Author's Note: For inspiration, my background music is "Arwen's Song" from the OST of Lord of the Rings. It also helped that the photos in the video were all of Arwen, so she's the older version of Susan that I pictured. Hope you like this chappie.
I was also trying to picture how an English person would think of the American society. So, I don't intend to offend anyone by what I've written. I may not have it correct. Just a story, mind you. Saying sorry in advance if I accidently do offend anyone.
Cheers!
Chapter 10
My hair had grown, the tips brushing against my hips. I stared at my reflection, the lipstick poised, about to press upon my lips when Lucy burst into my room.
"Susan! Jill and Eustace are downstairs. Isn't that nice? After five years, they've come to visit. They're talking about Narnia!"
I looked at her winded form through the mirror. I rolled my eyes and gave her a look.
"Honestly, Lu, it's not ladylike to be running around the house and shouting like a madwoman," I placed the lipstick down on my dresser and turned to face her.
"I thought you'd ought to know," she quieted down, her brows furrowing. She looked at me and came closer, then let out a snort. "Is this what you've been up to while in America?" she picked at my skirt, raising a brow at my nylons.
"What? It's the fashion, Lu," I faced the mirror again, lifting my hair up from my back, piling it up on my head and thinking. "I think I should cut my hair, or perm it… something that's up to date, not these boring locks," I let my hair cascade down my back, sighing. "I'll talk to Mum," I nodded.
"But your hair's beautiful," Lucy stroked my locks, running her fingers through it. "Why don't you plait and braid it like you used to before?"
"Before?" I caught her eye in the reflection.
"Back in Narnia, when we'd go hunting or riding. Your hair was always in a complicated coif. Even when it was down, it was beautiful. Minstrels sang about your hair," she smiled.
"Well, they don't sing about hair here unless it's a shampoo commercial," I stood up and went to the closet.
"Don't you want to hear what Jill and Eustace saw in Narnia? They're downstairs. They saved Rillian, Caspian's son from the Green Witch and –"
"That's enough, Lucy," I glared at her. She stepped back, startled. "I don't want to hear anything about that place, or whatever king's on the throne, or what color witch is taking over," I violently started grabbing clothes off their hangers, frustrated.
"What's wrong?" Lucy asked, sounding hurt. "I thought you loved Narnia…"
"Right now, I have to find a dress that people at Aldo's ball won't laugh at," I shook the white dress I was holding. "Mum won't let me buy a new dress so I have to make do with her old junk. Agh!" I threw the dress on the bed. "Not being able to fit into the right crowds is like committing social suicide. So please, don't talk to me about childish fairytales and talking lions…where's that invitation?" I crouched on the floor, looking under my bed. I saw the sparkle of gold, the foil-seal of the card. I reached out to grab it.
"You're horrible!" cried Lucy, the tears competing with her voice. I sat up on my haunches and looked at her.
"You want to know what's horrible?" I raised a brow at her, getting up on my feet. "Coming back from America, hoping to find a family who'll welcome me back and wonder how my college years there were. But no, everyone's still raving about fantasy-land Narnia and not once did you ask if I was fine there! Thank goodness for these invitations; the beach parties there are nothing compared to the stuffy old balls they hold here, but at least there are boys," I scoffed, marching into my closet. I heard Lucy's sobs increase, then her feet stomping out of my room, slamming the door behind her. I let out a pent up breath and sank to the floor.
I hadn't meant to be harsh. It just came out.
Five years ago Mum, Dad, and I left for America. It was supposed to be a vacation. Peter was with Professor Kirk studying medicine. Ed and Lu couldn't come because their term would open before the vacation had finished, so they were arranged to stay with our cousins, the Scrubbs.
While in America, I found a university that taught a course I liked and convinced Mum and Dad that I would stay with Uncle Henry and Aunt Fauna. They had agreed.
It was hard to fit in. Though I understood the words and language in school, American English was vastly different from British English. Miscommunication led to conflicts, arguments, and that led me to be alone most of the time. Many times I had cried myself to sleep. Many times had I picked up the pen, to tell my parents that I wanted to return to England, but one thing always stayed my hand: pride.
If I gave up, that would mean I lost. I had sounded so confident and full of conviction when convincing Mum and Dad I wanted to study there. I wasn't going to lose.
Another reason I wanted to study there was so I could be "out of Peter's shadow," so to speak. He, always acting high and mighty as if he were some high king on this side of the wardrobe. I hated it whenever he spoke down to me as if I wasn't just a year younger than he was.
Another was Ed and Lu. Their constant chatter and talk about Narnia was enough to send me to the gardens for solitude. I didn't want to hear anything about Narnia, because that would only remind of someone I could never have.
Lu mentioning his name just tipped me over the edge. I hadn't meant to burst out on her, but the surprise and shock was too strong for me to contain myself.
Caspian.
Rillian. Oh what a message. Ramandu's Daughter had wanted me to tell Caspian to call his son Rillian. That was the worst offense I had ever felt: informing the man I loved and wanted to be with to name his future son with another woman Rillian.
Also knowing that I would never enter Narnia again. It was final. The end.
That's why I wanted to forget about Narnia. I wasn't going back anymore. I was just a queen in the history books now. Why pine and hope for something that was already sentenced to never be yours again? For all I knew, Caspian could be an old grandfather the minute I stepped back on earth. Narnian years do that.
I shook my head, prying myself out of my thoughts. I had to get dressed.
An hour later, I was ready, descending the stairs. I braced myself: I'd have to pass through the living room to get to the front door.
"Susan! Why don't you join us?" called Jill. They all turned to face me. I felt like a spotlight was on me. I didn't need to look at Lucy to see her hurt expression.
"I must decline, children, I have a ball to attend," I brought the invitation up and showed them.
"Children? Since when did you become as old as Mum?" joked Peter. I just rolled my eyes and proceeded to the front door.
"We're talking about Narnia," Eustace said excitedly. That made me stop.
When I cried out for Aslan when I wanted a comforting voice in my dark dorm in America, where was he? Not even a single kindly dream or message to console me. And what has the name Caspian ever done for me during my college years? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! So don't expect me to come running back into Narnia with arms wide open. Narnia has failed me, therefore DOESN'T EXIST TO ME!
My thoughts jumbled forth in my mind, but I kept my calm, even though all I wanted to do was shout at the five sitting happily in the living room discussing fantasies and talking beasts. No, I'd handle this like an adult. I'd do what my American friends taught me to do: laugh it off.
"Dear me, children, are we talking of a game?" I checked my reflection, fluffing my hair. I looked at the five, them staring at me like I had grown two heads. Perhaps I did. "Well, just make sure it won't go beyond your bedtimes." I pulled the door open, but not before I heard snippets of their conversation.
"What happened to her in America?" Jill sounded disgusted.
"Apparently," replied Ed in the same tone, "she grew up. A proper grown up indeed."
I quietly closed the door. Derek was waiting by a cab he had hailed. He held out an arm to me, and I accepted it, helping me into the cab.
"Ready for a night of dancing and swinging?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows up and down at me. I let out a forced smile and nodded.
"Absolutely," I said in the practiced way of sounding enthusiastic when really all I wanted to do was vomit. As the cab pulled away from the curb, the London scene played out before me.
Beach parties. I had loved them because I could go barefoot, run in the surf, enjoy the sunset, the way I had at Cair Paravel. But I had hated those beach parties, too. Because each time I looked up at the star-studded west-coast skies, I could not read the stars. These stars were alien, didn't dance, nor tell stories. Only pictures of mythological characters that were as real as a mirage. But then again I loved those stars.
Because none of them were Ramandu's Daughter.