[Just me, or are these getting shorter? And the notes getting longer? Anyway, I apologize for the complete lack of continuity. I'm bad at that, have to write it all at once. Which is why this is my first ever serial, and not fifth or fifteenth or something. So, hello, all ye subjected to this little experiment.]
[Oh, I'm in the midst of school ending, hence the lack of updates. Even when I'm not working on those last major assignments, I'm feeling guilty over them… You know how it is. Another two weeks and I'm free :]
[Oh again. Yep, I agree, Dimitri
was… off… in chapter 2. It was self
indulgence on my part, that whole thing.
Plus I either didn't tape or lost his eps… and
Lifetime seems intent on *not* showing those…
So a combination of me and my lack of familiarity with the character are
to blame. Hopefully, he gets better once
he's out of his house, and not talking to that odd voice inside his head.]
[And the 'failing' incident is dedicated to a friend, a wonderful writer who,
much to the amusement of all, found herself in much
the same predicament.]
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Chapter 3
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His reply came as a shock.
Not because she had been convinced he wouldn't write, or because she considered her e-mail to have fluttered into the void itself, but because she had plain forgotten she'd written him.
Strange, that. Did that always happen? Just poke around in the bits of one's consciousness, prod the unconscious, take some action which tied most of it all up in a happy bundle of memories, to be placed in the attic for examination on some rainy day… and move on?
In a way, she was disappointed. A part of her was already living as if he was gone, no longer existed but in her memory and creative stew pot, wouldn't cross paths with her ever again… But shadowy figures of memory don't use the internet. Generally speaking.
She played the cursor over the box, clicked it, then moved down to 'delete checked.' Hmm… To delete, or not to delete… That is the question. A question more interesting than the answer, since that was foregone, just as the ending to Romeo and Juliet.
Grace-
He door banged open and she jumped, yelled, and moved to block the screen with her body.
"Zoey!! Don't you knock? What do you want?"
"Dinner's ready." Her younger sister gave her a funny look, crossing the floor to sneak a peek at whatever Grace was hiding. "Mom's been calling you for five minutes. What's that?"
"My essay. Get out, I'll be down in a minute." Feeling around behind her back, she hit some keys she hoped would bring up the screensaver.
"Then why are you hiding it?" Ah, the insight of the younger sibling…
"Out!" …and the powerful glare of the elder.
She turned back to the computer. Well, okay, she had managed to suspend operations. Whatever. She'd just be reading it after dinner then.
"Grace. Grace?"
"Hmm, what?"
"Do you want any potatoes?" Her mom was giving her a look.
"No, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You seem distracted. Anything going on?" Various other members of the family turned to look at her. Her eyes skittered across Rick's, and she felt that familiar pang, wishing that he and her mom had never met.
"Nothing. I just have a lot of homework." Jessie was giving her a sympathetic look. She could be okay sometimes. Her relationship with Katie was making her better. Like, she was less perfect now, more human, or something.
"Are you sure? Because-"
"Actually, something really weird happened to me at school today…" Jessie cut in. Grace sank back, relieved, and Rick picked up on her sentence, vaguely aware of his step-daughter's wish to be left alone.
Sometimes she couldn't imagine life without Rick constantly diverting her mother's attentions. Had to love the guy.
Because, of course, she did have homework. But she also had an e-mail, on a topic still, ultimately, unresolved. And it could be ultimately disappointing, breaking off contact completely, or…
…Or something else.
And so, right at that moment, there was really only the one thing on her mind. Curiosity killed the cat. Would it also permanently ground the girl?
She escaped, at the first opportunity, not noticing a certain pair of eyes, as they watched her form disappear around a corner.
Grace-
I think what I should be saying is that I'm sorry. For the things I handled wrong, and for those things 'left unsaid,' as you so quaintly put it. No, not for that per se, since I can already hear your protests, but if there is anything of that sort, for it happening. It shouldn't have. By the way, I would appreciate it if you'd delete this, it might be better if no one gets the chance to misinterpret.
And so I'm sorry, but I thank you as well. Likely nothing I write henceforth would have occurred, but for your role as catalyst and motivator. If you like, you can consider it all dedicated to you. I will.
Please consider this the last whispers from a void. I couldn't not reply, so perhaps this is just my selfish rambling. It might be, that years from now, we will meet by a stage. So until then,
Adieu,
August Dimitri
~*~*~*
She never replied back. She knew if she did, he'd only frown, delete the message, would never reply himself.
That was all right. She had prepared herself for an ending. And had gotten one better than she had practically hoped for.
Not, of course, as good as the one she dreamed of, but…
Life means reality. Screenplay with a contemporary, Sundance story, rather than the happy star vehicles of the 50s, and 20s and… hell, of all ages. Hollywood is nothing if not consistent.
She expected the future she got, and was content. Mostly. She still looked for him. A glimpse of red hair always made her turn, hoping it wasn't him, and moreover that he'd never see her, but also hoping it was him, so that she could know that he still existed, though his life be so removed from her own.
Kept looking, and kept starting, discretely, every time his name was brought up. By the time the school year ended, he was hardly mentioned, by the time the new school year came around, he was all but forgotten. Seniors have no time for such as last year's slight scandal. There is college to look forwards to, parties, friends, and most importantly, getting out of high school.
Sometimes Grace would stop, wondering why they all wanted so much to be gone. They would leave, separating, only to miss high school. Miss the tight knit, sure social groups, the artificial structuring, the petty relationships that could take the place of real world concerns.
They would leave, then miss high school.
They would. Grace wouldn't. So why was it that she was the only one not excited over the prospect of leaving?
Because she knew memories would forever tie her to those halls.
Her mother set out catalogues for nearby schools, the scholarships she could receive. She smiled and filled out the forms, but behind closed doors did it carelessly, quickly. Instead she worried over a different set of applications.
And waited for the replies.
Her first moment of happiness was ruined by the small aberration in scheduling, which meant that Rick was home to get the mail first.
Stories seem to revolve around the expectancy one experiences while opening a letter which may be an acceptance, or a rejection. Grace felt none. Large envelope only meant one thing.
"So did you get in?" The question came over dinner.
"Grace? Did you get a letter? Which college?" Her mother was hovering.
"Umm…"
"NYU." The letters were muffled, issued as they were from behind the better part of a hot dog.
"Grace didn't apply there. Wha-"
This might be a good time to say something. "Well… I was reading some stuff, and it's a great college and all. So I thought I would. I mean, just to see…"
"But New York? That's…"
"Mom. I know. Look, it doesn't mean anything. I don't have to go-"
"But you got in?" Ah. Pride rarely fails to turn wrath into enthusiasm. In mothers, at least.
"Umm, yea."
"That's wonderful!" Hugging. "Was this something you were really considering? Like you might actually want to go? Because-"
"I don't know. I
thought I'd just wait and see what happens…"
"Because if it's what you really want…
Do you know how much it is, by the way?
Oh, my little girl's growing up…"
More hugging, signs of tears, and a vacant expression that rather
indicated her mom was about to run off to the phone and call everyone she knew.
Parents can be odd like that.
Which is how she wound up in New York, only one of thousands of freshmen.
Money had turned out to be less of a problem that she'd thought. A couple of the scholarships she'd applied to had come through, knocking the price down to roughly what a good in-state university would have cost.
The day before classes, life settled around her.
Senior year had been a flurry of activity, from schoolwork, to work-work, to the school play, which she had tried out for, aware that it would be worse not to act, then to act without her director…
Summer held more work, many hugs, an accompanied trip to her new dorm room.
And finally, she was alone.
And finally, she realized, she had escaped.
It had been rather obvious to her that she couldn't stay home. Anywhere in the city, she would always be looking for him. She would never be able to concentrate on her future, would instead be always looking for her past.
Now, it occurred to her, she had stopped looking, and was instead waiting to find him.
It might be, that years from now, we will meet by a stage.
Probably only one of his quirks. But she took it, and held it to her heart as a promise. Work hard now, and be rewarded later.
So she did. Freshmen year was a bear, but tempered by the pass/no record system of the first term. The drama department was, of course, wonderful, and she took a bit of voice and dance in her spare time.
She tried out for a few plays, both within the school, and for theatres 'off' campus. Got a couple small roles. She was no longer the big fish in small pond, but that was okay.
She could learn.
And acting wasn't what held her enthralled.
She took a creative writing class, and was shocked to have to utilize the 'no record' option. Obviously, writing is not something that is taught. One would think, however, that that class would have some merit. Or at least be taught by someone a tad more unbiased…
To be frank, Ms. Delmont had never read a Russian author, was proud of the fact, and thought the like of Nora Roberts and Jude Deveraux to be the epitome of the craft. God knows who hired her.
So, no more creative writing classes. But there was a club. At her first meeting, late on a Wednesday, she found a few of her most disgruntled classmates, and many others, who would become friends.
Not that she liked all of their writings. Many she found dribble. But then, several disliked her work as well.
It was the perfect group. There was always a good mix of gushing and critiquing, no piece was treated with too heavy or gentle a hand.
She was in heaven.
It was during Winter break, when she was again at home, when she started the one piece that wouldn't be shared. Not for a long time. By request, she was picking Jessie up from school. The building, the parking lot, the old classroom window, which she could discern from her place behind the wheel.
Time to move on, one more step?
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[A rare after-story note: I don't know where this is going. There are definitely options, but I don't know which would be best… Suggestions? Preferences? Want to be surprised? Audience participation time. ;]