This is the revised version of a previously posted story of mine, Speeding Cars. Check out the profile for a complete author's note.
Everything that you may recognize from the movie or otherwise does not belong to me.
Trud and Imogen both are creations of my imagination. I'd rather like to keep it that way.
1. The Whistle Song
Everyday can be a decision between life and death and its up to you make the decision of how strong you're willing to be. You can either stand and fight or die where you lay.
--
The sounds of an old shower filled the silent house and it was quickly replaced by a hair dryer screaming loudly. Seconds later, Just Impolite by Plushgun rang out from the bathroom, drowning out the dryer easily. A cat climbed in through in the open window letting out a whiny meow, scratching at the white door leading into the bathroom. She called out pitifully a few more times before abandoning the door and leaped on to the deserted bed, making herself at home in no time. She stared at the closed bathroom door distastefully before rolling onto her back and falling back to sleep.
A few moments later, Gertrude (better known to many as simply 'Trud'), stumbled out of her bathroom, toothbrush jammed in her mouth while she jumped on one foot, attempting to put on a striped sock. Her long, brown hair was tied up with a shoe lace messily; almost more hair was out of the lace than in it. She pulled on a pair of worn jeans that had holes in the knees, courtesy of years of being worn. A blue polo shirt went on over her plain yellow shirt and Trud grabbed a pair of Converse as she dashed from her room, calling goodbye to C.A.T, the aforementioned slightly overweight tabby cat. A faint meow followed the rushed girl down the hall in a stalled reply. She didn't bother running down the entire steps, jumping off the side of the stairs where the banister had broken off years before.
"I'm leaving!" Trud called while grabbing a muffin from a basket on the kitchen counter and her keys from off the center table. She waited for a response from her father and let out a sigh when none came. Quickly, she walked into the den and was unsurprised to find a passed out man occupying her couch with beer bottle in hand, dangling off the side. With a sigh, Trud grabbed the bottle and covered her dad with a blanket. She threw the bottle away in the trash and unhooked her plaid bag from a peg near the back door before heading out.
Climbing into her 1969 yellow and black Mustang she smiled at the revving engine. Sounds of heaven. With a grin, Trud pulled expertly out of her small drive-way and headed towards town. Flipping on the radio, she glanced at the clock and cursed at the time. Her speed picked up, the Massachusetts scenery flying by her window. It was nearing the end of summer and only a few trees had started turning colors yet. When everything finally fell into fall, she would be out in the woods, taking pictures of everything. Fall was easily her favorite season, what with all the beautiful colors.
Her car bounced as it rolled into the back parking lot of Denny's. Trud climbed out of her car, making sure to lock the door behind her. She sprinted across the parking lot, which was still wet from the night's rain, and threw open the door that had 'Employee's Only' thrown across it in red paint. Tossing her bag into a random corner, she dashed through the back hall and into the front where the clocking-in machine sat, waiting for her. She punched her card and grinned, seeing that she was still a few minutes early.
"Cutting it a bit close there, kid," a voice stated behind her as Trud turned in surprise before laughing at the tired face that greeted her. Imogen stood a few feet away from her, circles underneath her eyes and dark hair pulled up almost hazardously in the back. She wore the same uniform that Trud did, blue polo with the Denny's logo and jeans. A few years older separated the two girls, but after working together for around a year, they had become rather good friends.
"Overslept again," Trud explained, walking back to where she had flung her bag in the corner. Imogen followed behind her, pulling out a packet of gum from her apron. She offered one to the other girl and put them away when Trud declined.
"Bad night's sleep again?" she asked. Imogen leaned against the wall of the back room and watched as her friend bent down to pick up her bag.
Trud nodded her head, pulling her own apron out of her bag and turned back to her with a grimace. "'Lot on my mind, you know?" A lot was a rather large understatement.
With a laugh Imogen grabbed Trud had pulled her towards the kitchens. "I don't blame you. If I were you," she said, pushing open the swinging double doors easily, "I would be in the Bahamas by now. Or at least Hawaii." She added as an afterthought, giving a skeptical Gertrude an encouraging smile.
"Do I look like a 'beach babe' to you?" Trud inquired, gesturing to her messy hair and torn jeans. Imogen stopped and looked her over, pretending to judge her. She twirled her index finger in an attempt to get her to spin and frowned when her friend failed to amuse her. Trud just gave her a smile and began to fill her apron pockets with a few pens and a order pad.
"Beach babe?" Imogen repeated, still following her friend and watched Trud walk like a pageant judge. "No. Hobo?" Trud took that moment to let out a loud burp, blushing slightly at her friend's upraised eyebrow. She continued with a slight look of disgust. "That I would agree on."
A ding rang from out front, signaling a customer had come in. While throwing a glare to a laughing Imogen, Trud walked through another set of swinging doors. "I resent that!" she called back, turning to the counter with a small, half smile.
After giving the customer a cup of black coffee To-Go and checking on the other patrons, she walked back through the doors. "I don't think I'm feeling the love right now, Im," she announced, leaning against a stove and staring at her friend who was eating a piece of cheese and reading the comic section of the Ipswich Herald. It was hard at times to remember that she was the older of the two.
Imogen shrugged, swallowing the last of her cheese. "You asked," she said truthfully, a smile playing on the corner of her glossed lips as she stood up straight. "I simply answered. Think of it this way: I could've lied to you. But instead I was a true friend to you and told you honest to God truth. Shouldn't that make you love me more, knowing I would never ever lie to you?" The sickly sweet tone to Imogen's voice matched perfectly to the fake smile on her face as Trud stared at her in awe.
"I'm trying to figure out if that was sarcasm, or if you really are a cold-hearted bitch deep down," she muttered, truly unsure.
"It's sad how after a year, you still can't figure out when I'm being sarcastic," Imogen said with a slightly depressed look on her face. "Well, sorta. I wasn't joking about the true friend thing." Her face brightened for a moment until a frown overcame it again and she jutted out her hip, pointing at Trud." But really, you do look like a hobo at the moment, hon. Can't you go buy some more.. flattering clothes? Those jeans don't do a thing for you."
"People wonder why I have crappy self esteem," Trud mumbled with a small smile. A small wince flashed across her face a few minutes later. She gently rubbed her ribs in a futile attempt to ease the slow approaching pain she knew was coming. With a sigh she picked her bag back up and rummaged through it, coming out of it with a bottle of pills in hand. She could feel Imogen's eyes on the back of her head as she walked to the sink, grabbed a glass and filled it with water before downing a couple pills. Letting out a deep breath, Trud leaned against the sink and allowed her tired eyes to close. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder as Imogen looked her over with a worried look.
"You gonna be alright to work today?" Imogen asked carefully as she rubbed Trud's back soothingly. "I'm sure Stan can get someone to fill in."
Trud shook her head slowly and pushed herself away from the sink, shooting her concerned friend a thankful look. "I'm good," she said quietly.
A few moments of silence hung between the two before one of the other waitresses came into the back asking for help. Both girls jumped at the chance of distraction and quickly went to take orders from the sudden horde of people in the diner. The next few hours were filled with the morning rush that had somehow flowed seamlessly into the lunch rush. Two of the other waitresses had relieved both Trud and Imogen for their lunch hour nearly four hours into their shift. They placed orders with the cook, Jared, and went to find an empty booth.
"I hate people," Trud stated with a sigh as she and Imogen sat down at a back booth, their food in hand.
Imogen gave her an amused look. "You love people, Truds."
Shaking her head, Trud stuffed a fry into her mouth that was slathered with gravy. Imogen looked at her with disgust before starting to eat her own food. "Not today. People are stupid today. As in, abnormally stupid."
"People are stupid every day."
"Well, they're stupider than normal today," she said.
"This coming from the girl eating gravy and fries," Imogen started, daintily digging into her salad. Trud grinned at her and made sure to make a show of eating the last of her delicious gravy fries. "You work any more on the list?"
It was a quick question, after which Imogen stuffed a handful of fries into her mouth almost in embarrassment. She did not however break the eye contact she held with the girl opposite her. Picking up her hamburger, Trud shook her head slowly and stared at it. "I don't really know what else I'm going to put on it," she took a bite of her burger and swallowed it, looking at Imogen in slight confusion. "What the hell am I supposed to write? I'm afraid of heights, so bungee jumping and sky diving are out. The ocean scares the shit out of me, salt water is unnatural. I'm almost completely broke which cuts out anything that takes money," she stared up at Imogen with an expressionless face. "And last time I checked, pretty much everything in the world takes money, something I don't have."
"You need to finish it," Imogen said in a quiet voice, nudging her lettuce leaves around her plate rather than eating them. Trud scoffed, taking another bite of her burger. "I'm serious, Trud," Imogen pressed, ceasing to play with her food, "You're going to regret it if you don't."
"What's the point of it all, Im? It's not exactly like I have time to do all of it anyway."
Imogen gave Trud a hard stare, pointing her fork at her threatening. "Don't you dare say that, Gertrude Elizabeth. Don't you dare." Her blue eyes held tears in them, though none overcame their boundaries. Her face held a seriousness that only came when the two friends discussed the list, or It. Trud often wonder why they even bothered bringing It up when all It did was cause Imogen to become upset.
She softened, seeing her friend was trying to withhold her tears. Reaching a hand across the table, she grabbed Imogen's hand with hers. "You know it's going to happen, Im," Trud said softly, her voice comforting. "You know what the doctors said. A year, at most. You gotta learn to let me go."
Pulling her hand away like she'd been physically slapped, Imogen looked at her fiercly. "You're not going to die, Trud. I'm not going to let you." Her face turned excited and she leaned forward in her seat. "I've got it all planned out. Don't worry about a thing. We're gonna get you the money, Trud. I promise," she reached out and took back Trud's hand and smiled at her. "I'm gonna fix this, I promise."
Another waitress, Bertie, called out for her before Trud had a chance to respond before her friend picked up her plate and glass, leaving to help with customers at the front. She let out a groan and let her head fall to the table with a thud. She banged it against the hard surface a few times before letting it rest in peace. Reaching into her apron pocket without lifting her head, she grabbed a loose order ticket and pulled it out. Trud leaned back in the booth, staring at the ticket with a frown. Scrawled across the top in sloppy handwriting was "The Bucket List". The whole thing had been Imogen's idea, something to take her mind off everything in the coming months.
At first Trud had been truly excited of a list of things to occupy her time, but soon the list became nothing but a burden. Still, she continued to work on it even if it was just for Imogen's benefit. Number ten was taken by Learn to Ice Skate and See a Broadway show, on Broadway had taken up residence on number three. A few others were scrawled on the edges of the ticket, no yet having a permanent space on the list. She indeed saw the irony of Imogen's crusade to save her life while still forcing her to fill out a list of all the things Trud wanted to do before she finally did.
She didn't know which was worse, knowing she was going to die one day or knowing her friend knew it as well. It wasn't Trud that was going to have to deal with the aftermath of the end. No, it would be Imogen who would be forced to pick herself back up and continue on. She would be the one who would cry herself to sleep at night, have to make arrangements for the funeral, be the one to move on. Trud would be the one looking down on her from the sky, hating herself every moment of every day for leaving behind her one and only true friend. She hated herself already.
With another low groan, Trud let her head fall back onto the table. She ignored the dull pain starting to form in her head and sighed loudly, crumpled the list tightly in her fist.
"That can kill brain cells you know," a voice told her from above. It belonged to either a guy or a very manly sounding woman. She could just see the tips of a pair beat up black converse over the edge of the table her head was currently planted on and tried not to let out an aggravated sigh.
"I'm on my lunch break," she said not really caring at all if she was being rude. Could this man/shim not notice she wanted a tad bit of alone time to wallow in her current predicament? Really, she just wanted a few moments to herself. Was that really a hard request to be fulfilled? No, it wasn't. Stupid kid. "They'll help you once you find yourself a table."
"Ah. Sorry, my bad. Mind if I sit here? No? Good."
Trud felt the table shift and looked up blearily to see a blond guy, maybe a year older than her, sitting across from her suddenly. His blue eyes pierced hers and a smirk was sitting lightly on his lips. He wore a black short sleeved shirt and jeans from what she could see. To finish off what she could only guess was his 'bad-ass' attire, the boy had black leather fingerless gloves on. Oh yeah, this kid was differently from the "wrong side of the tracks". Who ever would want to mess with a skinny white boy such as himself?
She stared at the boy opposite her incredulously. "What're you doing?"
The guy gave her a confused look as he sifted through a menu that a curious Imogen had set down in front of him. She threw Trud a wide grin before disappearing into the kitchens, double doors swinging behind her. Trud glared after her traitorous friend as the guy looked down at the menu in thought. "Is the French Toast here good? I always hate when restaurants put cinnamon on the French Toast. They don't do that here, do they?"
Trud stared at him, truly confused and lost. He didn't seem to notice or care as he continued looking through the menu intently apparently looking for any signs of cinnamon. "What?"
"French Toast. Cinnamon. Here?" The boy lowered his menu and spoke to her in a slow voice, much like someone would talk to a slow five year old.
"No, no cinnamon French Toast," she answered finally, giving him an odd look as she leaned back in the booth. He smiled for a brief moment at her answer, as if pleased he had gotten a straight answer from her. She racked her mind for any indication that she knew him, but come up empty. Trud leaned on her elbows and stared at him. "Do I know you?"
He didn't even bother looking up. "Not that I know of."
She frowned. "Is there any reason you sat down at my table, other to apparently annoy me?"
The boy sighed and set down his menu and clasping his hands in front of him on the table. "I needed coffee and food before I go back to school. You looked slightly depressed and had the best seat in the entire place." Trud looked at him disbelieving and glanced around them, instantly noticing her table was probably the worst in the entire joint. "Naturally, I decided to grace you with my presence. Therefore I am making your entire day a whole hell of a lot better. No need to thank me," he added with a small smirk before picking his menu back up.
"Someone's a little full of themselves, aren't we?" Trud asked, leaning forward a bit in her seat.
He shrugged, finally setting down his menu with a decision in mind. "I think I'm gonna go with French Toast and extra bacon."
"Good choice," she said, raising her eyebrows and leaned back in her seat.
A silence fell over the two teens as the guy pulled out a cell phone and began texting on it with a frown. She watched him jabbing violently at the keys and wondered who was on the receiving of his texting. Girlfriend? Brother? Friend? She shook her head and looked down at the crumpled piece of paper still held in her fist. With a sigh she began to flatten it out on the table and uncapped the pen once again.
She looked at The Bucket List in frustration. Imogen had given her a limit of ten slots to fill in. That gave her only ten things to do before she died. Ten things to do before she was gone and off the world, permanently. It hadn't sounded that hard when Trud had agreed to it, but as she tried to narrow down all the things she had always said she would do before death came knocking, it was turning out to be a hell of list to finish. It didn't help at all that some nights, she didn't even want to finish the list. Sometimes, things were too real.
Feeling the boy's eyes on her suddenly, Trud looked up from the ticket uncertainly. His eyes were in fact not on her but on the ticket laying wrinkled on the table top. "What?"
The boy frowned and read the title upside down. "The Bucket List?" he said, though not quite making it into a question. He looked up at her with the frown still in place. "What's that? Some kind of weird hobby of yours? Things you gotta put in a bucket when you get home?"
'I wish', she thought before shaking her head slowly. "Not exactly."
He smiled almost uncertainly at her. "I'm not following."
Trud laughed without humor and lowered her head slightly. Did she really need to explain herself to this random guy who had decided to sit down at her table during her lunch break while she was trying to write her Bucket List? Of course not. She let out a sigh and looked back up at the confused boy with a small smile as she brushed away a stray piece of unruly hair. "It's a Bucket List. You know, a list of all the things you wanna do before you 'kick the bucket'?"
The smile instantly disappeared from his face, in its place stood a completely blank face, void of any expression. Trud knew that look, it was the same look that the doctors had on when they first told her of the cancer. It was of someone who wanted to care, but couldn't bring themselves to for whatever reason they might have. She never knew if the blank expressions were better than the ones filled with pity. She was tired of pity. "You're dying?" he asked finally, an edge of anger that surprised her.
"That's what they tell me," she said, lowering her eyes from the intense gaze he had trained on her.
"That's fucked up," the boy said in a low voice and she couldn't help but agree. What teenager earned the right to die young?
She let out a laugh and sighed. "A little bit, yeah."
A waitress came with the boy's food and she gave Trud a wink and a pat on the shoulder before leaving. Trud threw another glare after the woman as the boy allowed a smug smirk to come over his face. She couldn't help but think the smirk looked more at home on his face than anything else she'd seen in the past few minutes.
"Never been ice skating?" he inquired, pointing his fork to the ticket as he accidentally dripped syrup on it. Trud wiped it away with a frown using the edge of the napkin on the table beside her empty plate. The boy gave her an apologetic look as he stuffed a forkful of his cinnamon-less French Toast.
"Just never got around to it," she explained. "I'm not exactly a walking specimen of Grace either."
The boy nodded, smirk still in place as he took another disgustingly large bite of his French Toast. The two sat in silence while she stared at the list in growing frustration and he finished his breakfast. He continued to sit at the table quietly, simply watching Trud until he jumped at the sound of a cheesy ringtone. He rolled his eyes and pulled back out his phone, cursing at the name on the caller ID. He didn't bother to answer it before he started climbing out of the booth.
"I've gotta go," he said, standing up and leaving a handful of bills on the table at which she raised an eyebrow at. There was a pretty good tip stuffed in there. "I'm late for school as it is. What school do you go to? Public?" he asked the question in a rush, taking a slightly amused Trud off guard. He looked down at her expectantly while he pulled a pair of keys out of his jean pockets.
Trud laughed and shook her head, "I'm a drop out. "
"No shit," the boy said with a laugh while looking truthfully surprised. "I didn't take you as the type to drop out."
She shrugged. "Neither did I."
The boy smirked and bent down, reading her name tag carefully. "Well," he paused and gave Trud a raised eyebrow, "Isn't Gertrude an old lady's name?"
"My mom was an old fashioned type of girl," she explained quickly and the boy nodded in understanding.
"Well, Rudy," he emphasized her name as he started walking backwards towards the door. "I fear I must leave you to your own devices," He placed a hand over his heart dramatically, "I know that you, fair lady, are heartbroken at this time, but please don't fret. Know that I shall come back for you one day," he paused, "-eth."
A few of the other patrons seated around them watched on in amusement as the boy gave Trud a final wave before turning on his heel and walked out the front door. She watched him through the large window, a little surprised when he stopped in front of a large black Hummer. He unlocked the door as he pulled out his cell phone and climbed in. A few moments later the boy pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared down the road. She stared out the window for a few moments longer, shook her head, and looked back down at the list before her. She still had a few minutes left of her lunch break anyway.
Comments, reviews, and constructive critism are all welcomed and taken into consideration. Thanks for your support.
Posted: 091208
Original Word Count: 2857
Revised Word Count: 4218