It Should Have Been a Clue
A/N. In response to a title I saw on this site "Love is Always Worth the Risk" I'd like to take exception to that pronouncement with the aid of the HP universe.
A/N I do not respond to the 'Spelling Police/' I do not need a review to keep writing. I'll update and add to this story if I get the notion. This site is free and I can do that with no trouble from those in charge of the site, so don't bother flaming, they won't will not draw any response or changes. If you'd like to send a well-reasoned review about content, I'll probably read it. I doubt I'll respond. I'm fairly busy and I'm not good at that. I read and sometimes I write a story that comes to me.
Disclaimer: JKR owns all things Harry Potter. I get all manuscripts sent to publishers returned in the postage paid return envelope I include unopened. Go figure!
Chapter 1
No Such Zone
As a 68 year old muggle male with 4 children whose ages range from 25 to 36 I would speculate that I have some experience in matters of the heart, both successful and unsuccessful. I have raised these 4 very wonderful siblings by myself since the youngest was 2 years old. It hasn't been an easy journey, but it has had a bunch of very high points and nothing in the following exercise in futility should ever be construed as regret in any way the challenge and great joy watching these 4 marvelous individuals grow up and become their own very special people.
That being put all behind me let me say that I have made some pretty spectacular mistakes in the name of "love" that should never be construed as "worth the risk." You deal with what life hands you and LEARN. Hopefully, you learn not to depend on such platitudes and find something really worth depending on that doesn't turn to dust when flattened by reality.
Our story begins when I was about 11 years of age. Mind you, I had noticed girls before then and one or two stand out as very memorable. Vickie managed to be in my class in 3 out of 4 of the proceeding years. A very pretty and serious young person with a very fetching British accent, she was always near the top of her class. She had actually been so advanced in her studies that at about age 7 she had skipped a grade in school.
The day we were to start at our new school, I was running very late. Dad was in construction and left Mom to take myself and my younger brother and my sister to school in the family station wagon while he left for the supply yard in his pick-up truck. We managed to get to the elementary school just fine, but when Mom and I started for my new school the brand new 1956 Ford station wagon wouldn't start. Mom went into the office and called the lumber yard (before cell phones of course). The manager met Dad in about 30 minutes and relayed our plight. In about an hour Dad got to the elementary school. I piled all my stuff in the passenger side along with my short skinny self and off we went. He was going to run me to school and come back to sort out the wagon for Mom.
We got there about a half hour after the first bell rang for classes. Dad wrote out a note for me to take to the office to excuse my late arrival, and things were beginning to settle down.
Out of the door just down the hall from where I exited the office Vickie popped out and seemed in a panic. A full-fledged break out from the water works department was in progress. (If you missed that – SHE WAS CRYING big time. It seems her mother had just let her out very late in a new school, no note, and only vague directions about how to find her home room from the secretary. Dad had made sure the directions were clear before he sent me off down the hall and I notice (after looking down the list in the class I was in the appropriate distance of course) that Vickie was also in my homeroom. In those days a young man wasn't properly dressed unless he had a clean white handkerchief in his pocket along with a small pocket knife. The water works had messed up her face and now even though she knew where her classroom was due to my fortuitous presence in the hall, she was still very reluctant to the point where the water works were threatening to reappear. I then discovered the much more practical reason for the clean white handkerchief in my pocket. I arrived with Vickie at the new class in about 5 more minutes with a make-up stained handkerchief in my pocket. My mother never got a straight answer out of me about where that handkerchief had been. Finally, Dad intervened with something about that pretty girl he saw crying in the hall and did I know her? Mom was satisfied I guess because she never brought it up again.
I lived far enough from school I could take the school bus. Vickie lived in walking distance. On Tuesday afternoons, however, I got to ride my bicycle the 3 miles to school so that I could take ball-room dancing class. Dad had the handkerchief-pocket knife rule. Mom had the "All proper young men knew how to ball-room dance" rule. After the handkerchief epiphany I quit grousing about the mortification of trying to dance with girls twice my size. You see, when I graduated from that establishment 3 years later I was still the shortest boy in school. I did finally hit an extensive growth spurt, but that's another story.
Mrs. Pounds owned the dance studio and her daughter, Sarah, was a freshman at the local college. She also assisted her mother after school in the studio. All the males in the class drooled when they partnered with Miss Pounds. They also invariably tread on her toes. Despite being "vertically challenged" I was gifted with a good since of rhythm and a very strong desire not to cause the face of the most beautiful woman I'd ever been near to cringe when she danced with me. I quickly became singled out to demonstrate each new step we were to learn.
Much later in my second year of university my girlfriend also assisted at the Pounds studio. I was more than a foot taller by then and had filled out considerably – working my way through college working in Dad's construction company. Miss Pounds was also there, still single, and still teaching dance. The dance we were at was the end of year dance they had every year and my girlfriend needed a date so I dug out the tux, and got the corsage to match her gown. She went to dance with one of the students and Miss Pounds latched onto me. By then Mrs. Pounds had also figured out who I was and started getting us to demonstrate all the dances we had learned.
That was the last date I ever had with my girlfriend. How do you tell her she was off dancing with a student and I ended up dancing about thirty minutes with a professional dance instructor and doing so very well. I found out she didn't invite me so I could show her class how the teachers wanted it done. That was the last thing on my mind. I thought I was just being cooperative with a very attractive woman 10 years my senior. My ex-girlfriend was furious. When we finished the demonstration I asked her for the next dance. She wanted to go home right then. She didn't say a word while I took her home. I only found out about a month later from her mother what was going through her head. Oh well, I digress.
It quickly became apparent to everyone concerned that I was safer riding my bicycle the three school. I could do so faster on my bicycle than the bus could and by the time the bus picked me up the only way to ride was standing in the isle. At three to a seat the bus would cary 66 seated passengers. We regularly had over 95 passengers on "old #97". It was a wonder Mrs. Clinton kept control over that many 11 – 14 year old adolescent students without a major incident. Anyhow, one afternoon shortly after the Christmas break – in Florida one could generally ride a bicycle to school any time of year - I came out a little late from band class at the end of the day. I found Vickie by herself – water works threatening to make another appearance – near the school's bicycle rack.
"What's up. You and Maryland are usually half way home by now?" I said
"Oh, Terry. I'm so glad you came along. Maryland has been out sick the last 3 days, so I've been walking on my own. Can you walk with me?" was her response.
"Well, school's been out 20 minutes your Mom will probably be worried by now, won't she?" I asked.
"No, she's at work. But she'll call in a little bit to make sure I got home okay." was her answer.
"Well, what you hanging around here still for?"
"When I walk by the high school the last 3 days several boys have been whistling at me and making very rude suggestions. One guy, Tommy Holliday, is really getting aggressive and he frightens me."
"Tommy? He's my 2nd cousin. He's an obnoxious blow hard. I'll walk with you. He'll know anything he says or does will get back to his Mom and Dad. Right now he's on pretty thin ice for 'borrowing' his Mom's car without permission for a joy ride. I don't think he wants a school yard hassle to get back home."
"Oh, would you! That would be wonderful."
I strapped my cornet to my bicycle rack, put my books in the saddle baskets, and off we went. I did see Tommy, and gave a good big friendly waive to my dear cousin to let him know who was walking with the very pretty, early developed young lady just short of her 11th birthday. She giggled. I walked through the neighborhood surrounding the golf course and country club. Thinking this girl's family must be loaded. Come to find out, her mother was a single parent (a rarity in those days) and they rented a garage apartment in behind one of the very large homes in the subdivision. I walked her to the steps and she thanked me profusely for taking the time to walk her home. "That was sweet of you.." And there were no waterworks that day. Very successful trip, I thought. O contraire!
The first abnormality of the day was Mom's frantic state when I rode up on my bicycle about 45 minutes late. She had my brother and sister, and the three kids she kept after school until their parents picked them up loaded in the wagon and was ready to head out looking for me. "Where have you been young man, and don't even think of saying 'late band practice". I call and the office said everyone has been gone an hour or more. You should have been home 45 minutes ago." That's how I knew how late I was.
I explained what happened – even waiving at Tommy, her 1st cousin, by the way – and things seemed to have settled down. We had supper that night and I was in my room finishing my homework (45 minute late start) when the phone rang at Dad's desk where he was busy working up a submittal for the contract he was to bid on that week. About 10 minutes later he hollered through the house. "Terry, I need you in the shop to help me run some material through the table saw, now."
"Give me 10 minutes to finish up this assignment for Godber's math class and I'll be right out." was my reply.
"When I say 'now' I don't mean in 10 minutes!"
Okay, that's weird. Homework always comes first. Mom was still as a mouse. Mom didn't even hand me the garbage bag to take out. Super weird. Twilight Zone weird even. Dad rarely raised his voice and when he did he meant business. Regie, my brother, was playing with his muddle cars on his bed and I was working at the desk we shared. We shared a bedroom. I put my pencil and paper down and looked at my brother. "Don't think about moving your toys over to the desk until I get back and finish this assignment."
With that I got up and headed to the shop.
"You know who that was on the Phone?" He said, then paused like I ought to have an answer.
I barely registered there had been a phone call about 15 minutes ago. "Ah, no." was my confused reply.
"It was Mrs. Johnson."
That stirred something in my math overloaded brain but for the life of me I didn't know a Mrs. Johnson that I could possibly have been in trouble with. So I must have had this vacant look on my face.
"You know, VICKIE Johnson's mother. By the way who is Vickie Jonson?"
Stammer. Stammer. "Oh." I don't think I had ever meet the woman. Maybe back in 3rd grade when she came to the class to talk about being an insurance agent.
"I've been on the phone the last 15 minutes with an irate old wet hen who is convinced you sullied the reputation of her daughter. Do you care to enlighten me as to how it came to her attention that you were seen escorting the Miss Johnson in question back to her apartment, by herself, and not seen leaving?"
I remember thinking something to the effect that no good deed ever goes unpunished.
"You talked to Mom yet." I asked.
"She said you were an hour late getting home from school just before the phone rang."
"Well, I came out of band practice a few minutes late and found Vickie about to cry out by the bicycle rack."
"By the way, Who is Vickie? I don't know any Vickie your age."
"You saw her the first day of school coming out of the principal's office"
"Oh, pretty girl. Long brown hair. Good figure. She's eleven?"
"Well, she will be next month. She skipped 2nd grade."
"Lord! She looks 15 at least."
"Yes, well, I've known her since 3rd grade. She's grown a bit since then."
"I'll say. Anyhow, how did you come to be in her company this afternoon in what some neighbor thought was an off color situation?"
"A what?"
"Well you were seen going back to that garage apartment and not seen coming out."
"I came out, and rode right home. Nothing else. She thanked me for walking her home. Tommy Holliday had been harassing her all week since the girl she had been walking with all week was out sick. Oh wait, I didn't come out the way I went in. The apartment backed up to another driveway, so I took a shortcut to the next street."
"Tommy, huh. Your mother's cousin is a creep."
"I know. He's been a creep for as long as I've known him. Vickie said she was afraid of him so I volunteered to walk her home. That was that."
"Okay, I'll call the lady back and try to explain. I'm not too sure she'll listen."
Later that evening:
She didn't according to Dad and he told me I best not hang around her when no one else is around.
"I've known her for 4 and a half years and this is the only time I've ever been alone with her. I only walked her home." I answered.
"Yes," Dad said. "I explained that to her and about Tommy being a creep. She is still pretty upset. This girl has developed physically far faster than her mother ever expected and this has her all worked up. If she gets this worked up over you walking her home, the next thing she might do is start looking for convents."
There is a dance coming up in February. A Valentine's Day party in the school's auditorium after school. Dates are a must. They want as many boys as girls at the dance. No 'girl/gir' dancing which often happens at dances. More girls always went to them than boys did at that age. I asked Janice, a girl I knew from MYF to go with me. She was about 10 inches taller than I was and she began to snicker. I was mortified. I wasn't about to ask any of the other girls from church after that. The only other girl I liked was Vickie, so even after the humiliation and fall out from the walk home, I screwed up my courage and asked Vickie if she would like to go the dance with me.
"I'd love to." She said in that brilliant British accent, "but I'll have to ask Mum first. It is a chaperoned event sponsored by the school so she ought not mind."
Well, I was on cloud 9 all weekend. Next Monday was Vickie's birthday and I had a card picked out for her (you didn't give gifts back then unless you were invited to a birthday party. But, Vickie wasn't at homeroom Monday morning. I worked in the lunchroom so got out of gym class 20 minutes early to get to my locker and get to the lunchroom in time to eat before we started working the lines. There Vickie was at her locker three or four over from mine. She was crying again, but she perked up when she saw me. Her card was on top of my notebook for math that I had in the afternoon, and I handed it to her with a 'Happy Birthday." I noticed an heavy looking envelope with a big ornate H on it in locker addressed to her – 58 Dubstread Circle ,Garage Apartment, Winter Park, Florida, United States of America – no postage? I thought it must be a card from her family back in England. It must be the English version of Halmart.
"Oh, how sweet, you remembered And she threw her arms around me and gave me a big wet kiss. My first, by the way. Maryland had given me a big hug in 5th grade right in the lunchroom in front of everyone when I told her how pretty I thought her fancy new blouse was, but that wasn't a kiss. I got the business for that from all the guys for weeks. This was a real, for sure, on the lips, kiss. No one else was in that hall and I was smitten. Hmm, discovery, I'm not gay.
"How about the dance? Did you ask your mother?"
"I can't go. I'm changing schools to the all- girls Catholic school across town near where my mother works. I really wanted to go with you, but Mom said no, and I'm cleaning out my locker, and. And. " Sniff, sniffle, boo hoo, back to the water works. I pulled out my trusty handkerchief and she wiped her face and nose and giggled. "You must think I'm a goose." And she handed back my handkerchief.
"No, keep it." I said. "I don't want to explain how I got make-up all over it to Mom again."
I tried calling to explain to Mrs. Johnson it was a chaperoned and school sponsored dance. The phone number had been changed to an unlisted number. I spoke to Maryland the next week and found out what school she was going to but I never could contact her and they moved out of the apartment according to the lady in the big main house. Maryland kept in touch with her for years, even after she went back to England. Mrs. Johnson and Vickie's dad got back together. I ran into Maryland when I transferred to the University of South Florida. She was a grad student by then as I worked my way through college and got behind the 4 year plan by a couple of years. I had always wondered what became of Vickie so I asked her if she ever kept up with Vickie. I gave her my address to send Vickie and she wrote me several letters. They always came with a hometown postmark stuffed in a second envelope with no return address. Another weird thing was the original envelopes and letters were on heavy parchment type paper and one of the envelopes had an embossed H barely visible on the flap. I always sentt responses to Maryland at Vickie's directions and she always answered them. She had a much younger brother named Alex. The last letter I received from her had a Scotland postmark and again, no return address. It came in 1980, many years after our regular correspondence had ended. It was a newsy document full of all the goings on with her younger brother. Despite my questions about her life, I never got any information from her about her personal life. She said Alex had a new daughter 'Angela', I think was her name.
The next letter I sent to Vickie via Maryland came back
"Return to sender, Address unknown.
No such number, No Such Zone"