If you haven't already read the new August Introduction post, I shall tell you that I have taken away my August goal of 5000 words a week and have decided on not setting a goal whatsoever. I shall post when I have a good part of my story to post and hopefully I'll have another finished novel by the end of August. No promises about an ending by the end of August, but I can hope!
Please enjoy these 3700 words!
*WARNING!* There is bad language in this story. Please do not be offended.
Nana
Chapter One
My vocal lesson was just about finished, all Marcia had to do was write in my practicing chart. Marcia was writing with her inky ballpoint pen that made her capital letters slope into a ribbon-like shape. When Marcia wrote with her red ballpoint pen, her words looked like a present. I collected my sheet music and tucked the pages under my arm as I waited.
And as she wrote, I looked out the hazy window, outside to the stretch of land called Luck Mark City, a little sub-city of Kansas City. The skyline was short, but the roads were long and I loved every bit of it. Luck Mark City was my home where I could run barefoot through the sand and dirt and the cold air could never bother me. I could run for scores of grassy fields out my back door and swing in the trees until the sun went down with no jacket and no socks. That is how much I didn’t mind Luck Mark City’s bitter wind.
“Tammy, you are all done,” Marcia said, capping her black ballpoint pen and handing me my practicing chart.
“Okay, thanks Marcia,” I said, heading out.
“Wait a moment, Tammy,” Marcia stopped me, halting me right at the brown chipped door with the bronze doorknob. “It doesn’t look too good out there. Look at all that dirt the wind is kicking up. Let me drive you home.”
“Don’t worry about it, Marcia. This weather is nothing. Besides, you have another lesson,” I replied, twisted the doorknob, and put all my weight on the sticky door. After the door sent me tripping over the floor end of the door frame, I waved good-bye before Marcia could say another word. I loved that unsettling Luck Mark City weather. I liked the brewing of a storm feeling as I trotted on home. If the wind got strong and rain started dripping from the clouds, I would not mind a bit.
Walking out of the musty building that Marcia occupied, I waved to Charles who was waiting in the lobby, anticipating his lesson with Marcia.
“You’re up,” I said.
“Thanks, Tammy. Watch out for that weather. It looks pretty bad,” Charles said, peeping out the window nervously.
“Don’t worry ‘bout me, Charles. Just enjoy your lesson!” I said, skipping out of the building, my face immediately hit with the whipping wind and whirling dirt.
“Whoo!” I shouted, listening for my voice as it got lost in the gale. “It’s strong tonight!” I ripped out a page of my practicing chart, faced the wind, let the paper free from my grip, and ducked before the paper hit me back in the face. I twirled around to watch the piece of paper dance along the skyline until it was out of sight.
I wondered if a nearby rancher would find it and wonder where it came from. He would probably crumple it up and throw it in the trash, not giving it a second glance. If I had found something suspicious like that, I would examine it line by line. Then, I would hop over the backyard fences of all my neighbors, waving to them as they waded in the pool and waved back to me, then I would run past Kansas City’s center hub where all the restaurants and stores were, nodding at people and calling out to family friends across the street. Luck Mark City was perfect for calling out across the street to people you knew. And even if you thought you knew the person, but it turned out to be somebody else, it didn’t matter, ‘cause they would turn and wave to you anyway. But that rarely happened because, in Luck Mark City, everyone knew everyone since birth. After I had hopped over the fences, ran through the center hub, and reached the earthiest part of Luck Mark City, the trim of the city, I would find the quietest, clearest place and make my own story. I would start the novel, speaking softly, then crescendo louder and louder until I was shouting the climax of my story. My story of my discovered practicing chart. That is what I would shout to the no one around. After I had finished the novel, I might run back to the center hub, and find a mailbox to leave the practicing chart in for someone else to find and make their own novel about. Then I would run home and tell not a single soul about my story.
As my daydream came to an end, I felt the wind picking up while I passed the center hub and went down Parsley Street, where my house was placed. My hair was practically tearing from my scalp and I noticed no one else was around. The center hub was deserted which was unusual for a Friday evening, especially since that was the Farmer’s Market evening. In fact, as I snapped back to reality, I noticed the Farmer’s Market farmers were not even out with their tables and banners and foods. However, I did not worry, nor speed up my pace. I knew Luck Mark City weather like the back of my hand and the sky had not a hint of horror in it.
I opened the door to my house to the smell of brisket and English muffins with potatoes. Ma was in the kitchen and Pa was sitting on the sofa in the living room, staring at the TV.
“Tammy, look at this tornado warning,” Pa said the minute I stepped into the house. Kicking the door closed, I headed over to my sofa and plopped down next to Pa.
“The dirt in stirring in little areas around Luck Mark City, folks. Take care and get your cellars ready. This tornado looks like it’s gonna be fierce.” Pa turned off the set and laughed.
“It’s that a laugh, Tammy?”
“Sure is! A little stirring dirt isn’t gonna hurt a soul.” I stood up to kiss Ma hello.
“Smell this, Tams? This is my favorite kind of brisket. I’m putting my oil and vinegar on top,” Ma told me as he sprinkled some spice into the pot of boiling water and meat.
“Did you visit Nana today?” Pa asked me, lumbering into the kitchen.
“No, I didn’t get a chance to stop by,” I confessed.
“She’s been asking for you, champ,” Pa answered.
“I’ll go by tomorrow, Pa,” I promised.
“She wants you to harvest her orange tree so bring our ladder.”
“Doesn’t she have one?”
“Not a high enough one, ace. She wants to do lunch, so bring a picnic.”
“I’ll be over there for hours, Pa! Nana loves to talk about what we should do and what she wants me to do for her. Can’t I just pick her orange tree and leave?”
“Tams, you gonna hafta get your monthly visit done sometime before next month rolls around. Nana’s got no one else.”
“She’s got you,” I mumbled and ambled off to my bedroom down the hall.
“Dinner in ten!” Ma called as I shut my bedroom door. I kicked off my tennis shoes and slid open my drapes to look out at the hazy, brown sky. While the rest of Luck Mark City was getting ready for a whopper, I stood there with my drapes and window open, my body entirely exposed to the natural disaster. If that natural disaster ever came. The weather people who were reporting this news were even living in California with a few cheap cameras to tell them what they thought was the truth.
The next afternoon, I packed a wooden picnic basket full of last night’s oil and vinegar brisket, sugared, sliced grapefruit, and cranberry muffins we had bought from the Farmer’s Market the week before and had stored in the bread cabinet. I put in a red checkered picnic blanket for fun and a set of silverware and dishes. I added in sparkling lemonade and matching wineglasses to go along with it. I found Pa’s high ladder and folded it as small as it got. Then I put the picnic basket on my arm and balanced the ladder on my two palms. Heading out, I called, “Out to eat!”
“Well, it is about time you got by here to say hello,” Nana said, limping over to her screen door. She pushed it open just enough to let me squeeze on by.
“Good afternoon, Nana,” I said and pecked her on the cheek.
“You bet your ass it is. Don’t you watch the news? They say there’ll be a whopper in the next few days. Well, your Pa better get his lazy self over to board up my windows and unstick my cellar door.” Nana hobbled over to her dining table that was piled with newspapers and magazines from years prior. She pushed a few papers off, half-heartedly and sat at a table chair. I set down the picnic basket and leaned the ladder against the wall next to the dining table.
Nana was wearing gray curlers in her gray hair, but some of her hair had missed a roll. She was wearing her pale pink bathrobe over a pale pink nightgown. Rolls of wrinkle fat massaged her face and her imprinted frown supplemented her freckly, foggy skin. Her eyebrows needed tweezing and her fingernails needed trimming, but the downward action of her angry eyebrows showed she had no desire to do so. Nana’s house was a mess, too. Everything looked old to match her own. Photographs hung crooked on her walls and her TV was always flashing with a Judge show. Nana’s window remained closed at all times and her drapes became faded with age. Her kitchen looked only remotely managed with the minimum amount of dishes washed to make the next meal for herself. Her refrigerator door still had pictures of when I was three taped to it.
Nana used to care very much about her appearance and the appearance of her property and of what others would think. That was why Nana would clean her home, herself, every day and make herself up every morning before she even went out for the newspaper. Nana never tolerated dust or cluttered papers. Once she had read a magazine, she tossed it or even if she hadn’t and a week had gone by, she told herself she was out of luck and tossed it. But ever since Pop had died, ten years ago, Nana seemed to have given up. I never really knew Pop, me being only thirteen, but I knew Nana missed him so much it killed her inside.
“Pa and I don’t think there is really anything to worry about, Nana. The weather people never know what they’re talking about anyway,” I said, unpacking the basket.
“That’s ridiculous! Your Pa and you aren’t weather people. How is it you know so much about these damned tornados anyway?” Nana snapped, pouring herself a wineglass of lemonade.
“We’ve just been here for a while, I guess. We aren’t 100% sure, of course, but we do know a little stirring of dirt can’t hurt a soul,” I replied, setting a place setting before Nana.
“Ah, hell! You tell me that when I am safe in my cellar and you and your Pa are spinning around the inside of the goddamned whopper!” Nana barked, taking a slice of sugared grapefruit for herself.
“So what are you reading lately, Nana?” I asked, diverting the conversation.
“Reading? I can’t read with these eyes. Hell, I can barely see a red stoplight from a green one. Reading, that’s a joke,” Nana responded bitterly, chomping and chewing away at her slice of fruit.
“Maybe you should get glasses, Nana,” I suggested.
“Jesus! I am only seventy years old, I don’t need that yet!”
“Ma and Pa have them,” I said, cutting my brisket.
“Aren’t you gonna warm the brisket up?”
“Only if you want me to,” I answered.
“Well, I be damned! Warming up meat? What an audacity!” Nana cried out sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“All right, all right. Give me your plate,” I said, taking Nana’s plate from her.
“Well, how so goddamn kind of you,” she snapped. I walked to the microwave and put in Nana’s plate first when I heard a knock at the door. The buzzing of the hit screen door vibrated the photos on the wall near the door.
“Well who the hell could that be?” Nana asked, pushing back her chair.
“I’ll get it, Nana. Sit down.” I hurried to the door and opened it.
“Tammy?”
“Oh, hey Charles!” I said, opening up the screen door. Charles, a boy who went to my school and had the vocal lesson right after me, was holding a stock of postcard fliers. Charles’ dad was standing at the head of the driveway, waiting for him.
“What are you doing?” I asked, peeking at the postcard fliers.
“Oh! I’m handing out scripture sayings from the Bible with my dad,” Charles said, selecting the top paper and handing it to me.
“I didn’t know you were Christian,” I said, turning the laminated card in my hand.
“Yeah, aren’t you?” Charles asked.
“No, I’m Jewish,” I said.
“Really? Well, cool! Oh, I got to go, Tammy. See you tomorrow at school!”
“See you in science!” I called as Charles jogged down the steps and to his dad where they walked on to the next house.
“What the hell?” Nana asked, squinting her churlish eyes at me and the cardstock in my hand.
“That was my friend from school, Charles. He was handing out Christian papers, I guess,” I said, flitting the piece of paper onto the dining table.
“Are we gonna eat or what?”
“Nana, I can’t reach this orange. Can’t you just wait until it falls,” I said, then mumbled under my breath, “like normal people.”
“Well, how about this,” Nana started, looking up from her picture magazine as she sat in her blue, plastic lounge chair, “when that goddamn orange falls from the tree and splatters all over my grass, you can come over and clean it all up with a toothbrush…or, you can reach your puny, T-Rex arms a little higher and pick the goddamn orange right now.” Rolling my eyes, I stood on my tiptoes on the top step of the ladder and grabbed hold of the squishy orange that already had a dark purple spot on one side. I yanked it from it’s branch and tossed it in the beige, wooden basket that lay next to my ladder on the ground. The beige basket was already half full and the tree was not nearly half harvested. I was going to have to empty the basket into Nana’s pantry and refill.
As I picked and tossed and moved my ladder around, I thought about how Nana’s backyard used to look. It had a running, silver fountain of a mermaid and fish on the far end of the yard where fresh, blooming flowers grew around it. Nana even had a small tree orchard along the backside of the grounds where she had a healthy apple tree, lemon tree, orange tree and pear tree. The only tree left standing alive was the orange tree. She had a small outdoor kitchenette that she promised she would build upon once she learned to stand the cold. She use to have long rows of basil and oregano and jicama and tomatoes next to the kitchenette and each crop had had a cute, handmade painted sign stuck in the dirt in front of the row. Nana had even started painting her own mural on the back wall of a beach and vowed she would take Pop to see the real thing one day.
I stopped harvesting for a moment to look at what the yard had become. The fountain had stopped running and now was a rest stop for pigeons, all the flowers surrounding the fountains were dead to match the deceased fruit trees and vegetable crops. The mural was half finished and looked like a dark blue asteroid about to explode. Her handmade crop signs were broken into several pieces and her jicama sign just said, “jic.”
“What are you gaping at? Do the oranges look like they’re going to harvest themselves?”
“Usually, that’s what they do,” I muttered and continued picking and tossing.
“Damn,” Nana muttered as she read her magazine, a few moments later.
“What is it, Nana?” I asked.
“Nothing, none of your business,” Nana snapped suddenly. Obviously something in that magazine had struck her sensitive bone. I climbed down from the rickety ladder and noticed Nana’s cheeks growing freckly red.
“What do you think…you’re doing?” Nana sniffled, trying to maintain her bark.
“Just…moving the ladder,” I lied as I watched her wipe a tear from her cheeks. I kicked the beige basket full of oranges over a little and moved my ladder over a tad. I looked back over to Nana who hadn’t seem to have turned the page yet. I silently walked over to her and moved behind her to see what she was reading.
“I’m not that stupid,” Nana said, slamming the covers of the magazine together. “You get back to your work, it’s the least you can do.” She had obviously gotten her spunk back.
“I’m going to get another magazine,” Nana snapped, grunting as she pushed herself off of the plastic chair.
“Do you want me to get you another one?” I asked, hurrying to the back door and opening it.
“Get back to your work! I’m not as old and unable as all you idiots think,” Nana snapped and shouldered me away. I stumbled and went back to my work.
When Nana came back she had her black sunglasses on and a new magazine. This magazine was another picture magazine only and the heading on the cover read, Farm Livestock and Crop Edition!
The rest of the day, I spent picking Nana’s orange tree and emptying and refilling the beige basket. When evening reached, I climbed from the ladder, folded up the tool, and wiped the dirt off my hands.
“Are you done?” Nana asked me, almost decently.
“Indeed. I’ll just empty this basket, clean up lunch, and be on my way,” I answered, wrenching the beige basket from the ground.
“Fine. I’ll be in my room. Feel free to take an orange or two,” Nana called as she shambled back into the house with her magazine. Nana leaned on the door frame as she took a step inside. I emptied the last of the oranges into her storing fridge, grabbed two oranges, and went into the kitchen. After I had cleaned up the picnic basket, I realized we hadn’t even set out the picnic blanket for fun. Shrugging, I plopped the two oranges in the basket, and left. I thought I might have heard a faint ‘thank you’ as I shut the door, but I thought about that every time I visited Nana, so by then it could have been just my imagination.
At my home after dinner and dessert, I realized I had forgotten my ladder at Nana’s house. It was around eight o’clock when I reached Nana’s street, Coriander Avenue. I knocked on her screen door, but no one answered. I called out for Nana, but still it was quiet. I opened the screen door, since Nana always left it unlocked, and walked inside. Since lunch, nothing looked touched. The papers Nana had pushed on the floor for lunch were still lying on the ground and the table still had two open gaps of pure wooden table. Maybe she was just getting ready for bed in her room. I would just grab my ladder from the back and leave without actually having to interact with the woman.
I opened the back door and stepped outside, but before I progressed toward my ladder, I saw Nana kneeling in front of her half painted mural, her head bent. Just above her head, a magazine clipping of a sunset beach was crudely taped to the concrete wall. I remained silent, simply staring at the taped photograph and at my praying Nana. I didn’t want to interrupt her, but I didn’t want to startle her either when she turned around and saw me just standing there. I tried to creep back inside, but the concrete stones next to her door were in my way and without me noticing, I tripped over them and sent them tumbling on top of each other, making an immense racket. Nana whipped around and saw me there, trying to keep my balance. I laughed a little to keep the encounter light.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nana barked, putting one hand against the wall to aid her in her footing. As Nana leaned against the wall to stand up, she tore down her sunset beach picture, ripping it straight down the middle. Nana crumpled the fragile piece of paper and threw it to the ground.
“Do you like to spy on me? Huh? Do you think it’s funny that you were just going to stand there until I turned around and scared the shit out of myself? Is that what makes you laugh?” Nana yelled at me, towering towards me uneasily. She had dirt caked on her kneecaps, and her curlers were letting loose and flapping against her neck with every stomping movement.
“Nana, I was just getting my ladder,” I tried to explain, backing away from her.
“Well, god forbid you should wait until the goddamn morning to get your damn ladder! What, is all hell going to break loose, if you and your precious family don’t have your straight-to-hell ladder by tonight?” Nana was really shouting now and I was surprised that the neighbors weren’t peeping over the adjoining walls to see what was going on. I was steadily backing away each time Nana came threateningly towards me. I curved around her as I backed away, so I wouldn’t back into the house. I tried to get myself near the side gate, finally in a position that would enable me to maneuver my way out of the backyard.
I was used to Nana yelling at me, she was a yell-y person, but it was definitely obvious she was getting worse with everyday I saw her.
Did you like my first chapter? What did you think? PLEASE tell me what you think!! It's a different style of writing, but I really like writing this way. What kind of way do you like to write? Thanks for reading and sticking through my changing of the goals!
ABC 123,
Maddie
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