Author's Note: Thank you again to my reviewers! I can't wait to get
the next installments in, including Oxford's libraries and, of course, the
Eagle and Child Tavern. Now with an appearance of Edith!
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Chapter 4: Deeper Hatred for Tolkien
I looked over the biography nearly four times in a sitting. This was including skimming over the pages and speed reading the parts that I didn't. I took notes on the paper in front of me, scribbling down messy writing of places Tolkien lived, where he was born, everything. I was halfway through my notepad when the phone rang. It was mother, who was wondering if everything was alright with me. I assured her my life hadn't changed. She didn't care whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I didn't care if she did. My mother and I never got along very well.
I looked at the book again, and discovered several places I could look for around England. First, there was obviously Oxford. That depended on me getting time off work to take a day trip. Then there was the other places, like the Eagle and Child Tavern, a favourite place for Tolkien and his fellow writers to go. CS Lewis and he would talk about their own individual fantasy worlds there in the back room. I grabbed the phone and called in a few favours, getting the address before I could even think about saying thank you. Naturally Edith had it. She also owns the biography and (quote) "Would have let you borrow it if you weren't so damn impulsive" (end quote.) Impulsive? She was the one who saw the film 4 times within 2 weeks! And we're talking about being impulsive?
Everywhere I wanted to go was in the Oxford area. Great, another step back in the life of Delaney. She can't even write an article properly. I felt like a moron. I'm writing an article on demand by a man who claims he's been to Middle Earth twice. It could be worse, I thought maliciously. I could be writing this damn thing for my father.
I looked at Tobias's number again, then at my clock. 9:30. Should I call him? He did tell me to call him. Please. I heard bitch-Delaney in the back of my mind. You don't have to call him. Write a few lines and shove the stupid thing in the Classifieds. I shook my head and grabbed the biography book again. No way, I thought. I can be mean, but I'm not that mean. I flipped through the pages of the book, finding where I left off and opened it up to full, hearing the spine crack from it's new-ness. My father tried to tell me and my sisters never to do that. I think it was the young fascination we had with it. Anytime he bought us a new book, we'd do it just to make him cringe and go berserk. It was funny to see my dad angry rather then scary. He was that tame anger, the kind that last for a moment and then becomes humour.
I reached unconsciously for the keys in my pocket, giving up and yanking my hand out. I set the book on the table and rubbed my eyes, still anrgy at the fact that I had access to that damn library and I wouldn't even go in. I made up my mind. Getting to my feet I stomped across the floor and reached for the library door handle. I pulled my keyring out of my pokcet and was about to finally open the only locked door in my house when the phone rang.
"Yes?" I answered as a true reporter. The voice coughed on the other line.
"Is Delaney Marks there please?" Tobias, I thought, trying not to laugh. I prepared to respond.
"Speaking." I replied. He sighed in relief it seemed. I still couldn't wipe the smile off my face, and it was growing wider. He coughed a little.
"Do you know how hard it is to find your number in the phone book?" He demanded. I pulled my key out of the lack and walked back to the living room. "There are 17 Marks and get this, you're the last one on the list!" I had to laugh. He didn't find it funny. "So what are you up to? Have you figured out where to start?"
Okay, pause for a moment. He's the one who's wanting this article, not me. Still, there was a part of me that wanted to tell him I had everything under control and that I wouldn't be requiring his assitance. But then this big bolt of lightning struck my head and reminded me, naturally, that I did not have the criteria, in this case it being: A) Having read the books within the last 24 hours. B) Knowing any facts about Tolkien. And of course C) Having any interest in what I was writing. Still, I thought. What would it hurt to lie.
"No." I said, and slapped myself mentally. NO!? You told him the truth. Now you've basically said, "Yes! I can't wait to see you again. Come by my office and we'll have tea and crumpets!" I went back to the real world, and my phone conversation. "I have a couple of places I want to check out...but I can do that on my own. I need you to write me up everything you saw while you were in Middle Earth." I said the words 'Middle Earth' with a heavy amount of skeptism in my voice. I think he noticed that. It would take a moron with the brain functions of a rock not to.
"You really don't believe in this stuff do you?" He asked me again, probably to make sure I was listening. I shook my head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see me.
"No. I don't." I admitted very flatly. "I believe in what I can see and smell and taste and touch...not what's written between the covers of a book." My eyes drifted back to the mantle, where I glared at what my father had considered the Bibles. "I can't see how this article is going to convince anyone that Middle Earth is real."
"I don't want to convince them." He said, also very up front. "I want them to know that it's here. I want the world of other people who believed Tolkien to know that he was right."
"Or that he was dropping acid. You know Stephen King did drugs throughout his whole career and you don't see anyone running up and down the streets screaming about Cujo or Carrie." I had hit a nerve, because Tobias had sighed with one of those child-like sighs where the kid doesn't get what he wants and wants to make the parents feel sorry for him. It was working. My stomach was doing that weird thing it does when someone tries to guilt me into doing something, like Edith when she wanted to dress up like Gandalf for Hallowe'en so she could be Aragorn and we could go together. I did it in the end.
"I hold a lot of respect for Tolkien....even if YOU don't." Ouch, I thought. That actually hurt, and I'm not sure why. He sighed again. "What does it matter anyways. You still have to write the article. Where are you headed?" I looked at my notes again.
"Oxford." I said, looking over the locations. "I want to check out the University and the Eagle and Child Tavern for information on Tolkien." He nodded, and "hmmed", making it easy for me to understand his actions. I listened for him to say something, and after a moment, I continued. "You're welcome to come if you want."
"No, it's alright but I have to work tomorrow." He replied. "I'd love to."
"Where do you work?" I asked him.
"Coffee shop." He said, slightly ashamed. "But I'm working my way through University. I wanna become a writer." Weird, I thought, seeing this whole other side to the insane man who just jumped into my office the day before. I smiled.
"Alright, well I have to give a call to my travel buddy. I'll talk to you later." He gave another one syllable sound and we hung up. I set my phone on the table. There's only one person I could think of who would enjoy a trip to Oxford to study Tolkien. One person who wasn't Tobias.
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I knocked again on Edith's front door. It figured the woman would have painted it green. I also took care to notice the bright brass knob in the very center of it. I may not have read the books in a long time, but I did know that the beginning of the Hobbit virtually describes this door, right down to it's beautiful yet very odd green shade.
Edith's house was beautiful, somewhere outside of London with a woods in the backyard and a beautiful garden. She loved her garden. She grew tealeaves and had become over the years that cliche woman who loves flowers and grows them all day long without anything better to do except read and watch The Lord of the Rings and, naturally, pester me. I knocked again, looking back down the gravel path to my car in the driveway, as if checking to make sure it was still there. I could hear Cougar jumping at the door and barking loudly. Cougar is her Great Dane, is twice the size of Edith and myself. He could literally kill me if he jumped on me, and nearly had on several occasions. He is absolutely huge. I could hear Edith pulling him away from the door and sending him into the living room. I finally heard the door unlock and the doorknob in the very center of the nearly circular door was finally opened.
"Lane!" She says, smiling. I look down. Edith is an unnaturally short/vertically challenged person with extraordinarily boyant hair. We call it boyant because when she sits down in a pool and her hair is dry, it litterly puffs out and keeps her above water. She had blue eyes that have an uncanny habit of changing colours due to her mood or the light reflecting off them, depending which, and is still very short. I have to bend down sligthly to hug her, me being almost 6 inches taller then her, without heels. I scolded myself for wearing my four inch ones that day. I was nearly a foot over her height. "Sorry I'm not quite ready yet. I couldn't find a thing to wear." She ushered me in. I swear, Edith could pass for a Hobbit. Quite litterally if you looked at her in front of her house from a distance, you would honestly mistake her for a Hobbit. I was afraid to introduce her to Tobias. He might believe he's back in Middle Earth.
"What just a moment and I'll get my coat. Then we can be off." She shut the giant round door and walked back inside, going into the kitchen. I looked around her foyer. Her house is all hardwood, and the walls are covered with drawings and paintings she'd done. Edith works as an Artist. She had an exhibition the following week in Tokyo. I looked over on the wall to my left and saw, naturally, her favourite painting. It's the one, I believe of Middle Earth. She painted the map and at certain main points, painted in the locations. She had the Shire finished and the Two Towers, as well as Lothlorien, Rivendell, and naturally Mirkwood. I glanced into the den, where she keeps her prized possessions. Over the desk there hangs the swords from the books. I could only name one, Sting, and the others were unnamed from my years as an unexperienced Tolkien reader. She also had on a pedestal in a silken cloth the replicas of the Shards of Narsil, another of her prized possessions. I notices the books on her mantle. This doesn't surprise me. Edith has another set of them upstairs in her room, and another set in the guest bedroom.
She walked back into the foyer in her black jacket and looks at me spacing out for a moment, or at least I think she did. I was looking at the picture over her fireplace, the one of the Eye of Sauron she did for the exhibition last year. She shook me, I knew that. "You alright?" She asked. I nodded and took my car keys.
"Let's go." I said, hating Edith's house suddenly. She and I walked out the door.
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R&R PLEASE AND THANKS!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 4: Deeper Hatred for Tolkien
I looked over the biography nearly four times in a sitting. This was including skimming over the pages and speed reading the parts that I didn't. I took notes on the paper in front of me, scribbling down messy writing of places Tolkien lived, where he was born, everything. I was halfway through my notepad when the phone rang. It was mother, who was wondering if everything was alright with me. I assured her my life hadn't changed. She didn't care whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I didn't care if she did. My mother and I never got along very well.
I looked at the book again, and discovered several places I could look for around England. First, there was obviously Oxford. That depended on me getting time off work to take a day trip. Then there was the other places, like the Eagle and Child Tavern, a favourite place for Tolkien and his fellow writers to go. CS Lewis and he would talk about their own individual fantasy worlds there in the back room. I grabbed the phone and called in a few favours, getting the address before I could even think about saying thank you. Naturally Edith had it. She also owns the biography and (quote) "Would have let you borrow it if you weren't so damn impulsive" (end quote.) Impulsive? She was the one who saw the film 4 times within 2 weeks! And we're talking about being impulsive?
Everywhere I wanted to go was in the Oxford area. Great, another step back in the life of Delaney. She can't even write an article properly. I felt like a moron. I'm writing an article on demand by a man who claims he's been to Middle Earth twice. It could be worse, I thought maliciously. I could be writing this damn thing for my father.
I looked at Tobias's number again, then at my clock. 9:30. Should I call him? He did tell me to call him. Please. I heard bitch-Delaney in the back of my mind. You don't have to call him. Write a few lines and shove the stupid thing in the Classifieds. I shook my head and grabbed the biography book again. No way, I thought. I can be mean, but I'm not that mean. I flipped through the pages of the book, finding where I left off and opened it up to full, hearing the spine crack from it's new-ness. My father tried to tell me and my sisters never to do that. I think it was the young fascination we had with it. Anytime he bought us a new book, we'd do it just to make him cringe and go berserk. It was funny to see my dad angry rather then scary. He was that tame anger, the kind that last for a moment and then becomes humour.
I reached unconsciously for the keys in my pocket, giving up and yanking my hand out. I set the book on the table and rubbed my eyes, still anrgy at the fact that I had access to that damn library and I wouldn't even go in. I made up my mind. Getting to my feet I stomped across the floor and reached for the library door handle. I pulled my keyring out of my pokcet and was about to finally open the only locked door in my house when the phone rang.
"Yes?" I answered as a true reporter. The voice coughed on the other line.
"Is Delaney Marks there please?" Tobias, I thought, trying not to laugh. I prepared to respond.
"Speaking." I replied. He sighed in relief it seemed. I still couldn't wipe the smile off my face, and it was growing wider. He coughed a little.
"Do you know how hard it is to find your number in the phone book?" He demanded. I pulled my key out of the lack and walked back to the living room. "There are 17 Marks and get this, you're the last one on the list!" I had to laugh. He didn't find it funny. "So what are you up to? Have you figured out where to start?"
Okay, pause for a moment. He's the one who's wanting this article, not me. Still, there was a part of me that wanted to tell him I had everything under control and that I wouldn't be requiring his assitance. But then this big bolt of lightning struck my head and reminded me, naturally, that I did not have the criteria, in this case it being: A) Having read the books within the last 24 hours. B) Knowing any facts about Tolkien. And of course C) Having any interest in what I was writing. Still, I thought. What would it hurt to lie.
"No." I said, and slapped myself mentally. NO!? You told him the truth. Now you've basically said, "Yes! I can't wait to see you again. Come by my office and we'll have tea and crumpets!" I went back to the real world, and my phone conversation. "I have a couple of places I want to check out...but I can do that on my own. I need you to write me up everything you saw while you were in Middle Earth." I said the words 'Middle Earth' with a heavy amount of skeptism in my voice. I think he noticed that. It would take a moron with the brain functions of a rock not to.
"You really don't believe in this stuff do you?" He asked me again, probably to make sure I was listening. I shook my head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see me.
"No. I don't." I admitted very flatly. "I believe in what I can see and smell and taste and touch...not what's written between the covers of a book." My eyes drifted back to the mantle, where I glared at what my father had considered the Bibles. "I can't see how this article is going to convince anyone that Middle Earth is real."
"I don't want to convince them." He said, also very up front. "I want them to know that it's here. I want the world of other people who believed Tolkien to know that he was right."
"Or that he was dropping acid. You know Stephen King did drugs throughout his whole career and you don't see anyone running up and down the streets screaming about Cujo or Carrie." I had hit a nerve, because Tobias had sighed with one of those child-like sighs where the kid doesn't get what he wants and wants to make the parents feel sorry for him. It was working. My stomach was doing that weird thing it does when someone tries to guilt me into doing something, like Edith when she wanted to dress up like Gandalf for Hallowe'en so she could be Aragorn and we could go together. I did it in the end.
"I hold a lot of respect for Tolkien....even if YOU don't." Ouch, I thought. That actually hurt, and I'm not sure why. He sighed again. "What does it matter anyways. You still have to write the article. Where are you headed?" I looked at my notes again.
"Oxford." I said, looking over the locations. "I want to check out the University and the Eagle and Child Tavern for information on Tolkien." He nodded, and "hmmed", making it easy for me to understand his actions. I listened for him to say something, and after a moment, I continued. "You're welcome to come if you want."
"No, it's alright but I have to work tomorrow." He replied. "I'd love to."
"Where do you work?" I asked him.
"Coffee shop." He said, slightly ashamed. "But I'm working my way through University. I wanna become a writer." Weird, I thought, seeing this whole other side to the insane man who just jumped into my office the day before. I smiled.
"Alright, well I have to give a call to my travel buddy. I'll talk to you later." He gave another one syllable sound and we hung up. I set my phone on the table. There's only one person I could think of who would enjoy a trip to Oxford to study Tolkien. One person who wasn't Tobias.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I knocked again on Edith's front door. It figured the woman would have painted it green. I also took care to notice the bright brass knob in the very center of it. I may not have read the books in a long time, but I did know that the beginning of the Hobbit virtually describes this door, right down to it's beautiful yet very odd green shade.
Edith's house was beautiful, somewhere outside of London with a woods in the backyard and a beautiful garden. She loved her garden. She grew tealeaves and had become over the years that cliche woman who loves flowers and grows them all day long without anything better to do except read and watch The Lord of the Rings and, naturally, pester me. I knocked again, looking back down the gravel path to my car in the driveway, as if checking to make sure it was still there. I could hear Cougar jumping at the door and barking loudly. Cougar is her Great Dane, is twice the size of Edith and myself. He could literally kill me if he jumped on me, and nearly had on several occasions. He is absolutely huge. I could hear Edith pulling him away from the door and sending him into the living room. I finally heard the door unlock and the doorknob in the very center of the nearly circular door was finally opened.
"Lane!" She says, smiling. I look down. Edith is an unnaturally short/vertically challenged person with extraordinarily boyant hair. We call it boyant because when she sits down in a pool and her hair is dry, it litterly puffs out and keeps her above water. She had blue eyes that have an uncanny habit of changing colours due to her mood or the light reflecting off them, depending which, and is still very short. I have to bend down sligthly to hug her, me being almost 6 inches taller then her, without heels. I scolded myself for wearing my four inch ones that day. I was nearly a foot over her height. "Sorry I'm not quite ready yet. I couldn't find a thing to wear." She ushered me in. I swear, Edith could pass for a Hobbit. Quite litterally if you looked at her in front of her house from a distance, you would honestly mistake her for a Hobbit. I was afraid to introduce her to Tobias. He might believe he's back in Middle Earth.
"What just a moment and I'll get my coat. Then we can be off." She shut the giant round door and walked back inside, going into the kitchen. I looked around her foyer. Her house is all hardwood, and the walls are covered with drawings and paintings she'd done. Edith works as an Artist. She had an exhibition the following week in Tokyo. I looked over on the wall to my left and saw, naturally, her favourite painting. It's the one, I believe of Middle Earth. She painted the map and at certain main points, painted in the locations. She had the Shire finished and the Two Towers, as well as Lothlorien, Rivendell, and naturally Mirkwood. I glanced into the den, where she keeps her prized possessions. Over the desk there hangs the swords from the books. I could only name one, Sting, and the others were unnamed from my years as an unexperienced Tolkien reader. She also had on a pedestal in a silken cloth the replicas of the Shards of Narsil, another of her prized possessions. I notices the books on her mantle. This doesn't surprise me. Edith has another set of them upstairs in her room, and another set in the guest bedroom.
She walked back into the foyer in her black jacket and looks at me spacing out for a moment, or at least I think she did. I was looking at the picture over her fireplace, the one of the Eye of Sauron she did for the exhibition last year. She shook me, I knew that. "You alright?" She asked. I nodded and took my car keys.
"Let's go." I said, hating Edith's house suddenly. She and I walked out the door.
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R&R PLEASE AND THANKS!