Like bushranger Ned Kelly, I'm a-stealin' for a cause and poking fun at the establishment. It's not a good way to get wealthy therefore props go to artists and authors. I went to a seminar on intellectual property and the collective commons last week, in case anyone's wondering why I'm suddenly concerned about this! Copyright law is weirdly interesting. At least to my strange little mind. Anyhoo, without further delay, here's the 4th chunk of TWCC...

|XI – Dreamworks Studios Presents…| |Jake|
Artist: Conway Twitty
Song: That's My Job (Gary Burr © 1987)

I woke up crying late at night
when I was very young.
I had dreamed my father
had passed away and gone.

My world revolved around him
I couldn't lay there anymore.
So I made my way down the mirrored hall
and tapped upon his door.

And I said "Daddy, I'm so afraid
how will I go on with you gone that way?
Don't wanna cry anymore
so may I stay with you?"

And he said "That's my job,
that's what I do.
Everything I do is because of you,
To keep you safe with me.
That's my job you see."

We're driving along the 101, heading south. The ocean's to our right: big, blue and deceptively calm with a glittering blanket of sunlight over it. On the other side of the road, pines come down to a sheer cliff above us and a rock face meets the gravel shoulder of the north-bound lane.

It's warm and bright. I roll the window down; the air has a promising, fresh tang to it.

I'm in the front because my sisters wanted to finish some magazine quiz together in the back seat. Mostly I stare out over the vast Pacific but sometimes I glance to my left at Mom driving. She catches my eye, smiles, puts her hand on my knee and squeezes. Up ahead the road curves sharply inland and I lose my view of the water.

Instead, I see a dark log truck flying around the turn towards us. It's moving fast but it seems like there's plenty of time for the driver to correct and pass us. Mom pulls her hand off my leg and grabs the wheel tightly while leaning on the horn. The sound is loud but my brain distances itself from the noise and focuses on the truck driver's face. White. Panicked. He has no control over twenty tons of Kenworth.

We swerve right and then the car is airborne. It's a strange, timeless sensation: we're floating and plummeting all in the same frozen moments. I struggle against something, someone is screaming. I'm thrashing, trapped; falling down, down, down and landing on my back with a wooden jerk.

There is a strange, rasping moan. Can't breathe. Can't tell if my eyes are open or closed, it's too dark. Something shakes me. I'm still trapped.

"Jake." I hear a voice from far away.

"Jake, come on, you're ok."

I can suck air into my lungs now. There's silence and I'm being shaken again. "Jake, son, wake up." Silence. Air. The raspy sound repeats. Open eyes.

It wasn't real.

Dad is reaching across me trying to untangle the blankets from around my arms and legs. I pull away so he can't see the tears on my face.

"How'd it happen tonight Jake?" he is careful in how he asks but I know what he means.

"Same as reality, car crash," I mumble into my pillow.

Sometimes I dream Mom gets shot. Sometimes she drowns. Other times she's lost and I search endlessly for her. The end is always the same: she's dead and gone. It's not real but it's the same as reality.

"Oh son," Dad pulls his rough hands through my hair and sits heavily on the bed beside me. "You can cry in front of me, it's ok."

I don't say anything. It's not ok. I'll be thirteen in three months. Teenagers don't cry. I can't remember the last time I saw any of my friends cry.

Eventually Dad leans down and kisses the back of my head. He switches the lamp off and I hear him get up and limp to the door. Just before he leaves he says "She didn't go because she wanted to, Jake."

xxx

This time there are two bodies.

I'm walking to Quil's house when I find the corpses are lying in the middle of the road. They're perfect but pale and still, eyes wide.

One gets up and drifts over to where I'm stuck, unable to run away or scream for help. It's Mom. She moves past without seeing me. She looks as airless as my lungs feel as she passes to the forest where the trees swallow her.

The other body rises more slowly, it is heavier and less graceful. It comes to halt in front of me. It's Dad. His blank eyes lock with mine and he tilts his head gradually to one side as if assessing my paralysed state. "We left because we wanted to, Jake," he says in a disinterested monotone and then he evaporates.

For the second time in the night I wake up shaking and cold, sweating and terrified. At least I didn't scream this time. I get up and head to the bathroom for a glass of water. I stop outside Dad's room. It can't hurt to check. Cracking the door, I look in. He's sleeping on one side, I can just make out his shoulders in the dark.

I stand in the doorway listening to Dad's breathing for so long that my feet go cold. Making my way into the room as quietly as I can, I sit on the rocking chair with my legs curled under me. Dad once told me this was the chair where Mom nursed us as babies during the night. The wood feels smooth and oddly warm.

xxx

A sharp pain in my neck wakes me. It's light outside and Dad's bed is empty. Feeling sheepish, I go back to my own room, dress and head to the kitchen.

Waffles greet me. My sisters must have made them. Sleepily I realise they're nowhere to be seen and then remember it's Sunday morning and they spent last night at Leah's. Dad pulls himself up and shuffles over. He hugs me so hard I nearly have to tell him it hurts.

"How'd you know how to make these, old man?" I ask once he lets go.

"Got a few tricks up my sleeve. Like being able to read a recipe book." He nods to the counter. I see Mom's old Joy of Cooking sitting next to the waffle iron.

"Oh," is all I can spit out.

Dad smiles a brave smile. "Go easy on the syrup, Jake. Don't want you ending up diabetic like me," he says.

A/N – Conway Twitty's real name was Harold Lloyd Jenkins. There's debate about how he ended up with his stage name. Some say he felt his real name wasn't cool enough so he looked at a map and saw Conway, Arkansas and Twitty, Texas. Others say his manager suggested he 'borrow' the name from a real man named W. Conway Twitty, Jr. All we know is that he had the most number one singles of any kind with 55 Billboard Country hits until 2006 when another country star, George Strait, broke the record. (How was my Jeremy Clarkson Stig-esque intro? Bet you never knew a fanmix could include so many references to unrelated crap!)

|XII – A New Life| |Rebecca|
Artist: Johnny Chester
Song: I Love You So Rebecca (Chester © 1979)

'Cause I love you so, Rebecca
My-y heart's aglow, Rebecca
And so you know, Rebecca
I'll tell you each and every day
Right by your side, Rebecca
My-y love won't hide, Rebecca
Or be kept inside, Rebecca
I want the world to see

Now I look into your eyes, once again I'm hypnotised
I can hardly hear the words the preacher's sayin'
Then I hear you say I do, as I pledge my love to you
Oh I know you are the answer to all my pray-ayin'
In your gown of satin lace, as the veil falls from your face
The kiss we share shows how our life will be
Oh Rebecca, you taught me how to live
You had some lovin' you had to give
And I'm so glad you gave it all to me

Dad,

I'd have mailed you a copy of the wedding invitation for your family scrapbook but we didn't have time to get any printed. Hopefully by now you'll have seen the photos Rachel brought back with her. We had beautiful weather, but then this is Hawaii so it's almost always perfect!

I know you're probably mad at me or disappointed but I won't apologise for falling in love with someone. I saw what you and Mom had and always wanted the same for myself.

Solomon says hi. He picked this card – it's Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of lightning, dance, fire and volcanoes. His family says I make them think of her. There's no higher compliment in their culture. Solomon's really looking forward to meeting you and swapping stories. He's a great man Dad, I hope you can see him for that. I promise we'll get some nice invitations for the ceremony in La Push!

Love you, Bec

A/N – the local country station plays this song by Aussie singer Chester nearly every night at the same time, 10pm. No idea why! It's uber tacky so of course I couldn't resist it. Because I don't really agree with Rebecca eloping (for a lot of reasons that I won't get into here) I wasn't going to include it in this story but the song sort of made me do it! If in doubt, always blame the music! I'd like to think that if they did get married at least Solomon'd be a good bloke and love Bec. Go see the postcard I found for this too - it's at http : / / pics (dot) livejournal (dot) com/ kirstyvega/ pic/ 0000703c/g11

|XIII – Grown Up| |Renee|
Artist: Martina McBride
Song: Teenage Daughters (McBride, Brad Warren, Brett Warren © 2011)

I ain't complainin'
But I'm tired, so I'm just sayin'
What I think
And if we're being honest
Then honestly I think I need a drink

My baby's growin' up
She thinks she's fallin' all in love
And that I hate her
At seventeen, she's just like me when I was seventeen
So I don't blame her

My daughter twirls aimlessly on the kitchen barstool. She's done it since she was little so she falls off less now than she used to. I still can't believe she's not little anymore.

"Charlie said Rebecca Black got married this summer."

"What? Shoot - yuck, now I've made a mess. Don't tell me disastrous things like that while I'm employing fine motor skills, Bella." The cake for Phil's thirty-fifth is just going to have to have two baseballs on it. There's no way I can get rid of the extra blue dot of icing I dropped on it in my surprise. Regardless, I'm pretty proud of my effort, the cake decorating classes paid off.

Looking at Bella I see she's thoughtful in a dreamy sort of way. "That's terrible news, honey," I tell her. "Rebecca can't be much older than you."

Bella frowns at me. I have noticed she does that a lot lately.

"You ought to know how old the twins are, Mom. You went to their naming ceremony with Charlie. I've seen the photos. Jake showed me. And besides, I think it's romantic. Rebecca found someone she loved and couldn't bear to be separated from him."

Bella seems determined to remind me about that part of my life I try to forget. Of course, it resulted in her so it's wasn't all bad. But I'm still very much against early marriage though and she needs to know that.

"I can't remember everything Bella. It was a long time ago." I pray she doesn't see the lameness in my statement. I should know better – all teenagers have highly sensitive built-in lameness detectors. Even Bella.

"Ok," is all she says. I'm suspicious.

My daughter twirls on the stool again and then eats some icing off the bench top. "Don't be getting any ideas Bella. You don't know yourself until you're at least twenty five – "

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Mom. Commit to yourself first. Live your own life. Share it later when you know what you have to offer. No kids before thirty. Got it."

I can't criticise Bella for aptly summarising my thoughts on relationships. "Yes, you got it, girl," I tell her instead. Reaffirmation is an important parenting skill.

I expect some kind of protest but instead there's silence. Another twirl and then she says blandly "I think I should go live with Charlie after Christmas."

I drop a spoon. Luckily it misses the cake. "What? No, Bella, why honey? You know we both love you, you can stay here with me while Phil plays the spring exhibition games then we can all go on the road over the summer." We've talked about this. It's the compromise that keeps everyone happy.

"I talked to Charlie about it last week. He's happy to have me. He's getting the high school to send transfer papers for you to sign for next semester."

I don't know what to say so I busy my hands cleaning icing off the pipetting set. It would seem Bella's mind is already made up. I don't get consulted, only told. It's always been like this: ever since Bella was a child she and Charlie would organise what weeks or months she was visiting him and then they'd tell me. Somewhere along the line I got left out of their loop and I don't know why.

I look at my daughter who gives the stool one last twirl and then stands up to go. I know I won't change her stubborn mind but I still don't understand why she's going like this. Then something occurs to me.

"It's not about a boy is it Bella? You didn't meet someone in Forks last summer who you haven't told me about? You haven't got ideas from Rebecca, have you? No plans to elope with Jake or anyone else?"

"Geez Mom, NO! Jake's not even fifteen, that's gross. I just want you and Phil to be able to do your thing. And I want to spend some more time with Charlie. Ok?"

I have no choice but to agree. Bella's always had all these logical arguments I can't compete with. I go for the old positive reaffirmation trick. "Ok sweetie, it's your decision. But the deadlines have just been pushed back – no marrying until you're sixty and no boyfriends until you're thirty!"

"I have homework to do, Mom." I can hear the eye roll in her voice as she walks up the stairs.