Saturday, 26 January 2013

Creative Writing (From 2008) – Part Three


It was dinnertime at the Swenley household, and there the Swenleys sat around the circular table in birth order, starting with Papa Swenley at twelve o’clock, then Mama Swenley at three, then Molly at nine, and young Theodore at six.  It was dinnertime, exactly 6:30 p.m., and all the Swenleys were washed and combed, and young Theodore was out of breath. Reading time began promptly at 5:30 and ended promptly at 6:30, both the schedule and Mama Swenley confirmed this, and young Theodore tried his best to follow the schedule, but always ended reading time to early or came to dinner too late. The others laughed at young Theodore, but he continued to bravely test the constraints of time. For in time, he knew, he would be the victor of poor scheduling and careless planning.

Theodore hated being called Young Theodore, but everyone else seemed to like it the more he hated it, so he never mentioned it to anyone, hoping that his indifference would lead to theirs. His teacher, Miss Waitterbast, liked calling him Theo-DOOR, emphasizing the last syllable – the syllable that created the rhyme Bore, Bore, Snore, it’s Theodore, or in gym class, Snore, Snore, I’m always last-pick, Can’t play a wick, Snore, Snore, I’m Theodore. When he asked her to call him Theo, she said it sounded undignified.

Theo was small and thin with fine white-blond hair that grew from the center of his crown. His favorite part of the day was reading hour, and he hated school except for the bus rides and reading class, but a bus ride doesn’t technically count because it isn’t part of the official school day. His dad, however, always told his clients never to forget small energy expenses, like transportation time, in their optimum life scenarios, so Theo told his parent’s friends that he liked both when they asked. They smiled in amusement when he answered.  

Theo was in the advanced reading group, which was never called that, lest some classmate who couldn’t spell “ignorant” feel belittled. Last year, they had called the reading groups Bluebird, Cardinal, and Goldfinch, but everyone knew that Bluebird finished books twice as quickly as the other groups, and that their vocabulary lists were twice as long. This year, the groups were named Elm, Birch, and Oak, and Theo liked the idea of being called an Elm – majestic, rare, and easily susceptible to disease.  He always found reassurance in portraits of Napoleon – who was majestic from a low vantage point , and he knew, as his mother has told him, that rare was just a complimentary word for odd. And most of his classmates and his neighbors thought that he was odd. He heard them say it.  When his neighbors Mrs. Guiry or Mr. Larkin saw him pass by, they would pause beside their bushes, mid-clip, and lean across the fence talking in quiet tones. “Did you see that boy today? Dressed like a vagabond. That boy is odd, I tell you.” Or “Did you see what he was pulling in his wagon? Really! Don’t his parents watch over him? He does the oddest things.” They always thought that they were being quiet, but when older people whisper, half the world can hear them.

At six o’clock sits Molly Swenley, named after her mother, just as Theodore is named after his father. She is tall for her age, with freckles, and loves to play croquet. She also loves campaigning and she led the signing of a petition in the fourth grade for the purchase of two croquet sets. She is popular, but not because she is rich and pretty like the other girls, but because she is the ultimate mastermind – and the great councillor of her peers.  Without her help, Elsie would have never gotten her life-size doll house for her birthday, and it was Molly, not a persistently leaky main, who caused the flooding in the elementary school resulting in four long weekends in a row last March. At night, Molly dreamt of small tactical punctures in pipelines and other solutions for the misery of her friends and classmates.

“Molly, tell us about your day,” Mama commanded as she served the chicken casserole. Slop, Wham, and a sauce-covered cutlet landed on her plate.

“I had a quiz in math, and a test in science, but I did well on both. Sarah’s a dim-wit, so she –“
“We don’t say that word in this house, Molly—"

“How about ‘dumb ass?’” asked Theo, and Mama and Papa both gasped.

“Theodore Swenley, where did you hear that word?” Papa asked sternly, his eyes bulging through his narrowed eyelids.

“In my book. Frank calls his boss that after he steals his idea for an initiative…”

“We never say that word. In this house or out of it. Do you understand me, Molinda and Theodore?” Papa wagged his finger.

“Yes, Papa, but one question. If Molly thinks Sarah is a dimwit, why is it so wrong to say it? And if she calls her something else, isn’t she calling her something equally mean, because it has the same feeling behind it?” Theo looked at his father with serious eyes. Molly sat back, arms loosely crossed.

“No, Theo, and I’ll tell you why. Words have their own meaning. It’s not inherent, but we – you, me, and everyone else in our town, country – assign a meaning to it.  And when you call people names, especially mean ones, you have to be very careful that that person really fits that description, because if he or she doesn’t, then you give the wrong impression to the person you are talking to. You misrepresent the other person’s character, and that slander, and that’s against the law. Words are not to be used lightly.” 
 
Papa cleared his throat. Now both children were leaning towards him. “And another thing, Theodore. Never use a word just because it’s printed in a book. Not all books are good books. Not all the words from every book should be repeated or even read." Books that shouldn’t be read? Theodore thought about this late into the night.

One day, a few weeks later, Molly and Theo were on the bus. It was early, about 7:30, and they had already passed the fire station and the YMCA. The bus driver, Mr. Kelly, was about five feet ten inches, but he was too skinny for even the smallest size of coveralls. The navy blue suit sagged around his arms, bunched up around his waist, and formed deep creases at his knees. Shannon, the school gossip as Molly was the mastermind, said that part of the reason his uniform was so large was that he only wore his underwear, and not a full set of clothes underneath the suit. All the kids knew that you had to get out to the bus stop 10 minutes early, even though Mr. Kelly (Shannon said his first name was Dave) might be 20 minutes late. His eyes were always bloodshot, and he only grunted if you talked to him. 

Molly and Theo followed school rules religiously: older, cooler kids sat at the back of the bus, while the new, unpopular, and younger kids sat toward the front. Molly, as the mastermind, sat in a place of reverence – the middle of the back seat bench. Although she would have much preferred to do crosswords or word jumbles, the daily court proceedings began the moment she sat on the bus seat, with both boys and girls asking questions from every side, including the second to last seats. What Molly knew, she share instantly, but scheming took time. With her spiral-bound notebook, Molly would carefully copy down the question and ask politely if she could have 24 hours to consider all the possible angles. No one objected. And although Molly never asked, she was always offered illicit pieces of gum, extra cookies at lunch, and was always invited to the birthday parties with the most selective guest lists.

Theo sat with his two friends Bart and Simon. Both Bart and Simon loved pirates, kidnappers, and murder mysteries, and would regale Theo and each other with the gory tales they watched on Unsolved Mysteries, America’s Most Wanted and various prime-time shows. “Well, last night, the killer destroyed the crime scene by pouring bleach down the drain,” Simon began. “Wasn’t that great!” Bart replied, while Theo sat silently in the middle. Mama said that Bart and Simon wasted time watching television because their parents were divorced, and were too busy to take care of Bart and Simon all the time. She also said that they had stressed parents who were doing the best they can in bad situations, and that Theo should not repeat what she said to Bart, Simon, Bart and Simon’s Moms, Bart and Simon’s Dads, or Simon’s Dad’s fitness trainer-now-girlfriend Becky. When Theo told Bart and Simon what Mama said, they both agreed she was right, but then Bart said that lots of other people watch TV too, like their neighbors, and some of the teachers at school, so it's not so bad.  And then they went back to talking about serial killers.

Theo, Bart, and Simon met up with Helen and Flora outside of the bus and walked to class together. The classroom was decorated in bright colored posters and paint, modern art made from construction paper and crayons, and a homework assignment written in chalk: Homework for tonight: Write to your favorite author.

....
Theo settled down at his desk, his elbows resting on the small table painted bright blue. He had two sharpened pencils and two pens in an old mug at the top right corner, and an eraser at the top center. His nudged his book with his right elbow and looked closely at the cover. On a blank piece of paper, he created faint straight lines with a ruler about a half an inch apart. Looking at the last name of the author, he began to write, slowly and carefully:

Dear Mr. Burnsted,

My name is Theodore Swenley Jr.  I am seven years old. I live in Greatwoods and go to the local elementary school, which means that you and I live in the same state. 

I am writing to you because I have an assignment for Reading class to write to my favorite author. You are my favorite author. I really like your plots and your characters. One of my favorite characters is Simon from your book, The Courtroom Dramas. I have not finished the book yet, because I told my dad that Simon called his boss a “dumb ass,” and then my dad said that he needed to read the rest of the book and would give the book back to me if he thought it was appropriate. Appropriate was one of last week’s bonus words in spelling. I’m very good at spelling.

It you get the chance, please write back to me. Reading is my favorite hobby, and I think your books are the most fun to read. It would be fun to show your letter to my class. I might be the first to get a letter back, because you live so close to me.

Sincerely,
Theodore Swenley Jr.

After checking the spelling, Theo looked at his letter and nodded his head. It was nearly six o’clock, so he still had some time to read.

....
At dinnertime, Mama was serving the cheese, chicken and broccoli casserole and Papa was telling a story. It had been a cold day, despite the springtime forecast, and the sleet had created poor driving conditions, and Papa had avoided a near collision only five minutes from the house. “I was swerving, and headed toward the coming traffic, but fortunately I gained control just in time. It was funny, though, because I realized that I almost hit Mrs. Keetley from the library, you know, the reference librarian. I wonder if she’ll slip a road safety manual in my next book selection.”

Theo took his plate from Mama. “Thank you. Mama? May I have stamp?”

“What for, Theo?” She asked, while filling her own.

“For class. We are writing to our favorite authors. I picked Samuel Burnsted. I want to send the letter right away, because I think that he will be the first author to write back.” Theo smiled at each face.

“Theo, I don’t know if he’ll write back.” Molly said, “Authors get a lot of fan mail and are really busy writing their next book. It’s like when I wrote to the president, and all I got back was that form letter and some stickers.” 

“But Mr. Burnsted isn’t like the president. He hasn’t published anything in a long time. The last book he wrote was over 10 years ago. I think that he might be retired.”

“Well, you can always send the letter and hope for the best. Maybe he’ll send you an autographed picture that you can frame,” Papa said after a large swallow of broccoli. “It’s always good to send a letter, especially when it’s a note of encouragement.”

....
Molly and Theo stood by the bus stop. The cold has encouraged the other kids to tarry inside their warm homes, but Molly had accompanied Theo of his letter-mailing mission. A swift sloush, a loud bang, and the letter began its journey.

Now, standing by the bus stop, Molly rubbed her mittens together. “So what did you tell Mr. Burnsted? Nothing boring I hope.”

“No. nothing boring. I used vocabulary words and gave him compliments.”

“That’s good. Maybe he will write back.” Molly kicked a loose piece of concrete.

“Hey, Molly? Simon says that Flora, Shannon’s sister, overhead Shannon saying –"
“Wow, Simon’s as bad a Shannon –"

“No, she’s the source. But Flora’s in training. Anyway, Shannon said that you’re planning another short vacation for April. Is that true?”

“Well,” Molly looked around and spoke quietly, “don’t ask me questions like that in public okay? I’ve got to be careful about Tattles. But yes, it’s in the works, but only because Derek, you know in 4th? He went into the teacher’s lounge and saw that there were tests scheduled for –“ Two third-graders were heading toward the bus stop. “Nevermind. Ask me later.”

The day was uneventful until Theo took a bathroom break during Math. The class was in the middle of multiples of 12, and Theo could never remember past 8x11, which is 88, but sometimes during games he said it was 99, because his mind added and multiplied at the same time. In the bathroom, Theo always counted the tiles. They were blue, three-different sizes and shades, and it must have taken a lot of time to lay out the pattern. Molly said that the tiles in the girls bathroom were blue too, and that the pattern was probably the same, but Theo didn’t think she was really listening when Theo was describing it. Two small tiles, then the biggest one, then one medium sized, then one small, two medium-sized, but only horizontally. The vertical pattern was different, but the pattern was really a square pattern with lots of little squares in it. It was like a maze with doors and traps. Molly said that the girl’s bathroom was like a jungle gym. She and some other girls would climb on the sink or heat and sit on top of the stall sides. Sometimes the four of them would all sit on one, or sometimes two on two. Molly said that the tiles pushed up too, and she didn’t say why she knew, but Theo knew that she probably hid stuff in the ceiling. Molly had this phrase, “Searches could be imminent.”

....
The butler stood behind Molly and Theo and closed the greenhouse door. “Why are you doing this?” Molly cried,  her eyes narrowing as she met Mr. Burnsted’s; she pulled Theo back and towards her with her right arm. 

Mr. Burnsted continued to meet her gaze for a moment, but then turned quickly around and continued to walk toward the giant ferns.  He called behind him, nonchalantly, “I’m not going to harm you.” He touched the soil at the root of a palm bust and cheerfully added, “now see here, the soil’s perfectly moist. Well done, George!” 

The gurgles and splashes of the fountain grew fainter as Theo and Molly walked on, with Molly grasping Theo’s arm, reddening it. Theo looked up at Molly, but Molly was looking ahead. She gasped in wonder.

Ahead of them, a giant copper machine with huge orbs blew steam in various directions. The dials and tubes, also copper connected each orb and drew deep into the pool in which it stood. The pool was circular, tiled a light aqua and stood about three feet deep  and eight feet across. As the steam swirled around it, Molly whispered to Theo, “It looks like something out of a Jules Verne...”

Mr. Burnsted dipped his fingers into the pool. “What did you say, Molly?” He looked at her intently.

“I said, all I said was that it looks like something out of a Jules Verne story.” Her voice grew in strength, finishing in a defiant note.

Mr. Burnsted stopped caressing the water and stepped toward Molly, but Molly took a step backward and pulled Theo behind her. “You touch me and my brother, and I swear, you’ll be sorry.” 

Mr. Burnsted stopped walking and looked at Molly, eye’s sparkling. “Molly, I’m not going to harm you. Or your brother. You both seem like clever kids; would you like to see how this machine works?”

Molly raised her chin. “I know how it works. The tubes bring water to the tanks and the tanks boil the water, releasing the steam. The different tanks add moisture to different parts of the greenhouse, so they are controlled separately, by the controls at the base."

Mr. Burnsted looked surprised, “For someone so clever with machinery, you think you might have been able to create a more official-looking demand letter.” He laughed gutturally and sighed. “But children, I collected you for a different reason.”

“Collected us? We’re not figurines or hens' eggs.” Molly said snidely. Mr. Burnsted ignored her.

“Theo,” he said, looking past Molly, “you’ve been so quiet. What are you thinking about?”

Theo said nothing and remained pressed against Molly’s back, but she could feel the hot tears wetting her shirt.

“You’re scaring him, you brute! Either you take us home, or –"

Or what?” Mr. B looked at his watch. "How about I feed you lunch? You must be hungry.”

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