The Journey

[unavoidedcrisis]

Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, I have been secretly plotting. And by plotting, I mean writing. And by secretly, I mean Mrs. Slater made me do it.

My Memoir, as it will appear in the Writer's Craft Anthology:

(I realize there are freaky tags. I can't make them go away. Damn them!)

A woman walks alone down the beach. It is early in the morning on a beautiful summer day, on the coast of Prince Edward Island. She turns to look the way she has just come, and she smiles, seeing the cozy two-storey house atop a rocky cliff, looking over the ocean.

The house is not small, nor is it too big. It has a garden full of peonies, the woman’s favourite, and a white picket fence. The whole effect is utopian, especially with the sun rising up behind the house to paint the horizon the shade of fruit punch.

The red sand beach is warm, and the splash of the waves rushing in is cool. The woman marvels at her good luck for having such a place. In a moment, it becomes apparent that the woman is not alone on her beach. Three young boys and a dog coming running towards her, laughing and shouting, and holding seashells and sticks that they have found in the surf.

“Look, Mommy,” the first boy says, holding up his stick. “Isn’t it the biggest stick you ever seen?”

She agrees, and smiles at her sons, happy to have them nearby.

“C’mon mommy,” the boy says again. “Daddy said he was making pancakes.”

The group starts back towards the house, the shaggy dog loping behind.

But who is this woman? How did she come to live in this house, with this family? Where did she start out, and what events have shaped her life in this direction?

The woman started out, like most women do, a young girl. She lived in the country, with her mother and father, and their shaggy dog.

Dogs were a constant presence in her life. When one would pass, she would mourn, but not for long. She knew they went somewhere better, and she knew that before long, she would have a new friend to have fun with and love. Some dogs were big, and other small, but all had one thing in common besides the unnatural amount of fur they shed: they all were as unique as people tend to be. Each dog had it’s own personality, unique likes and dislikes, and an original way of doing things.

The girl adored her dogs, cats, rabbits and rats, and all her other pets. Her very first dream job was a pet store clerk. She would grow out of that one, but her love for animals (and rodents, fish, reptiles, amphibians and birds) stayed as she grew. She would later teach her children the value of any life, animal or human, in hopes that they could grow up to be compassionate people.

The small house in the country soon grew too small, for now the girl had a baby sister. The whole family moved to a bigger house, still in the country. They had dogs here, too, along with some cats and rabbits.

Both her mother and father worked far away, so the older woman across the street looked after the girl and her sister. Her name was Betty.

At Betty’s house, the girls played and coloured, and watched ‘The Price is Right’. Their favourite game was the one with the little yodeling man. Soon Betty did not watch the girls anymore. Nana came from her house to live with the girls and their parents and to take care of them when Mom and Dad were at work. Nana played Batman cards with the girls. It was their favourite game, more so even than the yodeling man. Nana also showed the girls how to get all the water out of their toothbrushes when they were finished with them. That was something important that the girl (later turned woman) would pass on to her children.

But like most good things, this type of life did not last. The girls moved with their mother far away to a place called Whitby. Dad stayed behind in the country, but it was all right, he had always liked the country better.

In Whitby, the girls and their mother lived in a big house with the Grandma and Grandpa, and their two cousins and Aunt and Uncle. It was a very busy house, but the girls loved being surrounded by family.

When the girls and their mother moved again, they moved into a little yellow apartment above a hairdresser’s salon. The girl (who would later be a woman) had her own bedroom. It was small, but all her things fit in perfectly. When it rained hard, and the wind blew fiercely, the girl could hear it whistling past the windows. She would always remember the storms, because she thought they were scary. At the same time, they reminded her of her father, who she barely ever saw anymore, because he too had loved the storms. They reminded her of her very first dog, who had been terrified of the thunder.

Soon Mom found a new husband. They were married in May, and it was a beautiful wedding. Everyone was there, except Dad, of course because he hadn’t been invited. The girl got to read a passage from the Bible. This meant she was ‘included’. There were little jars of bubbles at the wedding, and the girl was allowed to play with them. It kept her quiet.

Now the girl and her little sister, and their mother, and her husband, and his three children lived together as one family.

The girl’s older stepbrother, Brock, was tall and gangly. He taught her about computers, and fantasy books, which she instantly loved. He taught her how to play chess, though he beat her in every game. He taught her how to win every time at Risk, and how to play euchre and cribbage. Sometimes Brock would go to the store and bring her Pop Rocks, or a can of Sprite.

The girl eventually discovered something amazing that she loved to do: act. She found nothing more exhilarating than standing up on a stage, with the spotlight trained on her, in her costume. She got to be a new person, and explore a new personality. This love for the theatre would become very important as the girl matured.

The little girl grew up, as most little girls do, into a teenager. Her oldest stepbrother moved out to go to university, so she was now the oldest. She got a part-time job, which some weeks seemed more like a fulltime job.

Her sister, Maureen, drove her crazy some days. She would ‘borrow’ clothes and make fun of the music the girl, now a brooding teen, enjoyed. Maureen would ask for things, and when told ‘no’, took them anyways. Maureen would read all the girl’s books, and always ask for suggestions of other titles. When Maureen was having trouble with her friends, or their mother, she would come to her sister for advice and comfort. Maureen always let her older sister borrow her Green Day albums.

The teen, who would be a woman, took drama in school, but never seemed to be good enough for the school play. The school play was what she always aspired to, but she never once got it. She couldn’t understand that. People would tell her that she was a good actor, and that she should never give up, but she never saw results and it hurt her, her dreams and hopes to become a professional. The worst was when people told her it was all for the best.

The girl had to supplement these dreams with new ones. She soon discovered what: writing. The girl found that she adored writing fiction, poetry, plays, essays, anything really. As long as she got to be a little bit creative.

It was in her third and fourth year of high school that she learned the meaning of the word ‘stress’. She found it hard to concentrate in school, and she did not even approach the marks she hoped she would get. She tried to be diligent, tried to plan, and get things done, but there never seemed to be enough hours in a day, or a week, for that matter.

People told her she could have everything she every wanted, if she just tried a little harder. No one ever realized that she was trying as hard as she could. No one ever noticed the tears she shed, or the sleepless nights she spent working on that one transitional paragraph, or the six hours she spent alone in her room on a Saturday night, rehearsing a monologue instead of hanging out with the few friends she did have. All they saw was the fact that she was never quite as good as the other girl, or that boy in the corner.

She would teach her children the art of time management, as she learned the hard way. She never wanted then to suffer the unbearable stress, or the breakdowns, or the disappointment that she had. She would help her sons in any way she could, by way of support, or the occasional day of missed school to work on an assignment.

The struggling teenage girl grew up, like most teenagers do, into a solemn young woman. She moved out of her house young- only seventeen. She moved far away to attend UPEI. It was then that she fell in love with Prince Edward Island. She finished her double major in Theatre and Literature- two things she loved, and two things she had been told she wasn’t the best at- with honours, top of all her classes.

The woman (who had been a girl) opened her own theatre: Theatre Eton Cavalle, modeled after her favourite theatre in Toronto. After six terrible, money-losing seasons, she produced a fantastic science fiction-horror musical that she had written herself.

The musical, called No One Knows Better, was called to New York City, to be performed in Times Square. It was soon nominated for a Tony, but didn’t win. Over 12,000 people saw the musical during its 522-show run.

While living in a cramped, dangerously over priced studio loft in Brooklyn, the woman met her soul mate and future father of her children. He was everything she had always wanted to see in another person. He shared her passion for theatre and music, and he made her laugh. It didn’t even bother her that he drew stares from other women when they went out together. She didn’t mind because although he was beautiful and attention-worthy, he was also fiercely loyal.

The two of them moved back to Prince Edward Island together where he bought her a kitschy little house with a white picket fence, on top of a hill, over looking the beach. She grew flowers in the garden, bright reds and deep purples, and the scent of them drifted through the windows which were always open in the summer, and wafted through the whole house.

After a few glorious years, they had children, triplets, actually. The three rambunctious boys were all as art-inclined as their parents. The first was a painter, the second a dancer, and the third was a piano player. The third boy, who was born deaf, was especially close to his mother.

The boys and their mother, who had once been a little girl, went for a walk every Sunday morning down the beach and back again, just in time for pancakes.

Unfortunate occurrence, fortunate reoccurrence. Complete serendipity, momentous change.

I don't really expect that you actually read it all... But if you do, tell me what you think?

Comments

[random-laughter.livejournal.com]

That was beautiful... it really really was.

It's like going through someone's attic and finding a little box decorated with colored paper, filled with all sorts of unexpected souvenirs from someone's past and hopeful future.

It's just so personal.