Hey There, Lonely Girl
Chapter One
Gypsy's Story.
Anyone you recognize in this story, I don't own. Gypsy's mine though, but I have no problems sharing her.
"So, you would like for me to tell you the story of my life?" the old woman asked, "I can assure you it's not that interesting."
"Well ma'am, that's alright. I'm not exactly looking for interesting and possibly made up drama.. I'm looking for 'Real.' You were one of the original girl newsies. That must count for something."
The old woman smiled. "You'll need strong hands and wrists for my story."
"I'm ready, one of my special talents in this world is I'm ambidextrous."
"Very well. Alright, I was fifteen..."
XXX
"Shannon, be a good girl and go collect my trousers from Mrs. Wilbur's."
Shannon put down her hairbrush and turned her head towards her father's voice. Twenty strokes, she still had eighty more to go. It's not that she didn't want to help her father, but he had the uncanny habit of asking for favors at busy times. Sometimes, she thought he did it on purpose so her hands weren't idle with sin. "Yes papa," she called back and ran her fingers through her hair one more time, just to keep it from blowing around.
"Papa may I wear my hair up? It's so dreadfully hot today."
"'Fraid not my dear, you know how society is. You're not quite sixteen.. And by the way, don't say 'dreadful'. It's slang." Daniel Lockeheart laughed, throwing a sock at his daughter. "Go, off with you now."
"Well, can you blame me for trying?" she questioned, taking money from his outstreched hand and trotted down the steps of their building. "After all, I'm your one and only, right?"
"Right you are, but the answer is still no."
She groaned and walked down the street, digging her hands into the front pockets of her green dress. Mrs. Wilbur had re-stitched it so many times, if the dress could talk, it would scream at the sight of her. Shannon knew the old lady probably thought she was nuts, but it was too special to give up. It had been the last dress her Russian mother, Tatiana had made for her before she passed away.
"Mrs Wilbur?" she called, sticking her head through the door and knocked. "It's me, it's Shannon."
Silence.
"Mrs. Wilbur?"
"Land sakes child, I hear you just fine. Don't stand out there like a lump, come on in. I'll be right out."
"Like a lump" was the older lady's favorite saying. One was either 'Sitting like a lump,' or 'standing around like a lump,' or the ever popular 'chewing like a lump.'
Shannon often wondered how in the world a lump could chew, but she was too afraid to bring it up.
"There you are honey, did your daddy send you?"
Shannon smiled and nodded. She wanted to tell how she wasn't allowed to wear her hair up in the humid weather, knowing full well the seamstress would be on her side.
"Alright, let's see if we can find his pants. Have a seat child. Gray pants, gray pants" she murmured to herself, before humming a little tune, "Silver Thread among the Gold."
Shannon sat down in a large black leather chair and explored the house with her eyes. Like her, Mrs. Wilbur was a pack rat who despised throwing things away. She claimed the past is where life was good, and the only things you have left were your memories and attachment to objects.
"Here we go, alright sweetheart, that'll be fifty cents."
Shannon rose from the chair, placed the two quarters plus a third as a tip, collected the pants and trotted out the door. "Thank you ma'am" she called back. "I'll see you next time!"
She walked up the street and around the corner in an attempt to go home, when she saw her father with three men standing next to his bookstore.
Maybe I'll just drop them off now, she thought. Perhaps he needs them.
She was close enough to tap his shoulder, but before she could, one of the strange men dug something into her beloved father and the three of them ran off.