Categories > Original > Romance > Starting Anew
Hey there, all you loverly people :) So, I dunno if you know this (you probably don't!) but I don't usually write original stories. I try to stick with familiar ground (band fics), but some times you just have to step out of the shell, y'know? Anyway.. On with it! I hope it doesn't suck TOO much, I really do..:)
Have you ever been so nervous that you find yourself shoveling heaps and heaps of your mom's famous spaghetti down your throat? Almost without chewing? Yeah, I hate it when that happens. Like right now, for example. Mom and I have been sitting across from each other at the small dining room table, that we bought last week, waiting for Dad to get home from his big meeting. He'd been called at the very last minute, completely unprepared, but more than willing to go anyway. Mom and I have been doing the same thing since: she was biting her nails as if the world depended on it and I was practically eating an entire half gallon of this amazing spaghetti. I really should stop, before I gain an extra 20 pounds, but my arm won't let me.
"What was that?" I ask as I hear a car engine. Mom looks over at me, waiting. The car door slams and I hear the familiar beep as the car is locked. Mom continues to chew. "Never mind," I say to no one in particular. "I thought I heard Dad's car. It was just Mr. Adams next door, I guess." Mom doesn't say anything. I continue to eat.
Now Mom is in the kitchen, washing a bunch of the already clean dishes we used this morning for breakfast. Jeesh, can't she stay down for more than half an hour? I sure can.. as I have been...
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
An hour later, a car actually pulls into our driveway. Dad's home. Right away, Mom starts running around the house, grabbing pictures and moving things around to make it look like we've actually been busy since he left. Mom either doesn't know or just doesn't care that Dad never buys any of it (because she does it every time he's gone). It's nice, really. I think that's partially why their marriage has actually lasted so long. Not that I'm saying their marriage has ever been in trouble, I was just.. you know.. The divorce rate is so high these days..
As mom plops down on the couch, now dressed in her nightgown, she switches on the telly. Dad walks in. He says hello and dumps his coat, hat, and book bag in the small closet by the door. I stare down at the remaining food on my plate. My arm has finally ceased feeding me, and my stomach is too full for any more. Dad goes into the kitchen to get his nightly glass of water and kisses me on the top of my head on his way back to the living room. He plops down on the couch next to Mom. The springs groan and protest against it, not that it really matters much. The couch has been in our family for over 30 years, or so my mother tells me.
I glance over at my dad. I notice the way his thin, muscular arm shakes as he brings his glass to his lips. I can't help but wonder if he's lost weight. He's always been thin in just about every picture I've seen of him, and he's been that way ever since I was born. (Mom says that's where I get my thinness from, along with my height. My dad is very tall.) But somehow, tonight, he looks thinner than usual.
He downs his drink in less than ten seconds and sets the glass down on the coffee table rather loudly. Mom flinches and turns the telly back off, and we all sit in heavy silence. Then:
"Silvia, we need to talk."
That's my cue.
I get up out of my seat and take my plate into the kitchen. I shovel it into a smaller bowl, chop the noodles into tiny pieces, and set it down next to the back door. Silvester will probably eat it sooner or later.
I start to head up the stairs, but something stops me. Maybe its the tone of my father's voice, or maybe its the sudden dampness in the air. Whatever it is, it makes me tip-toe over to the living room doorway, underneath the staircase. I barely breathe as I listen to my dad's description of the meeting. Actually, it was really only a partial description. Like an old radio, his voice keeps fading in and out.
"..Unprepared.. Didn't matter.. Total failure.. Don't know what we're going to do."
These words echo in my mind. Every time some one said them in a movie, something bad always started happening.
"Oh Roger," Mom is saying, "I'm sure Katie will understand, whatever the decision is." Wait, what? Did I like, totally just miss something? I think I did.
"I don't know, Silvie, I really don't. No use worrying Katie over nothing that-"
"Nothing? Honey, we can't just not tell her we might have to-"
"Sh.."
I hear Dad stand up and hear his soft footsteps making their way over to me. I hold my breath and pray he doesn't check under the staircase where I was currently hiding. He doesn't. Instead, he closes the sliding dooor that separates the hallway from the living room. I sigh softly and tip-toe over to the door, just barely making out what Dad says next.
"Like I said, we'll hear it from Dave before we do anything."
Uh oh.. Dave being involved is never a good thing. Once upon a time, Dave was a family friend. Dad's best friend, to be honest. He used to help us with our financial issues (among other things). Now, though, he doesn't really like helping anybody. I suspect its because he got a raise a couple months ago. He now makes more money than Dad does in a year.
So like I said, Dave being involved in anything isn't a good thing anymore.
Darn, I just missed a bunch..
I strain to hear my mother speak.
"..Dave wouldn't.. Old friend.. Where would we.. Salem?"
"I don't know, Silvia. I just don't know.."
After this is said, Dad and Mom talk in super-whispers, and it's impossible to hear anything. Some minutes later, Mom gasps, and I hear nothing else. I sigh and turn away from the door, heading upstairs to my room.
Mom and Dad's rooms are down stairs, close by the back door. My room, the bathroom, and a couple guest rooms are up here with me. There's a bathroom and a den down stairs as well.
Before you start to think that I was forced or something, I wasn't. Being alone up here was completely my idea, and Mom fought it the whole way. (Dad didn't really care; he said it was a girl thing.) My friend Sammy, at the time, had her own room, and she was eleven. I had just turned eleven and I wanted my own house space too. So I got it. If I was ever lonely, it was my own fault. Plain and simple.
I take a long, hot shower. I shave, scrub my face, and take an extra ten minutes to let the water cascade down my body. Afterwards I feel relaxed and almost completely uncaring about my parents' whispering. They'll tell me eventually, just like they always do. And if not, well.. I've got my super-snoop powers.
I comb through my shoulder-length, dyed black hair, and study my reflection in the mirror. Being the worry-wart that I am, I examine my face very carefully for any signs of impending danger (a.k.a zits). Good news -I am pimple free!
With that done, I finish drying off and pull on my sleep wear, then turn off all the lights except for the one lamp on my bedside table. Ever since a nightmare I had back when I was five, I just couldn't sleep without some kind of light on. Just a dim one. The one by my bedside gave off a dark blue light. It was real calming.
I kick my shoes under my bed so that I won't trip on them if I get up in the middle of the night. Then I close the blinds. There's a light on outside my window, and I don't want to take the chance of attracting a peeping Tom if I decide to change. Like seriously, how embarrassing (and really creepy) would it be to catch some dude (or woman?) staring at your bare tits?
Blinds closed, door shut, lights off, I crawl into bed and bury my face under the thick covers. It's the middle of September, and the nights are beginning to get a little chilly. I really don't understand it, either. Here I am, smack-dab in the middle of Phoenix, Arizona, one of the hottest places on earth, and the night was chilly. Totally weird.
I curl up into a ball, focusing on breathing deeply, and wait for sleep to claim me. It takes a little while, but it happens.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- ---
I dream about snow.
In the dream, I'm up on top of a big, snowy mountain, all alone. I call out into the wind, "Somebody help me!" but nobody comes. I start to cry as my toes get colder and colder, until finally I can't feel them anymore. I try to dance, hoping they might warm up, but I hit a patch of black ice and fall backwards, right off the mountain.
And then I wake up, gasping.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes like a little girl who's been crying. I'm almost surprised when I feel real tears on my face. Funny..
I glance over at the clock beside me. It's only three o'clock. I groan and lay back down, then roll over, then sit back up. I look down at the foot of my bed and see my toes sticking out. I wiggle them and then stand up. I walk over to my window and open the blinds, peering outside into the darkness. My window is still shut -so why was it so cold in my room? I rub my bare arms and walk over to my door, turning the room temperature up a few notches. I stand there until I can feel the floor boards warming up and turn back towards the window.
Something moves outside.
I gulp and grab the nearest object next to me, which turns out to be a metal flash light, and slowly open my window.
"Hello?" I whisper. Hopefully nothing is out there waiting to grab me.
There isn't.
I sigh and start to close the window when the leaves on the tree closest to me start to rustle. I turn on the flash light and lean out of the window.
"Hel-loo?" I whisper again. Nothing. I frown and lean closer, until a leaf brushes up against my nose, and I squint, trying to see better.
At that moment, my flash light decides to die on me, and I bring it up to my face. I smack it against my palm a few times, then look back up.
A pair of yellow eyes stare right at me, and something licks my nose.
I scream and duck my head inside.
Interested yet?
Have you ever been so nervous that you find yourself shoveling heaps and heaps of your mom's famous spaghetti down your throat? Almost without chewing? Yeah, I hate it when that happens. Like right now, for example. Mom and I have been sitting across from each other at the small dining room table, that we bought last week, waiting for Dad to get home from his big meeting. He'd been called at the very last minute, completely unprepared, but more than willing to go anyway. Mom and I have been doing the same thing since: she was biting her nails as if the world depended on it and I was practically eating an entire half gallon of this amazing spaghetti. I really should stop, before I gain an extra 20 pounds, but my arm won't let me.
"What was that?" I ask as I hear a car engine. Mom looks over at me, waiting. The car door slams and I hear the familiar beep as the car is locked. Mom continues to chew. "Never mind," I say to no one in particular. "I thought I heard Dad's car. It was just Mr. Adams next door, I guess." Mom doesn't say anything. I continue to eat.
Now Mom is in the kitchen, washing a bunch of the already clean dishes we used this morning for breakfast. Jeesh, can't she stay down for more than half an hour? I sure can.. as I have been...
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
An hour later, a car actually pulls into our driveway. Dad's home. Right away, Mom starts running around the house, grabbing pictures and moving things around to make it look like we've actually been busy since he left. Mom either doesn't know or just doesn't care that Dad never buys any of it (because she does it every time he's gone). It's nice, really. I think that's partially why their marriage has actually lasted so long. Not that I'm saying their marriage has ever been in trouble, I was just.. you know.. The divorce rate is so high these days..
As mom plops down on the couch, now dressed in her nightgown, she switches on the telly. Dad walks in. He says hello and dumps his coat, hat, and book bag in the small closet by the door. I stare down at the remaining food on my plate. My arm has finally ceased feeding me, and my stomach is too full for any more. Dad goes into the kitchen to get his nightly glass of water and kisses me on the top of my head on his way back to the living room. He plops down on the couch next to Mom. The springs groan and protest against it, not that it really matters much. The couch has been in our family for over 30 years, or so my mother tells me.
I glance over at my dad. I notice the way his thin, muscular arm shakes as he brings his glass to his lips. I can't help but wonder if he's lost weight. He's always been thin in just about every picture I've seen of him, and he's been that way ever since I was born. (Mom says that's where I get my thinness from, along with my height. My dad is very tall.) But somehow, tonight, he looks thinner than usual.
He downs his drink in less than ten seconds and sets the glass down on the coffee table rather loudly. Mom flinches and turns the telly back off, and we all sit in heavy silence. Then:
"Silvia, we need to talk."
That's my cue.
I get up out of my seat and take my plate into the kitchen. I shovel it into a smaller bowl, chop the noodles into tiny pieces, and set it down next to the back door. Silvester will probably eat it sooner or later.
I start to head up the stairs, but something stops me. Maybe its the tone of my father's voice, or maybe its the sudden dampness in the air. Whatever it is, it makes me tip-toe over to the living room doorway, underneath the staircase. I barely breathe as I listen to my dad's description of the meeting. Actually, it was really only a partial description. Like an old radio, his voice keeps fading in and out.
"..Unprepared.. Didn't matter.. Total failure.. Don't know what we're going to do."
These words echo in my mind. Every time some one said them in a movie, something bad always started happening.
"Oh Roger," Mom is saying, "I'm sure Katie will understand, whatever the decision is." Wait, what? Did I like, totally just miss something? I think I did.
"I don't know, Silvie, I really don't. No use worrying Katie over nothing that-"
"Nothing? Honey, we can't just not tell her we might have to-"
"Sh.."
I hear Dad stand up and hear his soft footsteps making their way over to me. I hold my breath and pray he doesn't check under the staircase where I was currently hiding. He doesn't. Instead, he closes the sliding dooor that separates the hallway from the living room. I sigh softly and tip-toe over to the door, just barely making out what Dad says next.
"Like I said, we'll hear it from Dave before we do anything."
Uh oh.. Dave being involved is never a good thing. Once upon a time, Dave was a family friend. Dad's best friend, to be honest. He used to help us with our financial issues (among other things). Now, though, he doesn't really like helping anybody. I suspect its because he got a raise a couple months ago. He now makes more money than Dad does in a year.
So like I said, Dave being involved in anything isn't a good thing anymore.
Darn, I just missed a bunch..
I strain to hear my mother speak.
"..Dave wouldn't.. Old friend.. Where would we.. Salem?"
"I don't know, Silvia. I just don't know.."
After this is said, Dad and Mom talk in super-whispers, and it's impossible to hear anything. Some minutes later, Mom gasps, and I hear nothing else. I sigh and turn away from the door, heading upstairs to my room.
Mom and Dad's rooms are down stairs, close by the back door. My room, the bathroom, and a couple guest rooms are up here with me. There's a bathroom and a den down stairs as well.
Before you start to think that I was forced or something, I wasn't. Being alone up here was completely my idea, and Mom fought it the whole way. (Dad didn't really care; he said it was a girl thing.) My friend Sammy, at the time, had her own room, and she was eleven. I had just turned eleven and I wanted my own house space too. So I got it. If I was ever lonely, it was my own fault. Plain and simple.
I take a long, hot shower. I shave, scrub my face, and take an extra ten minutes to let the water cascade down my body. Afterwards I feel relaxed and almost completely uncaring about my parents' whispering. They'll tell me eventually, just like they always do. And if not, well.. I've got my super-snoop powers.
I comb through my shoulder-length, dyed black hair, and study my reflection in the mirror. Being the worry-wart that I am, I examine my face very carefully for any signs of impending danger (a.k.a zits). Good news -I am pimple free!
With that done, I finish drying off and pull on my sleep wear, then turn off all the lights except for the one lamp on my bedside table. Ever since a nightmare I had back when I was five, I just couldn't sleep without some kind of light on. Just a dim one. The one by my bedside gave off a dark blue light. It was real calming.
I kick my shoes under my bed so that I won't trip on them if I get up in the middle of the night. Then I close the blinds. There's a light on outside my window, and I don't want to take the chance of attracting a peeping Tom if I decide to change. Like seriously, how embarrassing (and really creepy) would it be to catch some dude (or woman?) staring at your bare tits?
Blinds closed, door shut, lights off, I crawl into bed and bury my face under the thick covers. It's the middle of September, and the nights are beginning to get a little chilly. I really don't understand it, either. Here I am, smack-dab in the middle of Phoenix, Arizona, one of the hottest places on earth, and the night was chilly. Totally weird.
I curl up into a ball, focusing on breathing deeply, and wait for sleep to claim me. It takes a little while, but it happens.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- ---
I dream about snow.
In the dream, I'm up on top of a big, snowy mountain, all alone. I call out into the wind, "Somebody help me!" but nobody comes. I start to cry as my toes get colder and colder, until finally I can't feel them anymore. I try to dance, hoping they might warm up, but I hit a patch of black ice and fall backwards, right off the mountain.
And then I wake up, gasping.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes like a little girl who's been crying. I'm almost surprised when I feel real tears on my face. Funny..
I glance over at the clock beside me. It's only three o'clock. I groan and lay back down, then roll over, then sit back up. I look down at the foot of my bed and see my toes sticking out. I wiggle them and then stand up. I walk over to my window and open the blinds, peering outside into the darkness. My window is still shut -so why was it so cold in my room? I rub my bare arms and walk over to my door, turning the room temperature up a few notches. I stand there until I can feel the floor boards warming up and turn back towards the window.
Something moves outside.
I gulp and grab the nearest object next to me, which turns out to be a metal flash light, and slowly open my window.
"Hello?" I whisper. Hopefully nothing is out there waiting to grab me.
There isn't.
I sigh and start to close the window when the leaves on the tree closest to me start to rustle. I turn on the flash light and lean out of the window.
"Hel-loo?" I whisper again. Nothing. I frown and lean closer, until a leaf brushes up against my nose, and I squint, trying to see better.
At that moment, my flash light decides to die on me, and I bring it up to my face. I smack it against my palm a few times, then look back up.
A pair of yellow eyes stare right at me, and something licks my nose.
I scream and duck my head inside.
Interested yet?
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