Welcome back. I know people want dialog and are wishing to get to know Bella better and I promise as the story goes alot more will happen. Believe it or not you are learning about Bella. Ask yourself why someone watches instead of participates. See what I'm getting at.
Well this chapter was again kicked back from being beta'd. I guess my punctuation sucks...lol..sorry I'm not a comma freak. I'm trying to learn all these rules about puntuation. So if you see a mistake let me know. I appreciate it. I also do not want to keep you waiting.
Thank you aiden28 for your review. It's reviews that make me want to publish the story faster. I hoped you enjoyed the teaser I sent you for this chapter. Oh yeah...If you review I will try to send you a teaser of the next chapter. Just bits and pieces.
(new update: This chapter was finally accepted and returned from ProjectTeamBeta. Yayaya Thank you so much StoryPainter and Batgirl. You are great. You didn't make me feel stupid and your advice was great. I'm sorry if it was tourture going through all my mistakes but I am taking your advice. I'm reading all the links you sent me. I'm trying I promise! Enough of that and on with the chapter. posting update Beta'd version.)
Chapter 3: Gallery Sunday/Charlie Monday
It's9:00 pmon Saturday night as I tap the send key on my laptop, my email now sent. There is nothing special or different about tonight; same as always. This weekend's photos have been sorted, manipulated, and engineered into works of art. The results are being developed at the photo-shop as I leave the computer. Tomorrow will be here soon enough, so I head for the shower and then to bed.
As usual, sleep doesn't come easily. I think about the new family, the park, and how it all looks through the lens. Two consecutive days tell me they will be back. I wonder if life for them seems as perfect as it seemed to me. Something tells me it is very close.
Sunday starts the same, a loud buzzing sound and a flashing light. It's not that I need to be woken up; the sound is just a reminder to get out of bed. I've been awake for almost an hour now. Today feels like a beginning, exciting, so I dress in green, and get ready for the rest of my day.
On my way to the park, I stop for coffee. I wish I could hide in a corner and take more pictures, but it's too busy; someone would notice. So, I take a few mental photos before I head to my mailbox and finish my journey to the park.
I like the fact that I can access my mailbox seven days a week. Did you know that it is a rare thing for people to stop and get their mail on Sundays? My artwork and papers from Jessica are sent here instead of my apartment. That's why I rented a P.O. Box in the first place.
By11:30I'm on the hill under the trees, watching the day's events unfold. Jessica Stanley has done an outstanding job, as usual, of setting up the gallery. Frames, ropes, and her desk complete the makeshift gallery.
Each photo has been placed in specially designed frames, standing five and a half feet tall after they are rooted in the green turf. The displays are made of rod-iron and the frames themselves are edged with metal ribbons and black scrolls. Below the photos are statements or questions regarding each altered photo above. The average size of the photos are 8x10, the statements or questions are 5x7, and the bottom photo on the display is a 3x5 of the original photo, before it was engineered into an un-recognizable piece of art.
It's almost2:00 pmbefore I stroll through the gallery myself. I consider heading home because the new family has not shown and I really want to see their reaction to the gallery.
Due to little sleep last night, I'm having a hard time concentrating. If I turn in early and I'm lucky, maybe I can get a full night of sleep tonight.
As I glance around, preparing to leave, I notice something that halts my departure. They are entering the park, and (from what they are carrying, how they are acting), it appears as though they are planning to stay a while.
The chestnut colored haired woman directs the children towards the playground. She keeps glancing over her shoulder with a curious look. Slowly, the men join the children at the playground with odd looks on their faces. I've seen surprise, wonder, and confusion, on many faces as they look at the gallery. You don't see a gallery like this everyday.
The blonde woman and the pixie stay with the chestnut haired woman. The women edge closer to the gallery, contemplating the sight. I consider the art before me as well, rather than continue to stare at the group. I continue to listen for them as they approach.
A gasp from behind me forces me to turn slightly towards the sound to watch. The pixie is grasping her necklace as she looks up and down the displays. The woman next to her is still looking at the 8x10 photo. The blonde woman is just standing there, annoyed, not really paying attention.
"I know, Alice. It is beautiful," the chestnut-haired women reply.
"No…Yes, it is beautiful, Esme," Alice states sounding awed while pointing to the lower picture.
The blond woman looks at the photo that Alice is pointing out. It's the photo of Rosalie running on the path as she listens to whatever is on her MP3 player. The 8x10 photo is just an ear with earrings in the shapes of R's and ear buds from her player. The caption reads, "What song inspires the soul?"
"What? When?" Rosalie asks and both her voice and her posture are tense. From where I'm standing, Rosalie looks… uncomfortable and nervous. I look away, worried that I might have offended Rosalie. I hold my breath until they continue their conversation.
"Rosalie, calm down. I'm sure it's okay. Let me figure out what is going on before we jump to conclusions," Esme replies as she rubs Rosalie's arm.
Without moving her eyes from the photo, Alice says, "Why don't you go over to the boys?"
Rosalie's frame is tense and her face is cold as she walks away from the gallery. My heart pounds with disappointment. My eyes almost form tears, but I fight them back blinking rapidly. I want my art to make you think about your life, not make you indifferent.
Esme's voice is low, sweet, and full of emotion, as she reaches her hand towards the photo. "These are beautiful…aren't they?" I hear from beside me. For just a second, I'm not surprised I lost my focus (thinking about Rosalie's reaction) as I turn towards the voice. Alice is next to me with Esme behind her. I don't want to draw attention so I look back to the art before me as well.
I nod as I speak "Yes they are!" I return my gaze back to the art and pictures in front of me.
It is the photo of Esme's family when they waved their welcome on Friday night. I feel the betrayal of emotion in my voice. I concentrate on the artwork and not the photo.
"Jazz, come over here," Alice says, raising her voice. She waves to the blond man, motioning him to come over. I move further into the background. I commit his name, Jazz, to memory.
"Look at this one," Alice exclaims. The art displays nothing but hands; the caption says "Hello" and the picture is of the family waving to Esme.
"I remember thinking I wished I had a camera when you were all sitting there at the table. I must have stood there watching for five minutes, trying to take it all in." Esme voiced was just above a whisper.
Jazz looks at the picture and wraps his arms around Alice's shoulders. His gaze is intense as he views the picture. He looks over to the picnic tables and then back to the picture. You can almost see the wheels turning behind his head. He looks around and his eyes narrow. He stares at the hill and he knows where I sat (taking pictures) Friday night. I drift over to the next display of artwork before he notices me watching. Slowly I make my way through the displays, down the path towards the parking lot.
From the distance, I watch for a few more minutes.
The bronze-haired man I call Copper joins Esme, while Jazz and Alice depart, returning to the rest of the family. I watch them as the small ball of energy with curly black hair bounces to them. Jazz captures the child with his hands, then tosses the child onto his shoulders just before arriving at the picnic table.
Jessica is writing in her log book, hopefully to let me know what is said. Esme and Copper are sitting with her
It is time for me to leave the park. If I stay, I might not remain anonymous.
~~~~TTL~~~~
Monday
I walk through the doors at work excited to see Charlie and meet Angela at the front desk. Angela is quiet as she addresses me.
"Bella, he's been waiting for you!" she says looking down the hall that is lined with doors on both sides.
"Good. I have some great pictures for him this morning, Angela," I reply, lifting up my bag so that she could see. "How was he this weekend?" I head down the hall after she lets me know Charlie was fine.
"You know how he is, Bella!" she giggles, "He was fine, a little bossy maybe, but he's always bossy."
Charlie was shot while on duty almost 3 years ago. The doctor that preformed his surgery didn't feel comfortable, at the time, to remove one of the bullets lodged under the skull plate.
Since then, Charlie's memories are tossed around and vary from day-to-day, like pulling laundry out of a washing machine, everything twisted together. Only Charlie's memories cannot be pulled apart.
The way the bullet is lodged inside of Charlie's head not only affects his memories, it also impaired his motor function. Some days, his motor skills are so impaired that he has to use a walker to move around. On the bad days, the nerves are sending the messages to the wrong part of his body. He tries to take a step and his arm reaches out instead.
"Knock, Knock."
"No, I don't want any more water. No, I don't want to take a shower. No, I don't want to get dressed unless it's to go fishing."
The yelling tells me someone is not in a good mood. He must not have slept well last night. This is the only reason why I hate Mondays. I hate Fridays because I don't get to see Charlie for the next two days.
"Good morning, Charlie. I have something for you," I announce as I enter his room.
"Morning, You. I must be blessed this morning to have such a beautiful nurse coming to visit me." I look into Charlie's eyes but it's no use. There is nothing he does that gives me hope that he recognizes me today. Those days are rare and far between.
"Did my daughter drop something off for me already this morning?" Charlie is excited.
Slowly, Charlie and I look through the pages of photos. I want him to remember everything the way I do. After we're done, Charlie's comment makes my heart drop (or hurt) a little because it's evident that he doesn't.
"I don't know how my daughter found all these old pictures, but I'm glad that she did. I wish she had the time to look at them with me," or "I hope when my daughter grows up that she is as beautiful and as kind as you are. Maybe I'll teach her how to take pictures like this someday," or "I hope when my daughter grows up she is just like you. Maybe she will even grow up to be a nurse."
You would think I would be sad and you would be right. But I've gotten use to it, mostly. I lie to myself instead, thinking somewhere in that brain of his, he knows who I am. He knows that I am his daughter.
"Oh yeah… Can you tell my daughter that I love her when she comes to pick up the book? I know how busy she is," Charlie says just as I shut the door. I smile to myself thinking, not as busy as you think, Dad, and force myself to think about my day and what I have to do next.
Charlie bought me my first camera when I was seven. Charlie and Renee, my mom, thought that would be a great way of capturing memories that I could always go back and look at in the future to remember my friends, the fun we had, and things like that. And it grew from there. I'm glad that I took all the pictures that I did.
I continued to take photos during my college years, as I pursued my degree in Applied Science. Once I finally talked Charlie into using my old computer at home, I had the ability to share my day-to-day life with him and he had to learn to share his.
Dad even went out and upgraded his cell phone with one that had a camera. I laughed so hard I actually cried the first time he sent me a picture, even though he wasn't the one that had taken it.
Gerri, the woman who sold my dad his cell phone sent me the first photo. There was my dad sitting at a desk in the cell phone store learning how to get pictures off his phone and onto the computer so that he could email it to me. He looked so frustrated and he had both hands in his hair. It looked somewhat painful. His face was red but he didn't give up.
I didn't get many from my dad, but the ones I did get where awesome. He sent me a picture of my friends Jacob, Seth, Paul, Jarod, and Sam. They were all dressed up as Indians for Founder's Day. I knew my dad was crafty when he actually got my old principal to pose in handcuffs next to his police cruiser. Mr. Casey wasn't very happy when I posted it to my Facebook page but what was he going to do, suspend me?
Yes, my life can get lonely. Between work, Charlie, and the amount of time I use to take pictures, not many men would put up with the schedule. So now, a relationship is so far down my list of priorities, I don't even think about it. Would it be nice to go home to a warm body and be able to tell someone about my day? Well duh, yes it would. Is it a necessity? No, not now. Charlie is my priority right now and has been for the last 3 years.
Maybe this weekend I will go to Forks, and see if I can find one of Mom's old photo albums.
Rec: My Escort by Bratty-Vamp /s/5394790/ I hope you enjoy that one I did.
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