much looking around, but this woman seemed very
intriguing. I can only stay for a few minutes. My lunch break is almost over, I stated while
looking down at my watch. That does not matter right now. You came here for a reason, you
know. I couldn t help but chuckle. What does she know about me? This was just a random
stop for the day on my way back to the office. Usually I don t find myself in these kinds
of situations, dark rooms alone with a stranger. You have a lot going on in your head. Please
come, I am not here to cause any harm. There is something I think you would enjoy seeing.
After about two seconds of silence, my shoulders shrugged and my feet led me to follow the
woman. She went behind the curtain of beads. Before going in, I ran my fingers through
them, listening to the noise they made bumping against each other. It reminded me of wind
chimes - the kind you hear in a symphony; that is a beautiful instrument -- only these
ones are plastic and monotone. The person who invented that must have had a lot of time
on his or her hands. That started me thinking about other instruments, but then I realized
that just now time was of the essence. Come, sit down. She called for me from the other
side of the beads. I peered through and saw two chairs in front of a small circular table,
a tea set, an array of candles and couldn t help but notice that a strong aroma filled
the area. What is that smell? That is incense. Come, sit down. She repeated. I sneezed again
and came to the conclusion that it was this incense which was causing my nose follicles
to tingle. The older woman s hair was in a tight bun on the top of her head, a beautiful
flower sticking in, seemingly holding it all together. Her demeanor gave off the impression
that she would soon become impatient if I did not comply to her request and take a seat.
My body pensively moved through the beads, my eyes closed, feeling the little balls on
my face, through my hair. Now in the room, I finally just sat down. There were a lot
of things to take in visually such as vases filled with wooden sticks, a golden statue
of a fairly overweight man, plants that had never been in any office buildings Virgil
had seen before. Unfortunately, this would all have to wait until another day because
the boss would already be livid at how long this lunch break has taken. * * * * * * *
* * * Back at the office, Ted came bolting to my desk demanding to know where I had been
and what took me so long to return. He went into this lecture about how so much time is
not in my contract, and that I would have to stay longer after work to make up for my
tardiness. Well, then, Ted, you will have to find more things to discuss then. If you
don t have anything for me to do, then it will be a waste of company money. Why don
t I say the things that I am thinking like this? What is the worst thing that could happen,
lose my job? That would probably be a blessing in disguise. Virgil, you cannot let this happen
again. Now, I know this is your first offense in the two years you have been with Walter
Johnson and Associates, but I want to impress upon you just how badly this reflects upon
me. The other workers are going to start noticing your insolence and begin to think they can
act this way as well. Please set a good example for everyone else. I imagined Ted with a pump
stuck into his ***, his belly being filled with hot air, spewing out his mouth and ears.
I walked over to my desk and pulled out a large toy wind up key. Ted happily followed
me. I removed the air pump from his body, then attached the key to his back, and cranked
it a few times, then released. Ted went all around the room in robotic motion, steam filling
the room, me laughing and mocking him. I snapped back into reality and Ted was gone. My desk
was filled with notes that needed to be turned into hard copy correspondence before I could
leave for the day. Ted doesn t know how much of my day is spent daydreaming. There are
other workers who can type fairly quickly, but some how I was blessed with fingers of
lightning. I impressed everyone with my speed, but it was only a few words per minute faster
than the rest of the crew. If they knew how fast I could really type, then, well, they
d probably fire everyone else and my work load would quadruple. That would be bad. Instead,
my fingers clank away at the keys at an acceptable pace, allowing me to daydream. I plopped into
my chair and slumped back against the seat, still in my coat and knit cap. My head fell
back, eyes closed, as I started going over what just happened at Trinkets. That woman
seemed to know a little bit too much about me. Maybe she had been watching over my life
for awhile, a ***. That wouldn t be too out of left field. I mean, these kinds of
things are done every day in some places. There really isn t any reason why it couldn
t happen to me. My apartment is practically a fish bowl on the second floor of a nice
building, and perhaps I do not close the drapes as often as would be prudent. As a matter
of fact, there have been times I have seen people outside my window, looking up. Oh,
now I am just getting ahead of myself. Let us just chalk it up to a senile old lady who
had a hunch, went with it, and happened to be dead on. * * * * * * * * * * It wasn t
long before Denver was now with Mac and Lenore nearly every day. At first this bothered Mac
a little bit, but after awhile Denver started to feel like just another good friend. Not
much longer after that, Lenore had fallen deeply in love with Denver. Mac knew this
would happen probably before either of the lovers ever did. Lenore came into the tavern
one afternoon and told Mac all about the most wonderful evening she had ever had. Oh, Mac,
it was too beautiful to be true! We went to Miller s Duck Pond. Denver had set up a picnic
earlier in the day and got a boat all the way out there. All the birds were singing
to me and the leaves in the trees were humming along in a whimsical melody. He had the picnic
all set up with sandwiches and fruit, wine and chocolates Mac knew all about the lunch
Denver had made because, after all, he needed all the help he could get. What better person
to ask than a courtee s best friend? After that he suggested we go out on the boat and
paddle around. What a dream it was. I had no idea Denver was such a romantic, did you?
Not really, no. Most men have it in them, though, somewhere, when they really want to
get to know a girl. He really wanted to get to know me! He didn t wear his hat, had his
hair combed back, and looked so calm. Lenore, he began a bit nervously, I am glad you agreed
to come out here with me today. I told him how I don t think I would have wanted to be
any other place than right there with him at that moment, and I meant it. Even if Wild
Bill s West Show came to town, I d miss the bearded lady just to be all alone with Denver
on that pond, under the setting sun, with nothing but the turtles and deer and swans
and ducks keeping us company. Mac couldn t help but chuckle at that. All alone except
for the animals, huh? As she usually ignored those kinds of quips, Lenore carried on dreamily.
It was very silent out there, so serene, like nothing I had ever experienced before. Ah,
Lenore, we ve been out there plenty of times. I know how quiet it can get. You don t understand
what I am saying, though. Mac, it wasn t the pond that was serene, it was our emotions
that were peaceful. ve been restless with me before? This isn t my point, dear. Now,
here it is. Under the setting sun were we, with nothing but the turtles and deer and
swans and ducks keeping us company when Denver takes my hand in his, looks me in the eyes
and starts, Lenore, I am glad you agreed to come out here with me today. I smiled and
told him that he already said that. It didn t faze him. Instead, he held my hand a little
tighter and finished his thought. You are a very beautiful woman and I enjoy all the
moments we get to spend together. What a sweet thing to say to me! Of course I told him that
I, too, enjoyed spending time with him, but he wasn t done yet. Lenore, he said, I --
What s the matter? I asked him. He looked a little pale, you know, kind of like you
get whenever snakes are around. Ah, why d you have to bring up snakes. They don t scare
me anymore. Get off it. Before I continue, you might want to have a seat. What? I ll
be fine. Mac was walking around, straightening up tables and chairs, finding loose silverware
and washing it. Your call. So, Lenore, he says my name again, quieter, then reaches
into his pocket with his loose hand. He pulled out a small box and held it out to me --
Mac became a little startled and sat down on a bar stool s edge. Most stories that start
with cute little boxes only end in one way. He didn Lenore screeched in joy, holding out
her left hand, He did and I said yes! Mac, Denver asked me to marry him! * * * * * *
* * * * The work day finally ended and I found myself heading back to the shop where
the Chinese woman was. She had given me a very charming pocket watch, but it seemed
to be broken. I wanted to ask if she could repair it for me. For practicality s sake,
what is the point of carrying around a clock if it doesn t even tell you what time it is?
On second thought, perhaps this is just the perfect watch for me after all. I decided
that, yes, it would stay out of working order and merely sit in my pocket as a reminder
of how much time will no longer play a huge factor in my daily life, but continued to
the shop anyway. Upon my arrival, it was closed and boarded up as if no one had ever occupied
that space at all; strange. I didn t put too much thought into it, turned on my heel and
headed home. After all that had transpired today, I had completely forgotten all about
the children rough housing in the snow outside of my flat, and my foot steps automatically
quickened pace. There was not as much foot traffic as usual on the street. Since Ted
had made me stay at work nearly two extra hours, the sun had already set and all the
people that would generally be out heading home right now were already in their respective
homes, making dinner, taking care of their children, massaging their husband s feet,
things of that nature. So I arrived at home and nothing was out of place. The cat still
meowed at me at the front door. All the glass in my windows was still in tact. There was
no water flooding the living room floor. My landlord still left a note on my kitchen table
reminding me of the upcoming rent payment. This time she had taken it upon herself to
leave my mail on the black dining table. Right now that was not important to me. I noticed
that old Mrs. Krum had also put my heater on for me. She really is a terribly nice person,
to the point that it can be downright intrusive. The little things like getting my mail, turning
on my heater, I appreciate especially after a long day - imagine how long it took me to
get used to that, though. A perfectly strange woman with as much access to my belongings
as she so desired while I was at work took some time to get used to. As usual, I pondered
these things while feeding Lucifer, then stripped my clothes off and got into the shower for
the second time today. The evening shower is generally quicker than my morning scrub
down. All I needed to do was get the smell of Ted s cigars off my body and out of my
hair, then put on clean clothes that smelled like me, not some disgusting man who forced
me to practically suffocate day in and day out with his constant smoking. I couldn t
wait to get something to eat, so I lathered, washed, and rinsed especially speedy. My nice
warm robe was hanging on the back of the door. I grabbed it after towel drying my hair, and
headed straight for the kitchen to put a large pot of water on the stove. Then I went to
the living room and sat down on my plush couch and took a look around my apartment. People
like me, we have a lot of things, but we don t have a lot of people. Lucifer pranced into
the living room, had a seat, and gazed at me. He did this often enough that I used to
joke that he was possessed. This time only a few minutes passed before he stood up and
slowly walked over to me, as if to pretend he was actually headed somewhere else. Oh,
Lucifer, I breathed. His fluffy grey body jumped onto my lap and I found myself staring
into his ice blue eyes. I ve been told that cats do not like this; they feel threatened,
as if it is a stare down, but Lucifer just sat there and blinked at me. If animals have
thoughts like humans do, it would be so amazing to be able to first of all learn their language,
and second of all capture those thoughts. Cats meow, dogs bark, ducks quack, pigs oink,
but no man knows just what they are getting at. Maybe it is a natural and uncontrolled
action like sneezing is for us. A crackling noise started coming from the kitchen and
I knew immediately that it was the water boiling over the pot, hitting the fire on the stove.
Oh, no! I gasped, taking hold of Lucifer in my left arm and rushing into the kitchen.
* * * * * * * * * * Another blissful day at work, I tell you what. Thank goodness the
day is halfway over again and I can get back to La Patisserie and write up some more love
letters to my beautiful cashier. Do you ever catch yourself acting out certain habits that
you do not really have any conscious control over -- I m talking when you routinely go
to the same place for your lunch break, use the same hand to open a door, maybe drink
the same amount of cups of coffee in the morning before leaving the house, those kinds of things..
Well, the first thing I do after clocking out, in the winter at least, is throw on my
jacket, my gloves, my scarf, leave the building as quickly as possible while avoiding eye
contact with Ted, and then head straight to this little shop. I have been doing this same
thing for over four months now, and every day like clockwork - the kind of clockwork
that I prefer, mind you - it works out perfectly that there is my barista, standing there,
either smiling or not, donned in black visor cap, black apron, white button up collared
shirt, black pants, shiny black shoes, freshly combed hair, clocking in for the shift. Today,
there was no heaven s light standing behind the counter. Instead, a frumpy young man with
acne and a goofy grin was there. Where is Alex today? I ask, trying to be casual about
it. Oh, Alex had a family emergency. I can take care of your needs though! What can I
get for you? Phil, the name etched on frump boy s tag, asked me. He was overly chipper
and this turned me way off. I didn t want this guy, Phil, to catch onto my severe disappointment
at Alex s absence, so I quickly ordered and sat down at my usual table. All of a sudden
I didn t feel much like producing a love letter. My muse had to be present for that genre of
writing. Instead, I came up with this: Biting nipping gnawing gneeding writing sipping crawling
weeding pouring soaring flooring adoring tip top taddle -ing of the drip drop rattle -ing
lies untold now unfold as we all hear them from the messenger's lips paper draper and
oxygen outside humid -ified from heavy brevity heaved in and out sighed a long cold from
a wrong and bold interest gone array but in memories to stay Water pellets make for "Well
it's time to go's" Weeding through the dusk for air Using hands as earmuffs to stop the
words which scare from the apartment above running stopping dropping breathing heaving
blocking mocking seathing leaving looking up from a book with words hiccupped spit dripped
sipped a door unhinged the light before appears to be singed from others bumping and grumping
down the corridor burning yearning waking flaking churning earning instant staking of
the unloved heart and unkempt plants chewed away, like the heart, now dead I know, a little
bit out of character. More or less we could chalk it up to how I felt whenever Alex wasn
t around. Any words I could think of at this moment would do. The winds blow horridly up
and down this town and show the walls just what strength they have; holding back all
that is necessary to keep conformity in its place. This place, in my place, making no
haste, and wasting all the time I have left. Sitting. Contemplating. Meandering thoughts
whisper through lips and settle on the outskirts of ears which have everything better to do
than listen. They've a lot more going for them than most can dream. Little ears, perked
up by the hindsight instilled within, grasp every meaningless drop of empathy which pours
from the lips of unkempt lovers' quarrels and listlessly steal away from the presence
of quietude. What a lovely meaning of life, that solitude, which brings a man to his knees
and pressures him into becoming something more; something more than a flash of flesh
scurrying up a road behind; something more than a time slot, a time card punched in and
out, to make him feel... alive. It is truly amazing how I find myself needing to get to
bed, needing to rest my heavy-thoughted head on the cushioned pillow and allow my eyes
to stare at the blackness known as sleep. No dreams will come hither this eve. No restless
thoughts shall grace the doorstep of present lost in the depth of beddy-bye. It is only
the future, or the past, which we want to hear from the "truths" told by a reader of
palms, but it is now, so dull yet so sharp, which comes on so quickly; that if we're not
careful we could lose it all in a scintillating flash. What's so truly amazing is how the
body and mind are connected yet so different, yet so apart, yet so conflicted. It's a work
of art, really, how keenly the Sandman's dust puts pressure on the body and eyelids- -
- -*** for the comfort of sheets enrapturing an easily corruptible body. Yet my mind, that
silly little thing-- er--that relentless beast of a dreamer--always wanting to be in the
right and in the know even though all the facts of the matter display signs of "No."
Go to bed... let me be... just let me see what it's like for once to wed the bed for
eight hours' time. Nothing more, nothing less; eight hours' time ate our time... * * * *
* * * * * * My apartment is very cozy, perfect for me. Upon entering the front The water
started to boil so I got up and fumbled around the kitchen for whatever it was I wanted to
make. Noodles of some sort sounded good, so I pulled a handful out of the jar in the cupboard
and dropped them into the pot. Ladle, ladle, where s my ladle -- oh, right where I left
it. Don you love when that happens. People always joke around how obnoxious it is that
whatever lost item they are looking for seems to be in the last place you look. Of course
this makes sense because there is no need to continue looking. I remember now, the ladle
was washed, left in the strainer for a few days, and then put back in the drawer in which
I have deemed its proper place. I have a bad habit of not putting items away immediately
and ultimately end up forgetting where I last saw it. Now and then I will try to keep up
with staying organized and then find myself astonished that something is right where it
is supposed to be. As the noodles were cooking, I briskly went to my jacket and pulled out
the pocket watch I purchased from the Chinese woman earlier that day. It reminded me of
my mother. I held it in my palm, the chain dangling between my fingers, and started to
think my life through. My ears overheard water spilling onto the fire so Iran into the kitchen,
lowered the flame, set the watch on the counter, then stirred my noodles. Now, what would be
good to concoct for sauce -- I had recently purchased feta cheese from a local global
market. That would be delicious with some basil, tomato and garlic. I like to cook,
but I keep it simple; I am not chef after all. It takes about ten minutes to strain
the noodles, dice the tomato, mince the garlic, and crumble the feta over my now scrumptious
once bland noodles. I pull out my utensils, a napkin, and carry the water and bowl full
of food to my living room, then set the items on the coffee table. Lucifer meows in a t
forget about me tone. Yes, yes, you will get fed first. He is not a very verbal cat, which
I prefer, so he has become very easy for me to understand. One, short high-pitched meow
means feed me. A meow of a longer, lower tone, means pet me. A meow and a hiss means get
your hands off me or they will become my meal. Nothing but the best for you! I say while
pulling out a fresh piece of salmon, set it on a plate, and put it on the ground. That
salmon never had a chance - Lucifer acts as though he is starved and scarfs his dinner
down. Such a good boy, I tell him with a pat on the head. Now it is my turn to din. I plop
onto my couch and get back to thinking. You probably want to know about my childhood.
Well, here it is. My mother had me when she was very young - too young to keep a child.
She kept me a secret from her parents, gave birth to me, and then traveled across the
country toward Canada and stopped in Chicago. Then she left me on the doorstep of an orphanage.
She left me with a note that I still have: Dear Orphanage: Please take good care of my
baby. I will be in contact over the years to see how everything is going. Thank you,
Lenore Elizabeth Shafer. Straight and to the point. Naturally, the first few years I have
no recollection of whatsoever, but the bits and pieces I do know well would suggest that
I had a good life, despite the whole no birth mother scenario. The orphanage is where I
stayed until I was 17, at which age I decided it was about time for me to move on. Before
that time, nothing went wrong. I Just simply wanted to head out on my own. My orphan mom,
Betta, she took great care of me and called me her favorite often. There were somewhere
around 25 children being constantly circulated, but she never let me go. Betta used to tell
me that I was too special to be taken away by just anyone. Eventually I realized that
no one would be good enough to satisfy her idea of a good home for me. Ah, Betta, you
battle axe; she hated when I called her that but knew I said it with love. Virgil, you
are too special for me to let go of easily, she would state matter-of-factly. Betta with
her abnormally large eyelids, brown eyes, cream skin and red as fire hair would stand
there in her 5 glory looking around at all of us kids. If I could keep every single one
of you, I would. Then she would smile the toothiest grin you ever did see, and you knew
she meant every word. Betta took me in under her wing and treated me as though it were
her loins of which I came. It wasn t until I was much oler that I truly realized her
level of kindness. Betta told me about my mother when I was around 14 years or so. That
was an interesting day. A group of friends an I had just come across a nudie club in
the city. We saw Betta there through the window and were shocked to holy hell. * * * * *
* * * * * David, Allen, Dean and I were walking along the streets of the windy city looking
for some trouble to get into. Oh, let s go try and trick the tourists into giving us
money to be their guide. That was probably Allen s favorite thing to do. The guys agreed
to it and I just followed along. I d prefer to be in a library or a music hall or drinking
somewhere maybe drawing on my room, but those kinds of things I do all the time. The group
had missed my presence, so today we can create some fun. David is 16 years old. He has been
urged to leave the orphanage hundreds of times, but he knows he has nowhere else to go. Se,
the problem as an orphan is you have absolutely no one to turn to in times of trouble, except
your fellow orphans and the ugly streets. Both can be quite welcoming yet terribly unforgiving.
One can really learn a lot about themselves if spending long amounts of time in a solitude
lifestyle. Soon your friends become your family and eventually, if they are adopted out, you
lose them and typically all contact as well. Many of the girls have been taken. Couples
like girls better because they tend to be more civil and obedient. I have never had
to worry about my behavior because Betta swore she would never let me leave to be mothered
by someone new. If you are going to be taken care of by anyone then it is only going to
be me. David was at first my enemy because of Betta s obvious adoration for me. He looked
a lot like Betta - red hair, brown eyes, large frame, pale skin, strong facial features.
She did not give him much attention because he was always getting into trouble with his
adoptive parents, thus brought back to the orphanage. Betta also didn t care much for
David because he enjoyed giving too much attention to all the newest girls. David often boasts
about all of his experience with women but it has gotten to the point where I just ignore
hi if he goes into too much detail. About a week ago, the last girl for now was adopted
so David was feeling kind of lonely, so after panhandling he informed us that he was going
to head over to the red light district to make a score. Dean and Allen are brothers,
Dean being 14 and Allen 12. Allen is a feisty kid and the majority of trouble we find ourselves
in is orchestrated by him. He liked to start the morning by filling our pockets with money
and food, then doing anything else that day. At first I would just meet up after the panhandling.
It was very degrading. Betta offered to buy clothes whenever I needed them. There was
this outrageously expensive seal skin coat I had my eye on. The inside was lined in fur
which formed itself into a hood. Large black buttons lined the front and I loved it. Betta
would buy clothes for me, but nothing that high-priced. The only way I would be able
to get that coat off the racks into my sticky little hands and around my lanky body, was
to make some money. Okay, so I had an ulterior motive spending time with the guys today.
So we took to the streets and then to the brothels. If I can t be in a museum or another
similar venue then the next best thing is a red light district brothel. * * * * * *
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at the bar Title Microsoft Office Word 97-2003 Document MSWordDoc Word.Document.8