I live in a trailer park.
I'll give you a second to let that sink in. Go ahead. I'll be here.
Like I said, I live in a trailer park. It's called Meadow Brook Terrace Trailer Park, which sounds so much nicer than Circle-L Trailer Park, about three miles down the road, just after the Sunoco gas station. How can an L be a circle, anyway?
I don't know why in the world they named our trailer park "Meadow Brook." There are no meadows, unless you count that space where the Vasquez family got their panties in a twist and ripped their not-so-mobile home off it's foundations a couple years ago and the weeds have run amok. And I've looked everywhere for a brook and never found more than gutters that run when it rains. But, then again, the owner's wife--Miss Peggy--has what she likes to call an "artistic bent". Maybe she imagined the meadow and the brook.
Our trailer is gold. I don't know why trailers can be gold, since you never see real houses that are gold. But ours is. Gold siding on the bottom and off white on the top. This is better than the trailer three down from us. It is "coral and azure" which could also be called "pink and aqua". The owner ordered it, special, to match her Berretta. My sister calls it a Witchmobile. She's right, you know. And what kind of person orders their house to match their car? But that's Paulette for you.
Inside our gold trailer, there is a kitchen, a living room, a closet that is supposed to be a bedroom, a bathroom, and a bigger bedroom at the back. They all go in a line, off of one hall. I sleep in the closet that is supposed to be a bedroom. My parents sleep in the big bedroom, and my big sister sleeps on the couch in the living room when she isn't begging her friends, who have real houses, to let her sleep there. She says that she has friends because she bought a pair of jeans at the mall that cost $100 of her babysitting money. She wears them everyday and washes them every night. She says I don't have friends because I wear Faded Glory brand clothes that my mom buys me on the clearance racks at Walmart, so I'm always wearing sweaters in the summer and shorts in the winter. It's a vicious cycle, but I've accepted it.
Rose, my sister, had the little bedroom originally, and I had the couch, but when she started sleeping away from home more nights than not, my parents said I could have it. When they told her, she just shrugged and told me not to touch her Orlando Bloom poster on the wall or her collection of perfume on the shelf. I did pretty well, considering the temptation, but every once in awhile I did allow myself a spritz of "Sunflowers."
My mother is a nurse. Doesn't that sound like a noble profession? One that you would be proud to have your mother be? Well, I am. I tell people who will pay any attention at all that my mother is a nurse at East Central Medical Center. She wears navy blue scrubs and a name tag with stars on it.
My father is a teacher. It is also a noble profession. But it's also why we live in a trailer park. He teaches algebra to middle school students, driver's education at 4:00 in the morning at the high school, and sorts cherries in the summer. I don't usually tell people about the cherries.
And me, well, I ride the bus every day to and from school. And every day I get off the bus with a big pack of other kids, just trying to blend in, at one of the local neighborhoods. I watch them scatter to their brick and stucco homes, with shade trees out front and pansies planted around the mailbox. I wander through different streets, every day, and pick a different house that I would like to buy. Then I walk home. Usually a mile or two. But I promised my mom never to cross any busy highways, like the 74, and get squashed. No one ever asked me to go home with them, to listen to music or watch a movie. No one seemed to notice that I got off at different stops.
But I didn't know that someone was watching, and that my life was about to change--for the better--much sooner than I knew.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Day 140: Lavinia, Processing
Tonight, I am debating what to do next. I think I'm ready to move Lavinia off my blog, and keep working on it away from here. It has taught me really good things. Like how terrible I am at dialogue, which is something I want to work on. I think one of the most important things I learned was realizing, one day, that each day's entry needed to have as much work and detail put into it as I would put into a short piece that was only one chapter long. I realized that I wasn't taking the time to savor or build the story's pieces, because I was in such a hurry to outline the plot, so it became more fun to write, after that. Like I said: good things.
But, where to from here? I have a couple things I would like to try, but have a hunch I would be miserable at. Like writing things from a man's perspective. Or writing an "action" or "mystery" type of story. I'm mulling it over, and will see where I go next!!
For those who have read, and left comments, thank you. :)
But, where to from here? I have a couple things I would like to try, but have a hunch I would be miserable at. Like writing things from a man's perspective. Or writing an "action" or "mystery" type of story. I'm mulling it over, and will see where I go next!!
For those who have read, and left comments, thank you. :)
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Day 139: Lavinia, Chapter 14
Not letting go of her hand, Charles pulled Lavinia over to a small path at the side of the lane and sat down on a low stone wall. She sat next to him as he silently looked at the ground, trying to compose his thoughts. He released her hand, and clasped his together for a minute, closing his eyes briefly. She waited.
Finally, he turned and looked into her eyes, "Lavinia, I needed to see you; to talk to you, but I don't even know exactly how to say what I want to say. All of the things I had intended to say, sound so simple now" his voice trailed off. Gazing downward, he seemed to gather his courage before continuing, "I need you to understand, about me. I need you to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing. So you can make your choice."
She was a little confused, "Make my choice?"
"Yes" he said in a rush "because... I would ask you to be mine. But I feel that I cannot ask you that, if you don't understand." With that he reached for her hand again.
Sitting on the cool stone wall, suddenly she could hear the wind in the trees and the rustling of their leaves. The sun on her back was warm, glinting off the dew on the grass, and birds sung lightly overhead. His hand was warm on hers. She was amazed, in this moment, to find that her thoughts were still and composed, like untroubled water. She had not expected Charles to propose, which he just had. She had especially not expected that she would feel so utterly alert and peaceful.
"What is it, then, that you need me to understand?" she asked calmly.
"About my new faith, Lavinia. I can't ask you to marry me and be my wife, if you don't understand this part of me."
At the mention of this strange religion, she suddenly felt an icy coldness course through her veins, but she remained silent. Something in her whispered that now was not the time for her to speak.
And so he began, in a rush, "I met the elders, as you know, in the square. I was just curious--like most people are, I think. I attended their cottage meeting that night, well--you remember. I do not know what I expected, but I went, even though I felt torn, because I wanted to see you as well. But something told me to go.
When I got there, the two elders spoke. The first one spoke of a prophet, like Moses or Elijah, on the earth--right now. The second spoke of a book that he has translated by the power of God, called the Book of Mormon. I was fascinated by the things they talked about--not because of how new they were, but because of how the pieces seemed to make everything fit. Everything made sense. So, I borrowed a copy of this book from one of the elders."
Looking up now, at the trees overhead, Charles seemed to speak more to himself than to her. "I began to read it, and I knew it was true. I didn't even have to pray about it. I just knew. I decided that I would be baptized into their faith. I don't have to tell you, because I am sure that you have already heard, that when I told my uncle of my intentions, he made it very clear that he would disown me if I chose to be baptized. I would lose my apprenticeship. I would be penniless, and I have nowhere else to go. So I have not been baptized."
Lavinia suddenly exhaled in relief. She had not known if he had actually joined this church or not. He had not. So, there was still hope. He looked up at the sound, and stared at her for a moment--trying to understand the reaction.
"I intend to be baptized, Lavinia. As soon as I can be. I have just decided that I will wait until I have saved enough to sail to America, and then I will be baptized, and go to join the other members of my faith there."
With that sentence, all of Lavinia's hopes shriveled inside of her. She felt herself go numb. He was leaving. He was going to be baptized into this church, and then he was going to leave. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she didn't even care if he saw.
His gaze softened as he pressed her tiny hand inside his, "Lavinia, I cannot ask you to marry me, now. To come with me. I know that is not fair. But, I can ask you, please, to at least read this book." At that, he drew a small, tan volume out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. "If you will only read it. Consider it. If you have any feelings for me, at all. If your answer is no..." and his voice caught. He paused a moment. "If your answer is no, then all you have to do is leave the book on my doorstep. But, if your answer is yes..." he looked at her, his eyes shining, "if your answer is yes. Then you can return the book to me, yourself."
Having finished, he looked spent. Lavinia stared at her skirt, and the little book laying there. After a moment, he stood quietly and said "I have to go. Thank you, for listening to me."
She did not say a word.
Finally, he turned and looked into her eyes, "Lavinia, I needed to see you; to talk to you, but I don't even know exactly how to say what I want to say. All of the things I had intended to say, sound so simple now" his voice trailed off. Gazing downward, he seemed to gather his courage before continuing, "I need you to understand, about me. I need you to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing. So you can make your choice."
She was a little confused, "Make my choice?"
"Yes" he said in a rush "because... I would ask you to be mine. But I feel that I cannot ask you that, if you don't understand." With that he reached for her hand again.
Sitting on the cool stone wall, suddenly she could hear the wind in the trees and the rustling of their leaves. The sun on her back was warm, glinting off the dew on the grass, and birds sung lightly overhead. His hand was warm on hers. She was amazed, in this moment, to find that her thoughts were still and composed, like untroubled water. She had not expected Charles to propose, which he just had. She had especially not expected that she would feel so utterly alert and peaceful.
"What is it, then, that you need me to understand?" she asked calmly.
"About my new faith, Lavinia. I can't ask you to marry me and be my wife, if you don't understand this part of me."
At the mention of this strange religion, she suddenly felt an icy coldness course through her veins, but she remained silent. Something in her whispered that now was not the time for her to speak.
And so he began, in a rush, "I met the elders, as you know, in the square. I was just curious--like most people are, I think. I attended their cottage meeting that night, well--you remember. I do not know what I expected, but I went, even though I felt torn, because I wanted to see you as well. But something told me to go.
When I got there, the two elders spoke. The first one spoke of a prophet, like Moses or Elijah, on the earth--right now. The second spoke of a book that he has translated by the power of God, called the Book of Mormon. I was fascinated by the things they talked about--not because of how new they were, but because of how the pieces seemed to make everything fit. Everything made sense. So, I borrowed a copy of this book from one of the elders."
Looking up now, at the trees overhead, Charles seemed to speak more to himself than to her. "I began to read it, and I knew it was true. I didn't even have to pray about it. I just knew. I decided that I would be baptized into their faith. I don't have to tell you, because I am sure that you have already heard, that when I told my uncle of my intentions, he made it very clear that he would disown me if I chose to be baptized. I would lose my apprenticeship. I would be penniless, and I have nowhere else to go. So I have not been baptized."
Lavinia suddenly exhaled in relief. She had not known if he had actually joined this church or not. He had not. So, there was still hope. He looked up at the sound, and stared at her for a moment--trying to understand the reaction.
"I intend to be baptized, Lavinia. As soon as I can be. I have just decided that I will wait until I have saved enough to sail to America, and then I will be baptized, and go to join the other members of my faith there."
With that sentence, all of Lavinia's hopes shriveled inside of her. She felt herself go numb. He was leaving. He was going to be baptized into this church, and then he was going to leave. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she didn't even care if he saw.
His gaze softened as he pressed her tiny hand inside his, "Lavinia, I cannot ask you to marry me, now. To come with me. I know that is not fair. But, I can ask you, please, to at least read this book." At that, he drew a small, tan volume out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. "If you will only read it. Consider it. If you have any feelings for me, at all. If your answer is no..." and his voice caught. He paused a moment. "If your answer is no, then all you have to do is leave the book on my doorstep. But, if your answer is yes..." he looked at her, his eyes shining, "if your answer is yes. Then you can return the book to me, yourself."
Having finished, he looked spent. Lavinia stared at her skirt, and the little book laying there. After a moment, he stood quietly and said "I have to go. Thank you, for listening to me."
She did not say a word.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Scheduled Maintenance...
Hi. :)
I spent some time tonight editing a few things and, most importantly, putting together chapter lists. You'll notice on the sidebar two new buttons, one for Lavinia and one for Fields of Gold. If you click on those, they'll take you to a Table of Contents for each story, so you can read them by chapter. For Lavinia, I've also added a link at the bottom of each chapter to the next day.
New installment tomorrow: the big talk between Charles and Lavinia, circa 1855. Yeehaw. ;)
I spent some time tonight editing a few things and, most importantly, putting together chapter lists. You'll notice on the sidebar two new buttons, one for Lavinia and one for Fields of Gold. If you click on those, they'll take you to a Table of Contents for each story, so you can read them by chapter. For Lavinia, I've also added a link at the bottom of each chapter to the next day.
New installment tomorrow: the big talk between Charles and Lavinia, circa 1855. Yeehaw. ;)
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Day 138: Lavinia, Chapter 13
At the mention of her name over the pulpit, Lavinia turned a vibrant shade of red. She felt uncomfortably like 100 pairs of eyes were boring into the back of her head, and she wished she could sink into her shoes and disappear. Instead, she slouched just a little bit and kept her gaze on her bare knee caps. She realized that she needed to be more diligent in shaving them.
In her flustered embarrassment at being mentioned, she had missed the first several minutes of Jenna's talk, and felt a vague satisfaction at that. If Jenna was going to call her out in front of everyone, then it served her right to have her words have the opposite effect on her intended listener.
As her mind came back to focus, however, she listened somewhat absentmindedly to what Jenna was saying. It was obvious that she really, truly believed every word that she had prepared. It was also obvious that it wasn't easy for her to share some of the things she was sharing, which surprised her roommate. It had not occurred to her that Jenna might be just as hesitant about the sharing of her faith as Lavinia was about learning about it. She decided she would at least forgive Jenna for trapping her.
The talk was only about 10 minutes long, and then Jenna sat down and someone else got up to speak. Lavinia didn't look at Jenna for several minutes, but instead thought wistfully of her Grandma Jane. She had always wished that she'd had a chance to know her better--to understand what she believed, and what she loved. She had always thought it was too late, to understand that part of her family and her past. It was that thought that made her raise her eyes and meet Jenna's gaze. Doing so she found herself returning her roommate's warm smile.
On the drive home, a full three hours later, Lavinia didn't say much. Jenna kept a companionable silence, while the tinny speakers forced out some classical radio from a local station.
"My grandmother was a Mormon, you know." Lavinia blurted out suddenly. She needed to get it said. Jenna raised her eyebrows slightly, but replied with a simple "Oh?"
"I never really knew her. We never lived close, and she died when I was barely a teenager. But I know she was Mormon."
"But, your family--aren't?" Jenna asked, sounding slightly confused.
"Maybe my dad was christened a Mormon. I don't know. He joined the Air Force, and met my mom. She's Catholic. A good Catholic." Lavinia emphasized.
With a sideways glance, "But I've never seen you go to mass. Are you Catholic?"
Somehow, this question caught Lavinia off guard. She wasn't ready to talk about her own faith, or lack of it. She wanted to talk about her grandma. She wanted to know what her grandma had believed, so she could file it away as part of her genetic makeup--what made her, her. And so she stumbled over the question of what religion she was.
The pause was lengthy enough that Jenna politely moved on, saying lightly "It was really nice of you to come with me to church today. You are such a good sport." Lavinia only laughed shortly and replied "Well. Going to church once a year won't kill a person, I guess."
She hoped she'd gotten the message across--she'd gone once, to be nice, but she had no intention of going back again.
In her flustered embarrassment at being mentioned, she had missed the first several minutes of Jenna's talk, and felt a vague satisfaction at that. If Jenna was going to call her out in front of everyone, then it served her right to have her words have the opposite effect on her intended listener.
As her mind came back to focus, however, she listened somewhat absentmindedly to what Jenna was saying. It was obvious that she really, truly believed every word that she had prepared. It was also obvious that it wasn't easy for her to share some of the things she was sharing, which surprised her roommate. It had not occurred to her that Jenna might be just as hesitant about the sharing of her faith as Lavinia was about learning about it. She decided she would at least forgive Jenna for trapping her.
The talk was only about 10 minutes long, and then Jenna sat down and someone else got up to speak. Lavinia didn't look at Jenna for several minutes, but instead thought wistfully of her Grandma Jane. She had always wished that she'd had a chance to know her better--to understand what she believed, and what she loved. She had always thought it was too late, to understand that part of her family and her past. It was that thought that made her raise her eyes and meet Jenna's gaze. Doing so she found herself returning her roommate's warm smile.
On the drive home, a full three hours later, Lavinia didn't say much. Jenna kept a companionable silence, while the tinny speakers forced out some classical radio from a local station.
"My grandmother was a Mormon, you know." Lavinia blurted out suddenly. She needed to get it said. Jenna raised her eyebrows slightly, but replied with a simple "Oh?"
"I never really knew her. We never lived close, and she died when I was barely a teenager. But I know she was Mormon."
"But, your family--aren't?" Jenna asked, sounding slightly confused.
"Maybe my dad was christened a Mormon. I don't know. He joined the Air Force, and met my mom. She's Catholic. A good Catholic." Lavinia emphasized.
With a sideways glance, "But I've never seen you go to mass. Are you Catholic?"
Somehow, this question caught Lavinia off guard. She wasn't ready to talk about her own faith, or lack of it. She wanted to talk about her grandma. She wanted to know what her grandma had believed, so she could file it away as part of her genetic makeup--what made her, her. And so she stumbled over the question of what religion she was.
The pause was lengthy enough that Jenna politely moved on, saying lightly "It was really nice of you to come with me to church today. You are such a good sport." Lavinia only laughed shortly and replied "Well. Going to church once a year won't kill a person, I guess."
She hoped she'd gotten the message across--she'd gone once, to be nice, but she had no intention of going back again.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Day 137: Lavinia, Chapter 12
Standing among her grandmother's beautiful peonies, Lavinia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She could smell the damp earth and the soft moss. The faint breath of curling ferns, and heavier perfume of peonies. She felt the tension drain from her shoulders and face, and her thoughts, which had been like a hive of disturbed and angry bees, seemed to quiet and settle.
She opened her eyes and finally admitted, to herself, what was bothering her. She was avoiding Charles on purpose. She was trying to be charming and encouraging to James. But her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't seem to quit hoping to hear Charles' confident step coming up behind her, or listening for the tone of his voice in a crowd. This was a problem.
It was all over their small parish that Charles Mann was taking up with the Mormons. Derisive glares and whispered comments seemed to follow him wherever he walked. It made Lavinia blush defensively for him, but she said nothing. Her brothers, especially, made fun of the baker's apprentice and his new faith. They never teased, to her face, but she knew that her stony silences probably made it pathetically clear that she cared about him. She also knew that his uncle had told everyone that if he joined this new church, he would be out on the street. No apprenticeship. No livelihood.
The thought of that, of everything he was risking and everything he could lose, made her heart feel tight inside her chest. She had the inexplicable sense of her own life slipping through her fingers, and she didn't quite know how to catch it. The anxiety crept back into her shoulders as she sighed and carried the basket of peonies back to her Grandmother Jane.
After a cup of Earl Grey tea and a comfortable silence, she walked out the front door and began walking down the lane. Her eyes were on the road, thoughtful, as she walked. Then, unexpectedly, a shadow fall across her path and she looked up.
She hadn't expected to see him there, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked up into his eyes. Her hand flutter upwards as she realized, with a start, that his eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
He reached out for her hand, and, in an unsteady voice, he quietly but determinedly said "Lavinia, we must talk."
She opened her eyes and finally admitted, to herself, what was bothering her. She was avoiding Charles on purpose. She was trying to be charming and encouraging to James. But her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't seem to quit hoping to hear Charles' confident step coming up behind her, or listening for the tone of his voice in a crowd. This was a problem.
It was all over their small parish that Charles Mann was taking up with the Mormons. Derisive glares and whispered comments seemed to follow him wherever he walked. It made Lavinia blush defensively for him, but she said nothing. Her brothers, especially, made fun of the baker's apprentice and his new faith. They never teased, to her face, but she knew that her stony silences probably made it pathetically clear that she cared about him. She also knew that his uncle had told everyone that if he joined this new church, he would be out on the street. No apprenticeship. No livelihood.
The thought of that, of everything he was risking and everything he could lose, made her heart feel tight inside her chest. She had the inexplicable sense of her own life slipping through her fingers, and she didn't quite know how to catch it. The anxiety crept back into her shoulders as she sighed and carried the basket of peonies back to her Grandmother Jane.
After a cup of Earl Grey tea and a comfortable silence, she walked out the front door and began walking down the lane. Her eyes were on the road, thoughtful, as she walked. Then, unexpectedly, a shadow fall across her path and she looked up.
She hadn't expected to see him there, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked up into his eyes. Her hand flutter upwards as she realized, with a start, that his eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
He reached out for her hand, and, in an unsteady voice, he quietly but determinedly said "Lavinia, we must talk."
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Day 137: Lavinia, Chapter 11
Lavinia was quiet on the drive to the church in Jenna's old blue Sentra. She loved Los Angeles on Sunday mornings because it felt nearly deserted. In other cities, like New York, the traffic never seemed to stop. Whether it was 8:00 at night or 2:00 in the morning, people were coming and going. But here on the edge of the west coast, the crowds vanished on Sunday mornings and you could drive at a reasonable pace and enjoy the palm trees that towered on either side of the road.
When Lavinia had moved here, she had been delighted to discover two roads: Wilshire and Santa Monica Boulevards. Both ran from the center of the city all the way to Ocean Avenue and the endless Pacific. If you got lost, all you had to do was drive north or south toward one of these roads, and you would know where you were. It was predictable, and Lavinia loved it.
Of course, she had driven by the gigantic Mormon temple on Santa Monica. It stood up on a green hill behind it's gates, towering in the sunlight. She always smirked a little at the irony of the gritty streets right in front of it, complete with their Guess billboards and half naked people. What a place for a house of worship. The temple was so huge that she'd never noticed the church behind it, but it was into this parking lot that Jenna turned.
Suddenly, Lavinia felt nervous. She had been to a Mormon church, once before. Years and years before, with her grandmother, but she didn't remember anything about it. Jenna parked and they got out of the car and walked toward the nearest doors. They were a little bit early, but other single adults were already pulling in as well. Inside, the building smelled of cinnamon air freshener, floor wax, and paper. There were utilitarian chairs and a couch in the lobby, with a large picture of Jesus on the wall.
Lavinia recognized the sister missionaries as they approached them, and introduced themselves again. Jenna turned to Lavinia, "I have to sit up on the stand to give my talk, so I thought you could sit with the sisters. They'll be able to tell you what's going on, if you have any questions" and she walked down the hall. Feeling a little bit trapped and uncomfortable, Lavinia looked at the sister missionaries, who were looking at her expectantly. After a moment of awkward silence, she finally said "Well. Lead the way." and followed them into the chapel.
The chapel was a wide, open space and simply decorated. There were no pictures or stained glass windows, just simple woodwork and a clock on the wall. In fact, the only decoration in the entire room was a vase of blue hydrangeas on the pulpit and a lace tablecloth covering the communion table. They made their way to a pew about four rows back from the front of the chapel, and the sisters slid to the center of the bench. Lavinia groaned inwardly and unwillingly followed; she had been hoping for an aisle seat, near the back, so she could remain inconspicuous and leave quickly, if she wanted to.
The pews around them were filling with people who smiled and chatted with each other, or sat quietly and doodled on paper or stared at the ground. Quiet organ music filled the chapel, and people grew quiet for the beginning of the meeting.
Lavinia's mind floated back to her grandmother, Jane. She could only remember fuzzy details about her father's mother, since her father had been in the Air Force and they had moved a lot when she was young and her grandma was alive. But her grandmother had had a yellow house, she remembered that very well, and a huge backyard that was filled with living and growing things. As a child, on their rare visits, she had spent hours exploring her grandmother's carefully tended garden, dotted with fruit trees and bordered by grape vines.
The most distinct memories, oddly enough, were memories of saying goodbye--of looking through the back window, waving goodbye, and crying. Usually, in her hand, she would've been clutching a tissue tied around several lemon drop candies--something her grandma always, always had in her house. Lavinia knew, somehow, that her Grandma Jane would've understood her, and her restless loneliness. She also would've been pleased to find her, here.
She pulled her attention back to the service, which seemed to be simple and straight forward. After they passed the sacrament plate, which Lavinia quickly passed over--unsure of what to do, they moved right into the simple talks. Jenna was second. The first girl, who introduced herself as Michelle, gave a talk that, she said, was about faith. It sounded, to Lavinia, more like a personals ad intended for the men in the audience. Several times, she had to look down at her lap and smile at the transparency.
Then it was Jenna's turn. She stepped to the pulpit, opened her notebook and set it to the side, before folding her hands together and smiling out at the audience, then turning her gaze directly toward Lavinia.
"Brothers and Sisters, today I'm going to be talking about what makes our church different from other churches. And I'm going to be talking, mostly, to my friend Lavinia, who is visiting with us today....."
When Lavinia had moved here, she had been delighted to discover two roads: Wilshire and Santa Monica Boulevards. Both ran from the center of the city all the way to Ocean Avenue and the endless Pacific. If you got lost, all you had to do was drive north or south toward one of these roads, and you would know where you were. It was predictable, and Lavinia loved it.
Of course, she had driven by the gigantic Mormon temple on Santa Monica. It stood up on a green hill behind it's gates, towering in the sunlight. She always smirked a little at the irony of the gritty streets right in front of it, complete with their Guess billboards and half naked people. What a place for a house of worship. The temple was so huge that she'd never noticed the church behind it, but it was into this parking lot that Jenna turned.
Suddenly, Lavinia felt nervous. She had been to a Mormon church, once before. Years and years before, with her grandmother, but she didn't remember anything about it. Jenna parked and they got out of the car and walked toward the nearest doors. They were a little bit early, but other single adults were already pulling in as well. Inside, the building smelled of cinnamon air freshener, floor wax, and paper. There were utilitarian chairs and a couch in the lobby, with a large picture of Jesus on the wall.
Lavinia recognized the sister missionaries as they approached them, and introduced themselves again. Jenna turned to Lavinia, "I have to sit up on the stand to give my talk, so I thought you could sit with the sisters. They'll be able to tell you what's going on, if you have any questions" and she walked down the hall. Feeling a little bit trapped and uncomfortable, Lavinia looked at the sister missionaries, who were looking at her expectantly. After a moment of awkward silence, she finally said "Well. Lead the way." and followed them into the chapel.
The chapel was a wide, open space and simply decorated. There were no pictures or stained glass windows, just simple woodwork and a clock on the wall. In fact, the only decoration in the entire room was a vase of blue hydrangeas on the pulpit and a lace tablecloth covering the communion table. They made their way to a pew about four rows back from the front of the chapel, and the sisters slid to the center of the bench. Lavinia groaned inwardly and unwillingly followed; she had been hoping for an aisle seat, near the back, so she could remain inconspicuous and leave quickly, if she wanted to.
The pews around them were filling with people who smiled and chatted with each other, or sat quietly and doodled on paper or stared at the ground. Quiet organ music filled the chapel, and people grew quiet for the beginning of the meeting.
Lavinia's mind floated back to her grandmother, Jane. She could only remember fuzzy details about her father's mother, since her father had been in the Air Force and they had moved a lot when she was young and her grandma was alive. But her grandmother had had a yellow house, she remembered that very well, and a huge backyard that was filled with living and growing things. As a child, on their rare visits, she had spent hours exploring her grandmother's carefully tended garden, dotted with fruit trees and bordered by grape vines.
The most distinct memories, oddly enough, were memories of saying goodbye--of looking through the back window, waving goodbye, and crying. Usually, in her hand, she would've been clutching a tissue tied around several lemon drop candies--something her grandma always, always had in her house. Lavinia knew, somehow, that her Grandma Jane would've understood her, and her restless loneliness. She also would've been pleased to find her, here.
She pulled her attention back to the service, which seemed to be simple and straight forward. After they passed the sacrament plate, which Lavinia quickly passed over--unsure of what to do, they moved right into the simple talks. Jenna was second. The first girl, who introduced herself as Michelle, gave a talk that, she said, was about faith. It sounded, to Lavinia, more like a personals ad intended for the men in the audience. Several times, she had to look down at her lap and smile at the transparency.
Then it was Jenna's turn. She stepped to the pulpit, opened her notebook and set it to the side, before folding her hands together and smiling out at the audience, then turning her gaze directly toward Lavinia.
"Brothers and Sisters, today I'm going to be talking about what makes our church different from other churches. And I'm going to be talking, mostly, to my friend Lavinia, who is visiting with us today....."
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Day 136: Lavinia, Chapter 11
She was constantly irritable. Melina avoided her. Teddy spent the majority of his time hiding in the study with his tutor, or working with their father. She felt her mother's eyes on her constantly as she stormed about their house, first picking up a book and then laying it aside, then picking up some stitching only to let it fall in her lap as she gazed out the window. She could hardly even stand to be around herself. Finally, she pulled a shawl around her shoulders and headed down the lane to visit her grandmother.
Many people found Jane Dunwell to be harsh and proud, even by the kindest of standards, but Lavinia always found her presence to be soothing and stabilizing. She was a very strong woman, with hair that was almost black, pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. She reminded Lavinia of a bird, with her penetrating eyes and in the way that she tilted her head and moved swiftly wherever she went. Born to privilege late in the last century, Jane Wyatt married well enough to please her demanding parents--a promising officer in the British Navy, John Dunwell. But then, after only months of marriage, her young husband had died at sea, leaving her alone and expecting their first child: a boy. Lavinia had never heard her grandmother speak her late husband's name, or talk about him in any way. When she asked her, once, what he was like, Grandmother Jane had tersely replied "I don't remember. I hardly knew him."
As she walked, Lavinia wondered, again, what her Grandfather John had been like. She wondered if Jane Wyatt had loved him, when she was young. She wondered if her grandmother had forgotten, after all this time, how it felt to gaze into deep brown eyes. How it felt to be young.
She approached the door of her Grandmother's lovely, but modest, home and knocked politely. Mary, one of two servants in the house, opened the door at the familiar knock and smiled. She took Lavinia's shawl and led her into the breakfast parlor, where her Grandmother stood at the window, looking out.
Seeing Lavinia enter the room, a warm light entered her eyes, even though she did not rush forward to meet her. Lavinia was her favorite grandchild, and she always enjoyed her company. She could often sense the child's moods and whims, and was happy to be silent as she talked. "The young need to talk," she thought. Even before her granddaughter had spoken, she could sense agitation in the air around her, so she bent down and picked up a basket near her feet that had some shears in it.
"Lavinia, please go into my garden and gather some flowers for me. Peonies, please--they'll be past their peak soon, and I want to enjoy them in the house. Be careful of the forget-me-nots or you'll trample them." she instructed with authority.
Lavinia almost sighed with relief as she took the basket from her grandmother and went outside. She knew that she wouldn't have to think here, that her grandmother would give her things to occupy her mind.
Behind her, Jane Dunwell had turned back to the window and watched Lavinia's willowy figure as it moved around the garden. Something was definitely bothering the girl. She wondered if it involved James Fenwick, whom she knew that her son and his wife had been encouraging in his attentions to their daughter. Somehow, she didn't think so. James Fenwick reminded Jane of a hummingbird: flashy and appealing, but entirely unpredictable and undependable. No. She didn't think that James was a good match for her Lavinia.
But, if it wasn't James, then who?
Many people found Jane Dunwell to be harsh and proud, even by the kindest of standards, but Lavinia always found her presence to be soothing and stabilizing. She was a very strong woman, with hair that was almost black, pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. She reminded Lavinia of a bird, with her penetrating eyes and in the way that she tilted her head and moved swiftly wherever she went. Born to privilege late in the last century, Jane Wyatt married well enough to please her demanding parents--a promising officer in the British Navy, John Dunwell. But then, after only months of marriage, her young husband had died at sea, leaving her alone and expecting their first child: a boy. Lavinia had never heard her grandmother speak her late husband's name, or talk about him in any way. When she asked her, once, what he was like, Grandmother Jane had tersely replied "I don't remember. I hardly knew him."
As she walked, Lavinia wondered, again, what her Grandfather John had been like. She wondered if Jane Wyatt had loved him, when she was young. She wondered if her grandmother had forgotten, after all this time, how it felt to gaze into deep brown eyes. How it felt to be young.
She approached the door of her Grandmother's lovely, but modest, home and knocked politely. Mary, one of two servants in the house, opened the door at the familiar knock and smiled. She took Lavinia's shawl and led her into the breakfast parlor, where her Grandmother stood at the window, looking out.
Seeing Lavinia enter the room, a warm light entered her eyes, even though she did not rush forward to meet her. Lavinia was her favorite grandchild, and she always enjoyed her company. She could often sense the child's moods and whims, and was happy to be silent as she talked. "The young need to talk," she thought. Even before her granddaughter had spoken, she could sense agitation in the air around her, so she bent down and picked up a basket near her feet that had some shears in it.
"Lavinia, please go into my garden and gather some flowers for me. Peonies, please--they'll be past their peak soon, and I want to enjoy them in the house. Be careful of the forget-me-nots or you'll trample them." she instructed with authority.
Lavinia almost sighed with relief as she took the basket from her grandmother and went outside. She knew that she wouldn't have to think here, that her grandmother would give her things to occupy her mind.
Behind her, Jane Dunwell had turned back to the window and watched Lavinia's willowy figure as it moved around the garden. Something was definitely bothering the girl. She wondered if it involved James Fenwick, whom she knew that her son and his wife had been encouraging in his attentions to their daughter. Somehow, she didn't think so. James Fenwick reminded Jane of a hummingbird: flashy and appealing, but entirely unpredictable and undependable. No. She didn't think that James was a good match for her Lavinia.
But, if it wasn't James, then who?
Monday, May 4, 2009
Day 135: Lavinia, Chapter 10
Opening her eyes, Lavinia lay under her heavy blue feather comforter and looked at the early morning sunlight streaming in her window. She lay there, thinking, and looking at the small clay pots of herbs perched on the narrow windowsill: basil, mint, rosemary, oregano. They brought life to her small room with their delicate, pushy green selves. She loved their texture and their smell; she loved everything about them.
It was Sunday morning, so no work today, but she could hear Jenna showering. Glancing over at her clock, she guessed that she was already getting ready for her church, which started at 9:00. Stretching and rolling to her side, she thought about this.
What kind of twenty-somethings get up at 7:00 on a Sunday morning to go to church? Even more--what kind of twenty-somethings are happy about it? She couldn't figure it out. Every week, Jenna put on a skirt, picked up her Bible, and went to church for three hours. This left the apartment predictably empty every week. In any of her former apartments, Lavinia would've basked in the silence and the solitude. But here, it often seemed, after Jenna left, that her apartment seemed to echo with the emptiness, like going into someones house after they've been on vacation for a week. It was disconcerting. So, Lavinia would pull her bike on to a bus and head down to the beach to ride along the boardwalk and watch the waves. Sometimes she would go to the Getty Museum for the afternoon, sitting for hours at a time by the shallow pool and watching people come and go. By the time she returned in the evening, Jenna would usually be home, and usually with a few friends who, by now, Lavinia was familiar, almost comfortable, with. It was predictable, and she liked it.
She closed her eyes and debated going back to sleep for a little while longer when there was a soft knock at her door. Surprised, she invited Jenna to come in, which she did with a smile. She was wearing a pretty blue flowing skirt and white sweater. Her wet hair hung loosely around her face and she carried her toothbrush.
"What are you doing today?" Jenna asked.
"Uh... I hadn't really..." stumbled Lavinia in reply.
"Great. Come to church with me," Jenna smiled down at her "I'm giving a talk today."
Lavinia's mind seemed to pause in it's confusion--what had she just been asked? Come where? Looking dumbly at Jenna, she finally managed "I have nothing to wear. I don't even own a skirt." Disappointment clouded her roommate's face, but then she brightened, "Yes, you do! That pretty black skirt you got for work a few weeks ago." Rats. "Oh. Uh. Okay. Yeah. Sure." Lavinia stumbled. Jenna grinned at her and retreated quickly from the room, in case Lavinia changed her mind.
Still confused, Lavinia threw off her covers and rubbed her eyes. She showered quickly, then found the black skirt at the back of her closet and pulled it on with a simple button-up shirt. She kept wondering how she'd gotten into this position, but found that she didn't mind. She would already know some of the people there. She was interested to see what Jenna was "giving a talk" about.
She walked out to the front room and found Jenna standing by the door with her Bible, a magazine, and a notebook under her arm.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Ready."
It was Sunday morning, so no work today, but she could hear Jenna showering. Glancing over at her clock, she guessed that she was already getting ready for her church, which started at 9:00. Stretching and rolling to her side, she thought about this.
What kind of twenty-somethings get up at 7:00 on a Sunday morning to go to church? Even more--what kind of twenty-somethings are happy about it? She couldn't figure it out. Every week, Jenna put on a skirt, picked up her Bible, and went to church for three hours. This left the apartment predictably empty every week. In any of her former apartments, Lavinia would've basked in the silence and the solitude. But here, it often seemed, after Jenna left, that her apartment seemed to echo with the emptiness, like going into someones house after they've been on vacation for a week. It was disconcerting. So, Lavinia would pull her bike on to a bus and head down to the beach to ride along the boardwalk and watch the waves. Sometimes she would go to the Getty Museum for the afternoon, sitting for hours at a time by the shallow pool and watching people come and go. By the time she returned in the evening, Jenna would usually be home, and usually with a few friends who, by now, Lavinia was familiar, almost comfortable, with. It was predictable, and she liked it.
She closed her eyes and debated going back to sleep for a little while longer when there was a soft knock at her door. Surprised, she invited Jenna to come in, which she did with a smile. She was wearing a pretty blue flowing skirt and white sweater. Her wet hair hung loosely around her face and she carried her toothbrush.
"What are you doing today?" Jenna asked.
"Uh... I hadn't really..." stumbled Lavinia in reply.
"Great. Come to church with me," Jenna smiled down at her "I'm giving a talk today."
Lavinia's mind seemed to pause in it's confusion--what had she just been asked? Come where? Looking dumbly at Jenna, she finally managed "I have nothing to wear. I don't even own a skirt." Disappointment clouded her roommate's face, but then she brightened, "Yes, you do! That pretty black skirt you got for work a few weeks ago." Rats. "Oh. Uh. Okay. Yeah. Sure." Lavinia stumbled. Jenna grinned at her and retreated quickly from the room, in case Lavinia changed her mind.
Still confused, Lavinia threw off her covers and rubbed her eyes. She showered quickly, then found the black skirt at the back of her closet and pulled it on with a simple button-up shirt. She kept wondering how she'd gotten into this position, but found that she didn't mind. She would already know some of the people there. She was interested to see what Jenna was "giving a talk" about.
She walked out to the front room and found Jenna standing by the door with her Bible, a magazine, and a notebook under her arm.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Ready."
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Day 134: Lavinia, clarifying
Just--really quick, and since all of my creative energy was completely tapped into and drained by my children many hours ago, a quick clarification on the current story for those who are confused:
There are two Lavinias.
One Lavinia lives in central England circa 1835.
One Lavinia lives in Los Angeles circa 2009.
Does that help??? (I know, I need to make it more clear in the writing, but I felt like if I just put that out there, while I continue to slaughter this rough draft, it might at least make it bearable.)
Thanks!
There are two Lavinias.
One Lavinia lives in central England circa 1835.
One Lavinia lives in Los Angeles circa 2009.
Does that help??? (I know, I need to make it more clear in the writing, but I felt like if I just put that out there, while I continue to slaughter this rough draft, it might at least make it bearable.)
Thanks!
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