F or F: Daddy's Little Girl

She could still remember it like it happened yesterday. Coming home after a fun filled day of shopping with her mother, walking into her room to deposit her purchases, hearing her mother cry 'no'.

That was the most heart-wrenching sound. Well, at least up until that point in her life. There were many more tear filled conversations between she and her mother and brother after their father said he was leaving.

Being 21 years old and knowing that your father had an affair in the past, but ended it to stay with you, was bad enough. To hear your father say those most dreaded words to you in the present was quite another thing entirely.

"I'm moving to North Carolina, just as you all are, but I'm not going with you. I'll be going with Susan."

The woman he had the affair with "all those years ago". There apparently weren't enough years to keep them apart.

She always figured having your parents divorce and move on with their lives is was thing. Having your mother walk in on your father telling another woman he loved her and would be with her soon was the worst.

She screamed at her father; hated him for it. She and her brother comforted their mother; laughed in their father's face when he asked them if they wanted to live with him and 'the other woman'.

As the years went on, she tried to main some contact with her father, but it was never the same. He always had an excuse as to why he couldn't see her, or when he did, it would only be for a few minutes. He and Susan were meeting friends in the next town over.

Her brother was a little closer to him, but not much. He just seemed to force the issue more. He understood what it meant to have his father in his life. Not that she didn't, but she was older and had a relationship of her own beginning.

Then the bomb dropped. She was getting married; had set the date. She and her fiance were paying for the majority of the wedding, with a little help from his parents and her mother. Joking, she sent an email to her father, let him know the plans, and that "donations would be greatly appreciated *grin*".

Before she knew it, she was opening an e-mail letting her know that because all she had ever done was manipulate him for money, no, he would not be helping. Further more, he would set up trust funds in her childrens names, if and when she had them, but that was it. Nothing else.

He didn't even show up to her wedding. How could he when the invitation was returned to sender, due to the fact he no longer lived at that address and hadn't let anyone know, not even her brother.

They found out a few years later that he ended up marrying Susan. She assumed that invitation got lost in the mail.

The thing that hurt her the most, though, wasn't having to comfort her mother when she received the divorce papers on their 27th anniversary, or watching her mother and brother start over agin in a tiny little apartment with a threadbare sofa as their only piece of furniture. Or knowing the only time spent with her brother was a weekly outing to an all you can eat Chinese buffet or the library. It was the plain and simple fact that he chose to love someone else more than he loved his children, his own flesh and blood.

GOYAW-Get ready to move...

I have been working on building this site at www.getoffyourassandwriteclub.com, and if any of you are better with wordpad and FTP than I am and would like to volunteer your help in making the site what I envision, please let me know. I love all the entries for Fact or Fiction Fridays, let's keep it up!!!

Christa

Fact or Fiction Friday- Andie

Is anyone else going to participate in this activity? Just curious. ....

Last weeks entry was fiction for me, but it was fact for a friend of mine. She called off her wedding after dating the same guy for 9 years. They dated throughout high school and college. But I wrote it as if it happened to me to make it a fictional story.

Fact or Fiction- August 18, 2006



It was a perfect October day that we had chosen to go to the game. The humidity was low for once, and the temperature hovered at around 70 degrees while a soft breeze blew and the sun shone radiantly along the 5 miles of open field designated for tailgating.

As we walked around the lots, intoxicating smells of burning charcoal, freshly cut grass and charred hot dogs hung in the air, welcoming me to a place I'd once called home.

We walk along, the beat of bass drums pulling me toward them. I can feel the vibrations in my stomach full with beer and snacks. I walk toward the sounds of the band, waiting to hear the rest of the instruments chime in. I come up to a van covered in purple and gold paint and looks as though it’s there from a radio station or news channel. Apparently the radio station is picking individuals to participate in a football throwing contest at halftime, to win $10,000!

So of course, I think to myself, what have I got to lose?

I register for the contest, thinking, "there is no way I’ll get picked."
I take the cheap blue pen that I can hardly get a stroke of ink out of and haphazardly fill out the entry form.

The preshow to the game was beginning, so we continued to follow the sounds of the band, my hips attempting to gyrate with the sounds of the music they played as we walked up the ramp into that stadium, which to me, seemed almost larger than life. The smells of nacho cheese, stale chips and jalapenos drifted to my nose and I heard the pish pash pish sound of the fountain drink machines in the corridor, welcoming me into my dream world. I was in heaven.

As we sat in our seats, which happened to be in the north end zone, my heart began to beat as the game started and they announced the attendance at the game was the highest ever at 98,000 something or another. Among the purple, gold and white sea of fans, there wasn’t an empty seat to be had.

The stadium roared with contention when a foul was called, but then cheers rang out and shook the earth as when the team scored yet again and again … those sounds of the fight song reverberating amongst the boisterous cheers of fans on that breezy October night. My heart continued to pump with adrenaline.

And then they called my name for the halftime contest.

My heart jumped out of my chest. I just couldn’t do it.

Or Could I?

Fact or Fiction Friday - Andie

Last week's entry- TRUE. It happened in May 1995. See info on it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_8th_1995_Louisiana_Flood

Fact or Fiction Friday- Andie


A cool spring breeze blew off the lake and through the open windows as I started packing up the boxes early that morning. I had chosen a perfect day to play hooky from work. The weather was beautiful; an azure sky framed the sunlight, which shone against the tiny waves on the lake like diamonds. I could smell the scent of the gardenias starting to bloom from the tiny wooden garden box on the window.

I continued to pack box after box with trinkets, mementos, pictures. All of these items contained a memory of the nine years we had been together. Pictures from our freshman year of high school at our winter formal; a stuffed Tweety Bird from the senior carnival; plastic party mugs covered in graffiti of Greek letters and frat party themes; my cap, tassel and a picture of us at our graduation from State all went into the same box. Hot tears streamed over my flushed cheeks and chapped lips.
.

It was all planned. A spring wedding at the end of March, glowing white calla lilies were to flank the church’s altar along with my six bridesmaids in a subdued shade of lavender. We were to be married by candlelight in that cathedral, four hundred guests to witness the closing of our nine year courtship and the beginning of our life together as husband and wife. It was three weeks before the big day. All of the showers and parties complete, a pile of gifts sat in the living room, waiting for repetitive thank you’s to be written on the ivory note cards embossed with the new monogram. I looked at the engagement photo, black and white, a small shadow obscuring part of my smile in the picture. Was that shadow a signal of what was to come?

Nine years we spent together, discovering what we thought was our true selves. What we had discovered was that we were completely different people wanting to lead completely different lives. It was although we were ignoring the inevitable.

I’ll never forget that perfect day in March when I called it off.

F or F

Sorry, I didn't participate this week, but I had a great time reading everyone's posts! I'm getting something ready for this Friday. And I think this was a great idea

The Stranger

He was a lot like Elvis, in a nylon shorts and running jacket sort of way. He danced right on up to her while she was watching yet another Elvis perform. The number one Elvis impersonator in the country, in fact. Later, this irony would not be lost on her. The irony of impersonation, of unidentifiable identity, of pretending to be, or masquerading as.

She was celebrating 4th of July. "The Best Fourth in the North," it was billed as, and this was certainly shaping up to be a good one. She was camping with a group of friends, the weather was fine, and the boy she was sharing a tent with, her ex/best friend/person best to be with when all else fails, seemed to be ok with her blasé attitude toward their relationship. In some secret place, the tip of her sandal, the strap of her bathing suit, the pages of her journal, she knew he wanted more, but she just didn’t feel that way. Enter Elvis.

He came out of nowhere. Bounced, literally bounced, onto the scene in a body hugging midnight blue track suit and Tevas. The spotlight behind him was meant for the singing Elvis, but he walked right through it as though it were meant to welcome him. He was tan and muscular. His whole body smiled, eyes to toes. He was the preamble to the fireworks to come. Like good old Saint Nick, he went right to his work, not a word did he speak. He danced with her. He danced around her. He undressed her with his eyes, then put her clothes on again so she wouldn’t be embarrassed. All the while, the number one Elvis crooned on.

She forgot all about her tent mate. She danced all night. She danced the sun down. She found a spot under the stars to watch the fireworks with the man who was like an explosion himself. She got his story. He was just passing through. He had just come from the prison up north where he was visiting his brother. He had driven there from Florida, but before that he lived in North Carolina. He was a teacher. A dreamer. She gave him her number. The fireworks began.

He called her from Brooklyn. It was the age of The Celestine Prophecy. All was magical, mystical, meant to be. The universe had thrown them together as surely as they were soul mates. Without knowing his current address, phone number or birth date, she agreed to meet him in the Poconos. She drove five hours through a hurricane to reach him. The furthest she had ever driven alone. Such a daring plan, she had told no-one where she was going. It was the age before cell phones. She was a woman on a mission.

He had promised hiking, picnics, romantic dinners, talking the sun down, the stars up. It was one night. They never ate. They never left the darkened hotel room. It was the loneliest weekend she had ever spent. The sun shone only as she pulled out of the parking lot, alone.

Fact/Fiction Friday

During my orientation week before my freshman year of college, we of course toured the campus extensively and learned tidbits of trivia about the various things to see. There was a large fountain in front of the student center known as Frog Fountain. My RA mentioned that at least a couple times during each year, people would get the idea to put soap in it. She said usually they were caught, or else the fountain would just be a bit bubbly for a few days. It was a matter of pride to be able to really do a good soap job and people were always trying.
So all through my first year we noticed as people did indeed try soaping Mr. Frog. Most of the time it actually just ended up looking cleaner. Not much damage done.

My second year about six friends and I decided we could do a better job. We went and bought five gallons of lemon-scented Dawn, having determined in previous tests that this was the brand with the most bubbles. Then we got big plastic stadium cups, poured ourselves huge "drinks", and wandered outside to sit on the commons. We pretended to drink from our cups for about half an hour while we chatted, and then wandered over to sit on the edge of the pretty fountain. One at a time, we surreptitiously dumped our cups into the fountain jets and fled the scene.

The fountain was visible from our dorm room window, and we woke up to bubbles galore. Huge, snowy, billowy bubbles that almost filled the entire fountain. We won. The next few days we giggled as we listened to people talking about what a thorough job we had done, and the next week the fountain actually had to be drained and treated. Apparently we upset some sort of algae balance and they were worried it might be permanently ruined.

Oops. :)

F or F? ~ Cmommy

He was part of her history. During the summer of her 18th year, he'd sung the soundtrack that accompanied her journey through first love. His name was actually a bit different in reality from the name on the ticket stub. He'd almost lost the accent of his birthplace. He hadn't lost his ability to make her heartstrings hum.

Of course, fame made his life facts available and her status as fan made her completely unknown. Driving to the grocery store on a sunny November day was just another task to be checked off of the "to-do" list. Like goldfish trapped in a bowl, her thoughts looped a familiar path: milk, fruit, bread, stamps, am I out of coffee?, chicken for quesadillas tonight, milk...she absently pushes buttons on the radio, searching for a voice to impart wisdom. Signaling a turn, she hears the DJ say his name. He's here. In her city. He's here in her city, tonight. "Call 555-1234 for tickets, hurry!"

Unable to swallow, she speed dials her husband. "EEEEAAAAHHH! Guess what??!! My absolute, all-time favorite musician is in town and he's performing at the Pagaent and the tickets are $30 something and if we can get a sitter for the babies do you think we could take the boys? Please?! OMG, they have the Greatist Hits CD committed to memory and it would be sooooo much fun. Can we go? Will you call Beth and see if she's free??" Laughing indulgently, her husband says he'll call and yes and the boys, really? and wow, she's excited. "Duh!", she thinks, sounding like the teenager who will hopefully fulfill the one requirement that can make this night possible.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Pieces fall into place. By 7pm, they are whizzing down the highway, aiming for an adventure. At 6 and 9, the boys are fairly clueless about concert protocal. She hopes they'll stay awake, or at least fall asleep in a seat and not in her arms. The opening act is too long and the crowd has reached a frenzy when the lights dim and the opening chords are heard. Screaming, she jumps to her feet, singing with abandon. Three songs later, she remembers that the ties binding her to the here and now are standing on seat cushions and grinning at her. She grins back at them.

Memories have been moving closer as the set list continued...she wonders where the boy is now, if he's happy, if he thinks of her when he hears these songs, if he hears these songs. People like to say that you never forget your first love. Forgetting isn't even an option. And, he was more than just a first love. He was the one who lit a flame that caused her to see who she could be, what she wanted from life. He was a dead ringer for the man on stage, so alike in looks that they had been mobbed together at a concert back in the '80s. The boy was Hard To Hold. He let her go...and he got away.

Twenty years later, the reality of him is superimposed with the image before her. She tells her husband that she's going to peek from the stairs to see what is going on under the balcony where they are seated. No one else is on the stairs as she pauses to watch the man, just 40 feet away, intent on his guitar. She's feeling a bit dizzy, dreamy, when he turns and locks eyes with her. She slowly turns to look behind her, but no one is there. Returning his gaze, she is startled to see him grin at her. With a quick whisper to the security guard, he leaps to the floor and runs towards the stairs. She can't breathe. He's singing into the head mic with the guitar now flung across his naked back. In slow motion, black hair, tatoos, sweat, a blazing smile pass her, followed by a trio of burley men. Time is witness to his eyes meeting her eyes. Did he see her soul?

She races after them, fearing the crowd that is now bolting for the staircase. The rush has caused her instincts to kick in gear: her family, she must get to her family. Pushing down panic, she sees the rock star standing on the counter---in front of her sons. The irony is not lost on her; chasing him, or running towards the men who know and love her, she has ended up in the same spot. Thankfully, for the future contentment of her heart, she'd been looking for the ones who held her heart. Still, she has to believe that in another space of time, or time of space, the music and it's magic in her life would be explained. The past depends on it.

F OR F- Christa

Every once in a while a thunderbolt seems to course through my body and I know I need to call her. This time, I called and got her husband. We played phone tag. Her message said that she'd been really sick, she had something to tell me. I immediately called her back, again getting her husband. This time her grandfather had died and I called on the day of his wake. She was obviously busy, and something was going on, but I'd have to let it be for now, she'd call me when she got the chance.
So I moved on in my daily routines, keeping the nagging fear that something was dreadfully wrong with one of my nearest and dearest old friends at bay. Some two week later, she calls me at my office. She had a tumor in her throat, attached to her thyroid. It was the size of a baseball. The friend who had always been equal to me in size, the friend whom shared my clothes and I hers all through high school, had gained over eigty pounds. Doctors at first told her it was stress. Stress. Then they did a scan and they found the mass, and her failing health made more sense. They felt they could operate, but they didn't know if it was cancerous. After a series of tests beginning the day after her grandpa died, she was sleighted for one more scan before surgery. They took it twice, fearing there was a malfunction of some sort, with the machine, with the procedure... anything. Because the tumor was gone.

Fact or Fiction Friday-Mall Mishap

It was a typical warm, humid day in New Orleans. Of course, the end of April usually signals the beginning of summer, and it was the first week of May. It was Monday, and I was a high school senior, counting down the days until graduation. As I sat in my seventh period class anxiously watching the clock, I then looked out the window and saw the clouds darken ominously. “Just an afternoon thunderstorm,” I thought to myself, recalling the typical nature of summer afternoons in Louisiana. I packed my bags when the bell rang and my mom and I headed off to my job at the mall. As we’re driving, I can see the sky still darkening, the clouds looking heavy with rain.

My mother drops me off and I got to work. I clock in, put the goofy red and white gingham apron on top of my uniform of khaki shorts and white tee, and get to work selling lotions and soaps to very few customers. I call my boyfriend, Dennis who upstairs in the mall, to check in with him to see if he is still going to bring me home from work that night. The night grows incredibly boring at the job. My coworker Stacy, a and I are both wondering WHY the mall is so slow. Then we hear the reverberating sound of thunder. We ask our manager, Jen, if one of us can go to the nearest mall entrance to see how bad the weather is.

Holy Shit. As I walk up to the glass doors of the entrance, which happens to be at the bottom part of the hilly parking lot, I see HUGE lakes throughout the lot. The rain is coming down in massive sheets, flooding all of the drains and filling the lot like a bathtub.

As I get back to the store, only the sound Neil Diamond singing “Sweet Caroline” can be heard. I see my managers face look forlorn as she says, “We’re closing up and I’m going home. Call your parents.”

I call my mother. She says “Stay there. I talked to Dennis’ mom and she said he can’t leave, so neither can you. It’s flooding out there. BAD. Parts of our subdivision aren’t even driveable.” I call Dennis. He tells me the same. My manager closes the store and heads out, with grocery bags on her feet and head. Somehow she got out.

Stacy, my coworker who is also a nursing student tries to leave, but her 1985 Toyota Corolla is already flooded with water in the floorboards. So she stays at the mall as well.
Stacy, Dennis and I meet up and go downstairs to his brother’s store, a sort-of skater punk type store, with burning incense and velvet curtains over the fitting room doors. All of our parents tell us to stay put, as it appears we’re stranded for the evening.

Isn’t this EVERY teenage girl’s dream? Getting stranded overnight in a mall sounds like a dream, right?
WRONG.

Many of the other stores were closed. Gates locked. No chance to go shopping after hours there. We were starving and the only restaurant that was open was Ruby Tuesday. Unfortunately, all they had to serve was appetizers and desserts. So we were forced to share potato skins and a giant chocolate dessert between the four of us, since our combined cash count was only about $30.

After we had eaten, we realized we were still stranded. It was midnight. What else could we do? We were all tired after a day of classes, and we wanted to sleep. Unfortunately we couldn’t go to Dillard’s and sleep on the model beds in the bedding department. The only store we could get into was Dennis’s brother’s store, with the velvet dressing room curtains.

And so we tried to sleep on the floor of the store, using the curtains as blankets and pillows. We were so miserable and crabby and bored. There was no television to watch and nothing really to do but try on clothes.

Eventually that got boring and we just sat around the whole night. Our parents would call every hour to check on us, to make sure we were ok.

Finally, at 9:00 the next morning, we get a call from Dennis’ uncle, who is a detective with the local police. He’s sending a rescue helicopter to get us out. Apparently the whole area was flooded and not drivable.

My parent’s house wasn’t flooded, but his parent’s house was, with about 3 feet of water in their downstairs. The water had receded enough around the interstate for my parents to pick us up from the interstate exit nearest our house in their van. Once we were rescued by helicopter, my parents were there, waiting for us.

I’ll never forget falling into my mother’s arm, full of exhaustion, hunger and relief. I was so happy to be with family, to be on my way home. To this day, I’ll never forget what that experience is like.

Sometimes when people want to play that “I Never” game, I always say… “I never spent the night in a mall.” And people always doubt me and think it’s not true.

Boy, are they surprised.

INTERPRETATION

Hurray! I loved reading the responses to the "You're Out Walking" exercise.

And now, to interpret:

1. The house is yourself.
2. The three objects on the table are the things you do best.
3. The bear is a problem, and what you do with the bear is what you do with a problem.
4. The cup is your love.
5. What you do with the cup is what you do with your love.

OK, there is lots of self-evaluating to be done, LOL! Regarding #4 & #5, I thought that the author meant "the love I feel for someone", but in reaching the end of the novel I understood that she meant "the person whom you love". The game is played by two important characters and I "got it".

Thanks for playing along!! Chrissy

FACT OR FICTION FRIDAYS

I came up with a new game- every Friday, post a story. Let's limit it to 700 words (that's roughly almost two pages double spaced.) Commenters need to decide whether it's fact or fiction and post their opinion in the comments section. The FOLLOWING FRIDAY, before you post a new story, TELL US WHETHER THE LAST ONE WAS FACT OR FICTION. Got it??? Now you have a couple days to come up with your first installment.