A Doll For Daphne

I press my lips together and follow him as he leads the way toward the nuns in the back.  He’s so focused he doesn’t realize a soft doll slips from one of the bags under his arm and falls to the ground.

“Liam!”  I call out.  “You--”

A girl with brown ringlets framing her round cheeks runs toward the doll before I catch Liam’s attention.  She looks both ways to be sure no one sees her, then snatches it up and into her arms.  The doll fits perfectly in the crook of her arm and a smile brightens her face.  

“Hey!  Little girl!”  I say.

She freezes and clutches the doll tightly to her body.  Her fearful blue eyes dart to me and back to the doll as I step toward her.     

“Hey!”  I repeat, coming closer.  From a few yards away I can see the tremble in her shoulders.  The little girl drops the doll and runs from me.  

I stoop down and pick the doll up from where she’s landed in a heap.  There’s a smudge of dirt on its plastic cheek and I wipe it away with my thumb.  Liam’s over talking with the nuns, and he glances my way.

“That girl--who is she?”  I ask when I reach them.  I don’t wait for introductions.  One of the nuns, the younger one with round spectacles and a pointy chin, looks like she really wants to give me a quick lesson in manners.

“I’m sorry, dear?”  The older nun says, wrinkling her forehead beneath her habit.

“There was a girl, maybe four years old.  Curly brown hair, blue eyes--or at least, I think they were blue.”  I scan the yard as I describe the little one.

The older woman smiles, bouncing the child on her hip.  “Ah.  You must mean Daphne.”

Do I mean Daphne?  I have no idea.  

“She ran from me.  Do you know where she might have gone?”

The thin, bookish nun nods towards a strand of trees near the rear of the property.  The trees are short and sparse, obviously very young, and don’t offer much shelter.  A little form huddles at the base of the one in the middle, facing away from us.

I peel back the corner of the foil around the cookies and grab a couple, then hand the tray to the young nun.  When I reach Daphne’s hiding spot, I find her with her knees tucked into her chest.  Tears streak her face, which she presses to her knees.

“Can I join you?”  I ask.  I don’t expect an answer, and she doesn’t disappoint.  I sink to the grass, leaving several feet between us.  “My name is Claire.  They told me your name is Daphne.”

She remains quiet except for a soft shudder.

“Daphne’s such a pretty name,”  I continue.  “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

The little girl raises her head to glare at me.  Blossoms of crimson burn at her cheeks.  “Go away.”  She hides her face again.

I place the doll next to her gently, so gently I’m not sure she knows I’ve done it.  “That’s a nice doll you have there.”

Daphne brings her head up again and starts to say something angry.  Our eyes connect and I glance down at the doll laying next to her.  She looks down, too, and then back at me.

“It’s okay, pick her up.”  I say.  “I brought her for you.  I knew you would take very good care of her.”

The girl scoops the doll into her arms again and snuggles her little cheek against its plastic face.  Her eyes squeeze shut in joy.  When she opens them again, I smile.  “Would you like a cookie?”

She nods and tentatively takes the cookie from my outstretched hand.  Daphne reminds me a lot of Taran--flighty, suspicious, and upset.  Like Taran, I don’t push her.  I eat my cookie as she eats hers. When it's gone I stand up and slip away.  She doesn’t follow behind me like the horse does, but that’s okay.

The Problem

Liam

When I finally felt steady enough to rejoin Alfie, he'd moved on to replacing a broken fence board in one of the paddocks.  He didn't say a word about my breakdown, and I’m thankful for it.  I helped him in silence, holding the plank steady as he secured it to the fence post with a hammer and several nails.  Alfie was getting on in years, he shouldn’t be doing this work on his own.  

He took a breather after the next board was up, and stared off towards the few horses still living here.  

“Tell me about the horses, Alf.  It’s nice to see you, but they’re why I’m here.”

Alfie swiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand then gave a short nod.  “I hated to bring you back, y’know, but with Rowan out of the picture, I didn’t know who to ask.  Besides, you always were better with the horses than him.  He’s got a wicked temper, that one.”

“That he does.”  I agreed.   

We walked down the fence row until we stood in front of one of the few occupied enclosures.  “We’ve got six horses still here, but no one with any horse sense at all wants to help with them, especially the one mare in particular.”  I turned my head in the direction he's looking, toward the rear of the paddock to our right.  When she noticed us watching, the dark horse inside snapped her body into alert, her head high, eyes wide, and ears pricked.  Minus her sun-bleached coat from living outdoors, she was a nice-looking horse and would make someone a fine jumper.  The bone structure was all there, I could see it, but so was the fear.  The longer we stared, the more her terror echoed back.  Without taking her eyes or ears from us, she shrank back against the fence.

“That’s Tarantella.”

I scrunched up my face.  “Tarantula?  Like the spider?”  

“No, no.  Tarantella.  It’s a dance--Spanish, you know?”  Alfie hummed a tune and snapped his fingers as he crossed and uncrossed his arms a couple of times and shuffled his feet.  It looked like no dance I’d ever seen or probably would ever see again, thank heavens.  

With a shake of my head, I said, "You'd better stick to horses, Alf."  

He chuckled and stopped dancing, "Anyway, Tarantella... she was going by the name ‘Taran’, but some of the kids started on with calling her ‘Spider’, so you’re not so far off.”

Spider wasn't a friendly kind of nickname. I wasn't sure what to think about that.

I unlatched the gate to her paddock and walked inside.  Taran pinned herself up against the boards of the fence in response, but otherwise regarded me with curiosity.  “She looks all right,”  I said, fastening the gate closed behind me.  “So, then, what’s the problem?”

It happened then, quite literally, with the blink of an eye.  The dark horse studied me for all of three seconds before blinking her eye and charging after me.  There was no time to fumble with the gate--she’d be on me before I could have made it that far, anyway.  My only option was to climb the fence, and with any luck I would be faster than her.  With thundering hooves at my back, I launched myself at the fence and scrambled over.  Taran clamped her teeth around the heel of my boot before I could swing it over.  The old man was doubled over laughing at me dangling in a rather unpleasant position, with one leg in safety, the other in a wild horse’s mouth, and my crotch somewhere in the middle.  

“That,”  He sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes, “is our problem.”

Rear View Mirror

I expect him to pass her by.

He doesn't, and I should have seen it comin'.  My older brother, Joe, never missed an opportunity to tease me.  Then again, he didn't pass up a chance to flirt with a pretty girl, either.

"Cut it out, Joe!"  I growl through gritted teeth.  Heat creeps up from my neck to my cheeks, and the sprinkling of freckles there fade into red.  There's only so far I can shimmy down in the Model A's bench seat to hide myself from her sight.  I'd like very much to slug my brother for his fooling.

"Hey, Toots!"  He calls out the open window to the dark-haired girl walking behind our car.  "Want a ride?"

She doesn't even give him the satisfaction of looking our direction, which, in a way, makes his grin broaden.  Instead, she trains her deep brown eyes on the gravel immediately before her own two feet.  We all know that even if she wanted to ride with a troublemaker like my brother or mortified me, she'd have to pass it by her daddy.  Besides, she's nearly reached her destination and doesn't need our kind of help, if you could call it that.

I steal a peek in the mirror and watch her curls bob in time with her determined march.  If I wasn't so mad at Joe, I'd thank him for giving me more time with her.  Not that we ever really spent time together.  My brothers and I watched her walk past our house on her way to her job at the golf course all the time.  They watched, maybe, but I salivated.   Someday I'd work up the nerve to ask her on a proper date, but today wasn't going to be that day, thanks to my obnoxious brother.

Daniel the Draw-er Makes a Friend

“Did you make any new friends at school today?” Mom asks, smiling up at me as she wipes crumbs from the counter.  Every day it’s the same question, and every day I give the same answer.  They say adults are supposed to be smart, but maybe no one told Mom.

I grab the carton of milk and take a gulp before she notices, then wipe away my milk moustache with my sleeve.  Today I feel dramatic, so I puff up my chest and place my hands on my hips like a superhero before booming, “Annie is the only friend I need!”  

If I owned a cape I would make sure it flapped in the breeze behind me the whole time, but capes weren’t on the shopping list for school clothes this year.  Mom looks disappointed.  I’m disappointed, too.  Capes are cool.  Not as cool as samurai swords or skateboarding dogs, but still pretty awesome.

“Daniel.  Annie is a nice girl, but it’s not healthy to have only one friend.”

Parents always said stuff wasn’t healthy for you.  Candy bars weren’t healthy.  Staying up all night watching t.v. wasn’t healthy.  Now being friends with Annie wasn’t healthy?  Unless Mom meant the time Annie sneezed right in my face and I ended up sick in bed for two days, I didn’t understand how having a friend could be bad.

“Really, Daniel.  What if Annie moved away?  Then you wouldn’t have any friends.”

“She’s not going anywhere.  She told me so.”

Her face grows serious.  “Promise me you’ll try to at least talk to the other kids.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I roll my eyes, but make sure I turn my back to her first.  Mom hates it when I roll my eyes.  Only she can roll her eyes and get away with it.  “What’s for dinner?”

“Meatloaf, your favorite!”

Gross!  I stick out my tongue and make a gagging noise.

“I was going to warn you that Tommy’s in the living room waiting for your sister, but since you’re being a smarty-pants, maybe I won’t...”

Tommy.  Ugh.

My sister Lila’s latest boyfriend was the worst one yet.  He plays in a band and has just enough hair on his chin to make it look like he’s super-glued a caterpillar there.  Tommy also likes to call me “buddy” and punch me in the arm.  I figure he can't remember my name.  When we first met, Tommy called me Fritz for an entire day before Lila finally put a stop to it

I tiptoe down the hall past the living room door, but knock into the coat rack with my backpack.  Like a hungry lion, Tommy pounces, jumping over the back of the couch and directly in front of me.  Great.

“Bud-dy!”  He punches me in the arm, as always.

“Ow!”  I whine.  Before he can hit me again, I slip off my backpack and hide my arms behind it like a knight with a shield.  

“What’s up, big guy?”

I try to answer him, but it’s kind of hard since he’s put me in a headlock, his skinny forearm pressing into my windpipe.  Up close, Tommy smells like microwave burritos and cat litter.  He rubs his knuckles on the top of my head and I yelp.  When the torture portion of our meeting ends, he lets me go and acts like nothing ever happened.

“Lila says you’re a draw-er.”

I’m pretty sure he means artist, but my head and arm still hurt so I keep my mouth shut.

“Uh, I guess so,” I shrug.

Tommy smiles, making the caterpillar wiggle.  “Well, keep practicing, buddy.  Maybe if you get good enough you can draw a cover for Revenge of the Lunch Lady.”

I back around him so I can keep an eye on his hands.  “Yeah, okay.  Thanks.”

Like that’ll happen.  Revenge of the Lunch Lady was the name of Tommy’s band, and their biggest show so far had been at the bowling alley.  No one had been able to hear them over the thumps of bowling balls and crash of falling pins.

The rest of the way to my room, I think about Mom’s words, What if Annie moved away?

It’s impossible to imagine life without my best friend.  While all the other girls at school dress in pink and smell like flowers, Annie always smells like peanut butter and wears her brother’s old jeans.  Back in kindergarten she ate an earthworm and that’s when I knew she was the one.  

The other kids tease us and say we’re going to get married when we grow up.  They make kissy noises when we walk past together, but that’s gross.  I don’t want to kiss Annie.  Annie eats earthworms, after all.

Mom’s being silly.  Annie’s not leaving.

Once I reach my room, I sit down at my table and get to work.  Dad put my table in front of the window so I could look out and draw nice pictures of trees and birds, but mostly I use the window as a launchpad for paper airplanes and plastic parachute men.  Instead of trees and birds, I draw animals and monsters and super-awesome machines nobody else has thought of yet.  My favorite was a robot named Pi-zzabot that could bake a pizza and do my Math homework at the same time.  I drew a toaster that could tie shoes and smear peanut butter on bread for Annie, too, but I still think Pi-zzabot is better.

Today I want to finish the animal I’ve been working on for a few days.  I mean, I guess he’s an animal.  His head is round and soft like a teddy bear with shiny black eyes, but he’s no ordinary teddy bear.  The rest of his body will have long tentacles like an octopus--once I finish.  

In the middle of drawing Octobear’s third oozing tentacle, my pencil lead snaps off.  I growl and fling my wounded pencil out the open window before I realize that was my last pencil.  

Lila’s in her room with her door open when I stomp by.  She leans in close to the mirror on her dresser and dabs at her eyelashes with a tiny black brush.  Girls are weird.  You’d never catch me poking myself in the eye with anything to make myself look pretty.  

I peek my head in her room.  “Hey, you got a pencil?”  

She stops and looks at me with the brush hovering near her eyeball.  I flinch and look away.  Even though Lila is my sister doesn’t mean I want her to become a cyclops or wear a patch over her eye.  

“No, Daniel,” she replies.  “I do not have a pencil.”  

Who died and made her an English teacher all of the sudden?  She probably needed to help poor Tommy out, not me, since he couldn’t even come up with a better word than “draw-er”.  I stalk away, taking back all the nice things I’d ever said about her, which weren’t that many.

I want to ask Mom about pencils but Tommy and his fists still lurk in the living room.  Octobear needs more legs, but if Tommy punches me one more time my arm’s going fall off.  Without my arm, it’ll be hard to draw.

The only other place to look is the attic.  I’m not really supposed to snoop around up there because Mom says I make a mess.  This one time I found a bunch of brand new action figures Dad hadn’t even opened yet.  His face turned purple when he found me playing with them a few days later.  Since then, the attic has been off-limits for me.  Octobear needs me, though.

It takes a while, but I find a box of old art supplies buried under a fake Christmas tree and a bin of my old baby clothes.  The stuff inside the box is mostly junk.  I push aside a stack of paper with brown water spots and small containers of dried-up paint until I feel something smooth and wooden.  The wooden thing ends up being a case, and when I open it up there’s a half-used pencil wrapped in green velvet.  Yes!  Why anyone would put a plain old pencil in a box like that, I don’t know, but Dad is weird and keeps his toys in boxes, too.  With a shrug, I toss the box to the side and hurry back down to my room.

I finish drawing the last of Octobear’s limbs and start on a cat who will have a jetpack on his back - I’m saving that part for last! - when Mom calls me down for dinner.  The meatloaf is extra dry tonight and Dad talks for a whole ten minutes about some market on Wall Street, wherever that is.  As soon as I choke down the last awful bite, I run back to my room, ready to send a cat into orbit.

Only one problem.  There’s a cat on my desk and he looks kind of familiar.  

The cat stands up and puffs his snowy fur.  “Hey, pal,”  he says.  

I rub my eyes and blink, then look over my shoulder towards the stairs where the rest of my family is still talking about James Bond or something.  I knew this day would come--Mom’s meatloaf had finally driven me insane.  

“Not gonna answer me?”  He closes his yellow eyes and shakes his head.  “That’s fine.  But do me a favor, kid?”

My mouth hangs open.  If I try to speak, the words get stuck inside of me.

He turns to the paper lying on the desk next to him and I see an empty space where his back should be.  With his paw, he pats my cat drawing on the page.

“Finish drawing me.”

I slam the door behind me and run downstairs as fast as I can.  Mom said she wants me to make new friends, and I guess I had.

The Creek

I couldn't tell you what it is about the forest that calms me.  Maybe it isn't the forest, at all, but the murmur of the river against the time-worn pebbles.  Or maybe the melody of the birds flitting from branch to bank, the cicadas joining in with their staccato rhythm.  Perhaps, even, the aroma of pine sap, damp earth, and moss drew me here--especially on days like today.  Mostly, I liked the quiet.  No one offered me advice or asked for my help out here.  No one spoke at all unless you counted the babble of the water, and I didn't.

Tally snorted and took a tentative step from the shore and into the edge of the creek.  I patted her shoulder as she took another swishing step, thankful for the distraction. I'd fought so hard to keep him from leaving, but, in the end, none of it mattered.

Camp, Day 1

Here is a snippet from the novel I began earlier this year.  I'd hoped to finish it up in April, but April was a trainwreck.  Camp NaNoWriMo began today, and my goal is to add an additional 26k words to this novel to bring it to 50k and, hopefully, completion.  For those of you following along, here's my progress today.  Meet Lucy, the main character of "In the Middle".

~~~

Being slow as a turtle—even slower than that, it seemed—wasn’t my norm.  My body was aerodynamic, thin and sleek.  My legs used to reach outward with the grace of the gazelle, bounding me forward with ease.  They said I would go places, that I’d have my pick of colleges.  Coach lined up college recruiters for our biggest meets, all I had to do was show up and let go.  My heart would do the rest.

I missed the wind in my face and the teardrops that collected in the corners of my eyes as the world blurred behind me.  I missed the crunch of pebbles beneath my shoes.  I missed the tickle of my ponytail grazing the back of my neck with each swaying step.  I missed pushing through the burn in my lungs and deep within my legs.  Faster, faster, faster.  I missed every single shin splint and weeping blister.  I missed running so hard the world spun behind my eyes, struggling to catch up.  Heck, I even missed throwing up in the grass because I’d pushed myself to my limits.  Even the worst day on the track paled in comparison to what my life looked like now.  This was not life at all.

They said I would go places.  Somehow I doubted this is what they meant.

I bit my lip to keep from sobbing as I continued forward at my numbingly slow pace.  The forest around me fell silent except for the low crunch of the pine needles under my feet.  The sulfuric air grew thicker and so heavy that it pressed on my chest and I had to stop to draw in a really good breath.  My throat burned with the effort, and I coughed.   The fire was close, and so was my rescue. 

The pines crowded close together ahead with branches intertwined in protest.  Even the forest wanted to keep me stranded in this pit.  I knew following the trees until I could find a large enough opening to squeeze through would mean going to my right or left instead of forward.  Sideways was frustrating to me.  Sideways wouldn’t get me away from Oliver or Mitte, two things I wanted more than anything.  It was not one of my brightest ideas, but I gritted my teeth and pushed forward into the arms of the pines.  The needles welcomed me, sliding across my skin like feathers.  The tang of pine tar overtook the smell of soot and destruction.   Maybe this wasn’t so bad, after all.  Spreading the branches of the tangle before me, I smiled.  Yes, this plan would work.  Adios, Oliver!

Almost as soon as I’d thought it, the needles turned against me.  Pins made contact with my face, pricking my lips and drawing tiny beads of blood. 

“Ouch!”  I yelped, trying to bring my arm up to shield my face, which only made me more of a human pincushion.  No one came to help me, even though it was pretty obvious that I was stuck.

Oliver left.  He left.

He didn’t owe me anything, and I figure most of the messes I’d found myself in since fate dumped me in Mitte had been his fault.  Not even two minutes ago I wanted as far away from that boy as humanly possible.  Finally, something had gone my way.  From where I cowered, shrouded in flesh-eating vegetation, I couldn’t bring myself to feel happy he’d gotten around to taking a hint. 

If Dad was here he’d have torn himself in two to protect me.  There was no way he’d let me wander off alone into the wilderness, no matter how much I kicked and screamed.  Dad would have kicked and screamed right back at me, and then, when he’d had enough, thrown me over his shoulder and carried me back to safety.  I would have hated him every step of the way, as much as I loved him.  He knew never to give up on me, but it didn’t matter anymore.  Even Dad had abandoned me as the dragon drew near.

A flood of anger surged through me, and its intensity vibrated wildly across my skin like a bolt of lightning.  Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t do a single thing except kill me faster.  I was no damsel in distress, and this was the furthest thing from a fairy tale.  Death would track me to this forest, one way or another.  A man couldn’t stop the inevitable.  I felt it as sure as the pulse pounding in my veins.  Wiping the blood from my mouth, I forced myself further into the green.  Goosebumps sprung on the back of my neck and rippled down my arms.  What in the--? The frantic rhythm slamming through my body crushed the breath from my lungs.  

My grandpa suffered his first heart attack right in front of me as I blew out the candles on my birthday cake on my tenth birthday.   I’ll never forget--his eyes bugged out of his head like he was a fish out of water, gulping for air and finding none.  Yeah, my life sucked. 

Something New.

My skull wrenched into pieces.  A blistering flash of light pierced my vision, though I tried protecting myself by squeezing my eyelids shut.  And then, quiet.

***

My eyes popped open, startled awake by the sound of the taxi’s tire thudding in a pothole.  I could feel my heart galloping within my chest, and I took a deep breath to calm myself.  Of all the things that could go wrong in an automobile, a heart attack seemed the most ironic.  I mean, you’re driving along, all safe and proper one minute, and then your body quits on you... and CRASH!  Sayonara!  

Cars aren’t really my thing.

I distracted myself by leaning forward, towards the driver, a middle-aged guy wearing a faded baseball cap and a grey t-shirt that definitely had seen better days.     

“How much longer?”  I asked loudly enough so my voice carried over the annoying twang of the country song he’d been humming along to.  Talking out loud hurt my brain, and I pressed my palm onto my forehead to slow the vibration.  For the life of me, I couldn’t recall the last word I’d spoken out loud, and now I remembered why.  Everyone thought I kept silent because I wanted my space.  And, yes, I wanted people to leave me alone--but, most of all, I wanted this God-awful pain to disappear.  Keeping my mouth shut helped, or, at least, it drove others away so I didn’t have to perform like a circus animal.

“We should be to Mitte in ten minutes.  You okay?”  The driver asked, his concerned eyes peeking at me from the rearview mirror.  

I nodded in response even though he’d turned his focus back to the road.  Immediately, a stab of discomfort shot up my neck.  He didn’t seem too concerned at my lack of response, and completely ignored me when I sucked in a breath at the painful movement.  His lack of concern didn’t bother me, though.  I’d reached my limit of how many times I could lie about feeling good, especially when those asking couldn’t fix me even if I told the truth.

Yes or No

The fireflies froze in their lazy circles.  It seemed they waited for an answer, too.  My mouth dried up, probably because it had been hanging open in surprise for the past several minutes.   

I blinked.  Once.  It was promising, that flutter of movement.  It was reassuring to discover I hadn’t died of shock, after all.

“Claire?”  Liam asked.  Everything about Liam screamed his confusion:  The hesitation in his voice, the way his eyebrows pulled together over his dark eyes, the way he drew his hand away from my chin and tucked it in the pocket of his dress pants.  “Say something.  Please?”

He was looking for words, noises to come out of my mouth--my still-hanging-open mouth--that would amount to something.  That was asking a lot from me, a girl who always said the very worst thing at entirely the wrong time.  Besides, my brain swirled with all kinds of thoughts, none of them an answer.  I shut my mouth and swallowed, then turned back to look over the gently rolling surface of the pond.  

Liam waited for my response, but I remained silent, unless you counted my deafening thoughts.  I felt sure that anyone in a five-mile radius could hear them loud and clear.  If he heard anything, he didn’t let on.  

“Edwin’s lawyers requested that I come back and help wrap up things with the sale of the stable.”

I dropped my gaze to where my freshly-manicured fingers rested on the smooth wood railing of the gazebo.  “I don’t know what to say, here,”  I croaked, finally.

A puff of air escaped his lips as he ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair.  “It’s okay.  Forget I asked,” he sighed, turning away.  As usual, my reaction wasn’t what he hoped for.  You’d think he’d be used to that by now.  I related so much better to my horses than people, even the man I loved.

Yes, I loved him.  That much I knew for sure--but marriage?  Marriage.  Like forever, forever.  I’d just graduated from high school a few months ago. There was a lot of forever left ahead of me.  Still, he’d just spent the day pampering me with a trip to the spa, the beautiful dress I now wore, and dinner at the most amazing spot in town.  He deserved something more.  Maybe he deserved somebody more.