My creative juices are really beginning to flow with this one! Feeling good and inspired. Unfortunately, I am now on page 8 and can't possibly finish it up in just two more pages. My new goal, which is still within short story parameters, is 15 pages. I will continue posting installments, about every 4 or 5 pages, as I get them ready. This is all rough draft.
I gave the class quick instruction in clipped tones; they would spend the rest of the day re-working math problems from yesterday’s test. Was it fair to punish them for Tommy Wilk’s inconsiderate dad with his appalling lack of social skills? The test hadn’t gone well for most of them, so honestly, this was probably more of a favor than a punishment. I do like to see my kids succeed. This may only be fifth grade, but I know it will be a stepping stone in the path to adulthood. I like to wax philosophical now and then. Yet another thing that Mom says is holding me back. At this rate, she says I’ll wind up a dowdy old professor at some distinguished university, spouting my insights and revelations to students half my age and going home to a house full of cats every night. She really bugs me sometimes. You should know that she is a well-known hairstylist. I wouldn’t recommend seeing her for services though, unless you fancy the middle aged punk rocker look that most of her clients end up with. They band together, her kind. A bunch of lonely hearts who lost their childhood to unexpected and ungrateful children.
Mom gave up trying to live vicariously through me when I was twelve. She insisted on buying a sparkly pink bra and panty set for me, telling me it was time to grow up. I was perfectly content with my Hello Kitty undergarments. Mom said I was a lost cause. I happily accepted the title, hoping it meant I had a life long guarantee free of her nagging and um.. encouragement. The guarantee didn’t last long. Mom’s been after me ever since, in spite of my repeated disinclination to go along with her latest scheme for getting me married off. Why does it matter so much to her, I wonder. I wouldn’t be here were it not for her week long adventure with a washed up rock star whose name I was never allowed to mention in her home. Why the determination then, to see me respectably matched under the law? Mom is a conundrum. I don’t often spend time trying to make sense of her many contradictions. Mostly I just ignore the phone until Christmas, when she lavishes me with shopping sprees to the local mall. I always head straight for Ann Taylor. Mom moans and groans every time. I wonder, if she were not to react so dramatically, if maybe I wouldn’t try something a little more young and hip?
Today I think I might have to stop in at Lulu’s, Mom’s beauty shop, and have a brief word with her about this rat of a father that has worked his way into my subconscious. I am certain that I will regret the visit but I could definitely use a manicure, so maybe it will all balance out.
When the bell rings to let school out for the day, I notice that Tommy Wilks sits in his desk a little longer than usual. He’s eyeing me again, appraising, trying to answer a question in his mind. Perhaps he is wondering how someone with dark brown hair can possibly be a grandma. His dad will pay for these speculations!
Tommy finally stands up and walks toward my desk. He’s shuffling again. I wonder if he learned that from Daddy? It is a sign of a lack of confidence. Daddy must have a serious lack if he has to stoop to taking cheap shots at his son’s devoted and highly educated fifth grade teacher.
“Yes Tommy? Was there something you needed?” He is still trying to solve a mystery in his mind. I can practically see the wheels turning.
“Miss Lalaine, you’re not really a grandma are you?” Seriously? He was just coming out and asking it again? I had thought Tommy was a pretty intelligent little boy. His test scores had certainly indicated as much. And yet, here he was, with his softly freckled face, staring at me intently, willing me to put his worries to rest. I can’t imagine why it is so important to him that I not be a grandma. I am certainly dignified and wise enough to be a grandma. Wait a minute! What am I thinking? I am NOT a grandma! I am young. Really young. My mortality will likely last at least another fifty years.
I return Tommy’s intense stare, think through my response and finally let it out.
“No Tommy. I am NOT grandma. I am still very young and have not married or had children yet, let alone grandchildren. Your daddy might not be getting enough sleep and because of that his eyes are bleary and he isn’t seeing things properly. I am not a grandma, nor do I look like one. Okay?”
Tommy sniffs and then wipes his nose with his shirt sleeve. “My daddy sleeps as much as I do. Maybe his eyes are broken a little though. I don’t think you look like a grandma, Miss Lalaine. Me and Jack Miller both think you’re um, hot stuff. That’s what Jack says. I just think you’re pretty. My grandma isn’t very pretty. She’s got wrinkles and her hair is kind of like a witch. She does dress like you though.”
What am I supposed to say to this? My words fail me--a first. I shake my head and smile. “Thank you Tommy for your insights and your compliments. Have a nice day.” I nod dismissively toward the door. Tommy takes the cue and walks out.
I stand and brush off my lavender pencil skirt. It remains perfectly smooth and wrinkle free. Wrinkle free, just like me. I’ve always been proud of my flawless skin. Regretfully I admit that that was a gift from my mom. She still passes easily for ten years less than her actual age. It bothers me at times, but also gives me something to look forward to.
At home I prepare myself some stir fry. One of my favorite shows is about to come on and I have the freedom to sit on the couch, with my feet up on my Pier One ottoman while I eat and am entertained without interruption. A quiet evening alone. A remote that I don’t have to fight for. A couple of hours of grading papers. My dirty dishes can sit in the sink and there is no one to complain about it. I can put off my evening workout dvd and not feel bad for my lack of commitment. There’s nobody here to call me out on it. Still, the quiet can be suffocating sometimes. I turn up my Bose sound system, the one I saved three years to buy, and rock out to Abba. Maybe I will go ahead and wash my dishes.
Laying in bed, it’s now almost eleven but tomorrow is Saturday so I have all the time in the world, I boot up my lap top and start a little bit of mindless surfing. I pull up the Ann Taylor website to see if the new spring line is up. It is and I begin scrolling through the pages of soft pastels, perfectly tailored and sufficiently cosmopolitan. “Safe.” Yes, I say it out loud. I live alone, remember? I can say things out loud and there is no one to think me crazy. Every article of clothing I see looks so perfectly safe. Is that how I live my life? No! I’ve traveled the world. Alone! I have walked along the Great Wall of China and played with the penguins in the Arctic. Who else can say that? I’ve climbed three mountains and sung my heart out in the hills of Vienna. I don’t play it safe.
I move the cursor to the side of the screen and access my photo file. Folder after folder, I am amazed at myself. I have done all kinds of brave things. I look at the pictures of me base jumping and riding in hot air balloons. I stroll along, on the back of a camel in the Valley of the Kings. So many amazing things and yet there is a painfully obvious common thread. I am alone. And I am almost always wearing pastels. I can’t even remember inviting anyone to join me on any of these once in a lifetime adventures. Why is that? Am I selfish? Do I love being alone?
I have no answers and continue browsing. I come to a folder of photos from my classroom activities. I am stunned and rendered completely immobile when I see little Tommy Wilks, red hair, freckles and all, standing on the playground next to a man who has his arm draped protectively around his shoulders. The man is tall but not imposingly so. His hair is full and jet black. He couldn’t be Tommy’s father, could he? Where did the red hair come from? I hate myself for admitting that he is handsome, disturbingly so. My anger continues to grow as the word grandma is repeated, louder and louder in my mind. It reaches a fever pitch and I slam the top down on my lap top. How dare he? Being ridiculously attractive does not give anyone the right to say such rude things about a person they don’t even know. How I wish I was my imagined alter ego just now. Thayne, the one name wonder, would certainly know how to handle this situation. She would show him with her tattooed, brash and sacuy ways just how mistaken he was. She would put him in his place and leave him drooling. She would…. Oh she would make him pay!
The smallest hint of a flame is beginning to burn in my mind. I don’t need the amazing cat walk phenomenon Thayne. I can do this myself. I will show him and he will eat his words! I pull the lap top back open and focus in on my enemy’s face. I crop it and blow it up, creating a new screen saver. Just as I practiced such discipline to earn my Bose sound system, which is just queuing up a hearty Rod Stewart ballad, I can utilize equal amounts of discipline and a fair bit of cunning to reach my aim. I’ll show him grandma! He has no idea what is coming his way!
I gave the class quick instruction in clipped tones; they would spend the rest of the day re-working math problems from yesterday’s test. Was it fair to punish them for Tommy Wilk’s inconsiderate dad with his appalling lack of social skills? The test hadn’t gone well for most of them, so honestly, this was probably more of a favor than a punishment. I do like to see my kids succeed. This may only be fifth grade, but I know it will be a stepping stone in the path to adulthood. I like to wax philosophical now and then. Yet another thing that Mom says is holding me back. At this rate, she says I’ll wind up a dowdy old professor at some distinguished university, spouting my insights and revelations to students half my age and going home to a house full of cats every night. She really bugs me sometimes. You should know that she is a well-known hairstylist. I wouldn’t recommend seeing her for services though, unless you fancy the middle aged punk rocker look that most of her clients end up with. They band together, her kind. A bunch of lonely hearts who lost their childhood to unexpected and ungrateful children.
Mom gave up trying to live vicariously through me when I was twelve. She insisted on buying a sparkly pink bra and panty set for me, telling me it was time to grow up. I was perfectly content with my Hello Kitty undergarments. Mom said I was a lost cause. I happily accepted the title, hoping it meant I had a life long guarantee free of her nagging and um.. encouragement. The guarantee didn’t last long. Mom’s been after me ever since, in spite of my repeated disinclination to go along with her latest scheme for getting me married off. Why does it matter so much to her, I wonder. I wouldn’t be here were it not for her week long adventure with a washed up rock star whose name I was never allowed to mention in her home. Why the determination then, to see me respectably matched under the law? Mom is a conundrum. I don’t often spend time trying to make sense of her many contradictions. Mostly I just ignore the phone until Christmas, when she lavishes me with shopping sprees to the local mall. I always head straight for Ann Taylor. Mom moans and groans every time. I wonder, if she were not to react so dramatically, if maybe I wouldn’t try something a little more young and hip?
Today I think I might have to stop in at Lulu’s, Mom’s beauty shop, and have a brief word with her about this rat of a father that has worked his way into my subconscious. I am certain that I will regret the visit but I could definitely use a manicure, so maybe it will all balance out.
When the bell rings to let school out for the day, I notice that Tommy Wilks sits in his desk a little longer than usual. He’s eyeing me again, appraising, trying to answer a question in his mind. Perhaps he is wondering how someone with dark brown hair can possibly be a grandma. His dad will pay for these speculations!
Tommy finally stands up and walks toward my desk. He’s shuffling again. I wonder if he learned that from Daddy? It is a sign of a lack of confidence. Daddy must have a serious lack if he has to stoop to taking cheap shots at his son’s devoted and highly educated fifth grade teacher.
“Yes Tommy? Was there something you needed?” He is still trying to solve a mystery in his mind. I can practically see the wheels turning.
“Miss Lalaine, you’re not really a grandma are you?” Seriously? He was just coming out and asking it again? I had thought Tommy was a pretty intelligent little boy. His test scores had certainly indicated as much. And yet, here he was, with his softly freckled face, staring at me intently, willing me to put his worries to rest. I can’t imagine why it is so important to him that I not be a grandma. I am certainly dignified and wise enough to be a grandma. Wait a minute! What am I thinking? I am NOT a grandma! I am young. Really young. My mortality will likely last at least another fifty years.
I return Tommy’s intense stare, think through my response and finally let it out.
“No Tommy. I am NOT grandma. I am still very young and have not married or had children yet, let alone grandchildren. Your daddy might not be getting enough sleep and because of that his eyes are bleary and he isn’t seeing things properly. I am not a grandma, nor do I look like one. Okay?”
Tommy sniffs and then wipes his nose with his shirt sleeve. “My daddy sleeps as much as I do. Maybe his eyes are broken a little though. I don’t think you look like a grandma, Miss Lalaine. Me and Jack Miller both think you’re um, hot stuff. That’s what Jack says. I just think you’re pretty. My grandma isn’t very pretty. She’s got wrinkles and her hair is kind of like a witch. She does dress like you though.”
What am I supposed to say to this? My words fail me--a first. I shake my head and smile. “Thank you Tommy for your insights and your compliments. Have a nice day.” I nod dismissively toward the door. Tommy takes the cue and walks out.
I stand and brush off my lavender pencil skirt. It remains perfectly smooth and wrinkle free. Wrinkle free, just like me. I’ve always been proud of my flawless skin. Regretfully I admit that that was a gift from my mom. She still passes easily for ten years less than her actual age. It bothers me at times, but also gives me something to look forward to.
At home I prepare myself some stir fry. One of my favorite shows is about to come on and I have the freedom to sit on the couch, with my feet up on my Pier One ottoman while I eat and am entertained without interruption. A quiet evening alone. A remote that I don’t have to fight for. A couple of hours of grading papers. My dirty dishes can sit in the sink and there is no one to complain about it. I can put off my evening workout dvd and not feel bad for my lack of commitment. There’s nobody here to call me out on it. Still, the quiet can be suffocating sometimes. I turn up my Bose sound system, the one I saved three years to buy, and rock out to Abba. Maybe I will go ahead and wash my dishes.
Laying in bed, it’s now almost eleven but tomorrow is Saturday so I have all the time in the world, I boot up my lap top and start a little bit of mindless surfing. I pull up the Ann Taylor website to see if the new spring line is up. It is and I begin scrolling through the pages of soft pastels, perfectly tailored and sufficiently cosmopolitan. “Safe.” Yes, I say it out loud. I live alone, remember? I can say things out loud and there is no one to think me crazy. Every article of clothing I see looks so perfectly safe. Is that how I live my life? No! I’ve traveled the world. Alone! I have walked along the Great Wall of China and played with the penguins in the Arctic. Who else can say that? I’ve climbed three mountains and sung my heart out in the hills of Vienna. I don’t play it safe.
I move the cursor to the side of the screen and access my photo file. Folder after folder, I am amazed at myself. I have done all kinds of brave things. I look at the pictures of me base jumping and riding in hot air balloons. I stroll along, on the back of a camel in the Valley of the Kings. So many amazing things and yet there is a painfully obvious common thread. I am alone. And I am almost always wearing pastels. I can’t even remember inviting anyone to join me on any of these once in a lifetime adventures. Why is that? Am I selfish? Do I love being alone?
I have no answers and continue browsing. I come to a folder of photos from my classroom activities. I am stunned and rendered completely immobile when I see little Tommy Wilks, red hair, freckles and all, standing on the playground next to a man who has his arm draped protectively around his shoulders. The man is tall but not imposingly so. His hair is full and jet black. He couldn’t be Tommy’s father, could he? Where did the red hair come from? I hate myself for admitting that he is handsome, disturbingly so. My anger continues to grow as the word grandma is repeated, louder and louder in my mind. It reaches a fever pitch and I slam the top down on my lap top. How dare he? Being ridiculously attractive does not give anyone the right to say such rude things about a person they don’t even know. How I wish I was my imagined alter ego just now. Thayne, the one name wonder, would certainly know how to handle this situation. She would show him with her tattooed, brash and sacuy ways just how mistaken he was. She would put him in his place and leave him drooling. She would…. Oh she would make him pay!
The smallest hint of a flame is beginning to burn in my mind. I don’t need the amazing cat walk phenomenon Thayne. I can do this myself. I will show him and he will eat his words! I pull the lap top back open and focus in on my enemy’s face. I crop it and blow it up, creating a new screen saver. Just as I practiced such discipline to earn my Bose sound system, which is just queuing up a hearty Rod Stewart ballad, I can utilize equal amounts of discipline and a fair bit of cunning to reach my aim. I’ll show him grandma! He has no idea what is coming his way!
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