Chapter Two: Dreams
A/N: Again, I can update this fic ALL I WANT as long as I update AMPR beforehand, which I did! I got you a good read for A Million Pink Roses!
I'm aiming to make this chapter maybe a little longer than the last. So in order to do this, I'm gonna do more than one P.o.V. Is that alright? If it isn't, let me know, and I'll change it back to one. If you prefer short chapters, just say the word, okay?
Guys, when you read this chapter. . .read it slow. I find it has a lot more meaning that way. Whether you read it aloud or simply to yourself, I think you'll find it much more enjoyable to take your time in doing so. :)
Kai's Point of View
With nothing but a beach towel wrapped around me and a bar of soap in my hand, I close the front door to my restaurant and summer home to face another beautiful summer sunrise in Mineral Town. Man, oh, man, I think to myself. I've never seen two of these alike down here.
Squeezing the sand between my bare toes, inhaling the fresh salt-sprinkled air, I walk across the beach, toward the waves that gently slobber on the shore. After carefully tossing my towel onto the empty dock, I splash into the awakeningly cool ocean water with nothing on but my trademark purple bandana, which is itself thrown onto the dock when I realize I'm still wearing it.
I look out at the near-motionless sea and grin to myself upon seeing that I seem to be the only thing causing a commotion on its glassy territory. As I begin to rub the soap into my very tan, very smooth skin, I start praying in my head.
I always do this. Bathing in the ocean beats the heck out of paying the water bills, minimal as they are out here. And being as it's the calmest, most peaceful time of day, I always be sure and say at least a few words to God as I wash.
Today I'm praying not for ample business in the restaurant, for that I already have; not for interest in my instrument, the blowafluto, for that God has already granted; not for a day of good weather, for that I can already see... No, today I am praying for a girl.
A girl with long pink curls, the fairest of skin, and the prettiest little smile you've ever seen in your life.
I had a dream about her last night, and it is without a doubt, by far the best dream that's ever graced my slumber.
I dreamt at first that I stood alone, out here on the sand, with my back to the village and my face to the water. I don't remember what I was thinking of, only that I was rested and at peace, without the slightest of worries on my face. See, I was looking at myself in this dream. I was reading my own thoughts while at the same time thinking of other things as well. I remember noticing a look of youth in my eyes that did not fit my twenty years.
And then suddenly, she was by my side, leaning against me as though it were the only natural thing in the world to do. I myself did not look at her, but I who was dreaming marvelled at her effortless beauty. I still do not believe she is only sixteen. Teenage girls are supposed to be flat-chested, frizzy-haired, chubby in the midsection, and self-conscious. But that Popuri Bennet... She's mature, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Her figure is not skinny per se, but nor is she pudgy in any way; she has meat on her bones, but I find that attractive. And I suppose it's her self-confidence that most attracts me. I've never, ever known her to be conceited in the six years I have known her, but I've also never seen a shy, intimidated, or low self-esteemed side of her.
To me, she is perfect.
I never see her hair all the way down, but in my dream, it was down, her loose pink curls lightly brushing against both of our faces in the velvety summer breeze. I don't remember what she was wearing, only that it was simple, not anything eye-catching, or else I would recall.
Nothing was said. Words have never been needed between the two of us. Usually, our eyes can show our thoughts better than our voices ever can.
I dreamt that she looked up at me (she is a good head shorter than I) and that I looked down at her, and I kissed her. A kiss is one thing that Popuri and me have yet to share. But I dreamt that we kissed; I could see myself kissing her, touching her face with my hand, making sure to be gentle because that's all gentlemen are ever to be.
And my eyes watered when I awoke because I so wanted the dream to be reality.
After rubbing the soap onto my hands, I transfer it to my hair, scrubbing, scrubbing, and finally dunking my head underneath the soft foam of the slow waves. My bath is finished, but my prayer is not.
I thank God for the things I have no room left to request and tell Him that there's only one thing I need now. I ask Him for Popuri Bennet and plead with Him to let me keep her as my only love. I make sure He knows I will never mistreat her or disregard her, that I will everyday kiss her and tell her I love her and even stay here in Mineral Town for the rest of my life just for her. I tell Him I will give her anything and everything she wants, to the very best of my ability, and that I would never leave her, not for anything.
"In Jesus' name. Amen."
Karen's Point of View
"I can do this," I tell myself, staring at the box of cakemix the countertop. "It's easy. Easy as...Cake! That's what I'm making: Cake. What are you making, Karen? Cake!" I take a bowl from the overhead cabinet, set it in front of me, and grab the box of instant cake mix, scanning the instructions quickly. "How hard can this be?" I ask myself. "Just add water, eh? How much water? One and a half cups! How much water, Karen? One and a half cups." Suddenly I'm singing to the tune of 100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. "Cake is easy as cake to make, cake is easy as cake! Something, something, something, something, cake is easy as cake!..."
A voice from the neighboring room, the shop, calls my name. "Karen! Karen, you really, really don't have to make something..."
"Nonsense, Daddy!" I tell him. "The farm boy needs a treat. Ann brought him something last weekend, and I can't have him thinking Ann is nicer than me."
"Oh, but, honey..." my father whines. "Let's not forget that Ann is a professional cook..."
My expression hardens as I pour in the water: one and a half cups.
"Did you read your list at least, Karen?" he asks me doubtingly.
Oops! "Of course I did," I lie, carefully setting down the measuring cup I'd used to pour the water. My mother and I keep a checklist of things to do to help me when I'm cooking. Each time we learn something new, we add it to the list. Mom's idea. I don't think I really need it.
As of now, there are seven things on the checklist. I read over them carefully:
1.) Pay attention to the instructions
2.) Pay attention to what you're doing
3.) Use common sense
4.) Remember to be careful when handling electrical appliances and knives
5.) If the plug doesn't fit, just turn it around
6.) Don't forget to set the timer on the oven
7.) Don't ever use cranberry juice as a replacement for water/milk/vegetable oil
Sounds like we're good so far!
Once I've thoroughly stirred the strawberry flavored batter, poured it into the small round pan, and made sure the oven is finished preheating, I carefully place the cake-to-be on the oven tray and smile to myself as I set the time: thirty minutes. That gives me plenty of time to make and eat my lunch. Eleven-thirty is a little early, but I didn't have breakfast, so I'm hungry.
It doesn't take effort or skill to stick a bowl of leftover ravioli into the microwave, so this is what I do. As I sit down at the dining table to eat, I think about the boy I'm going to give this cake to.
His name is Jack Duritz. He came here at the start of last spring to run Farmer Redd's little ranch. It's a good ranch, at least it used to be. Mineral Town makes most of its money off it.
Anyways, about Jack. He's a cutie. He's three years older than me, but what does it matter? I like him. He's a Christian; he loves the Lord. And he's been places. He's from the United States, you know. I've always wanted to go there. . .I've heard its the land of greatest opportunity.
See, I want to be a professional dancer, maybe even a singer. Mom always tells me I can, if I can just find a way. She tells me that in show business, talent is necessary but connections are vital. And Mom would know. She was a dancer when she was young.
However, she'd sooner have me be a housewife. I mean, she'll support me whatever I do, but every time I mention my dreams, she says, "Remember, Karen: Show business is so fun that the time just flies right out the window, and suddenly you realize you're thirty-two years old without a family to call your own. You miss so much of life, Karen!"
But for me, dancing IS life. Mom's been teaching me things about it since I learned how to walk, and I've been exploring voice techniques since I spoke my first words.
Entranced in my thoughts, I am startled when the door of the master bedroom opens and closes, and my mother walks into the room. "Oh," she says, sniffing the air. "Karen, are you burning - um, baking something?"
"Oh, my gosh!" I gasp and look at the clock: It's been fifty-three minutes! "Oh, no!"
I hear Daddy moaning from outside.
This is NOT good.
I toss the oven door open, frantically reaching inside to grab the pan, only to burn my fingertips painfully. "OOOWWW!" I screech, my face twisted into an expression of unbearable pain. "Mom, take it out! Hurry! OOOOWWWW!"
"Oh, Karen!" Mom says, her voice half scolding, half sympathetic. She takes a couple of ovenmits from the counter cabinet and swiftly slides them onto her hands, rushedly pulling the cake out from the stove. "Now, look!" she says, setting the pan down on the countertop. "It's not that bad!"
I've gotten myself a large glass of ice cold water to stick my scalded fingers in. "Really?" I ask, peeking around her to look at it. It truly isn't totally ruined.
Just a little crispy.
"Look, I bet we can still eat it," she says, though her face is scrunched up like she really doesn't want to.
"Mom!"
"I'm serious!" she tells me. "Look here..." She reaches into one of the drawers for a butter knife to cut off a piece.
"Mom, no, it's not for us! It's for the new farm boy!"
"Well, a little missing piece won't hurt," she says firmly, cutting off a bite-size portion. I await her reaction as she pushes it slowly into her mouth. "It's um...it's... Karen, how much water did you put in it?"
I think for a second and remember the conversation I had with myself. "One and a half cups, just like the instructions said."
"Hmm." I can see that she's having a difficult time believing me. "Let me see that box."
I hand it to her somewhat reluctantly.
"Karen!" she says disbelievingly. "This says one half of a cup!"
"No!" I retort defensively, snatching the box from her hands. "It says - "
Oops.
I look up at my mother, who is standing before me with a haughty look on her face. Finally, she draws in a breath and states lowly, "Two more things to add to the list."
Nodding, I find a pen and write:
8.) Don't get distracted while the cake is in the oven
9.) Read fractions carefully
"Do you have anything else I can take to the farm boy?" I ask sheepishly.
She looks at me for a second and smiles in spite of the anger that she knows she should be expressing to me. "I made some Jell-O that we can put whipped cream on top of and add fresh fruit to."
[Still Karen's P.o.V.]
"Don't be a flirt, don't be a flirt, don't be a flirt..." I say repeatedly to myself as I walk down the brick path to Jack's farm. I realize that the second I start flirting is the same second word gets around the gossip circuit. See, at one o'clock, which is about this time, the village ladies gather at the square and chatter like old hens. Who just got Botox, who's using steroids, who cheated in poker at the Inn last night... A few of the multiple things typically discussed. I'm ashamed to say that my mother partakes on a daily basis.
There he is.
Apparently, he's just returned from mountain-searching with an armload of herbs, medicinal grasses, and wild fruit. Good, I think to myself. He probably needs a break.
"Jack!" I say, entering the farm.
He looks up from his large shipping bin and just gawks at me for a second or two. "Karen!" he says, standing upright. "Nice surprise!"
Oh, no! He doesn't want me here! Just give him the Jell-O and leave, I tell myself. "I thought you might want some. . .Jell-O?" With fright that I can only hope isn't visible, I stretch out my arms to hand him the glass bowl filled with jiggly green goo, fresh kiwi, and scrumptious whipped cream.
"Wow, thanks!" he says, taking it. "This looks great!"
"Well, you're totally welcome," I tell him nervously. "I guess I'd better go..."
He looks at me. "Sure you don't want to stay for a while? I was just about to take a break."
I can't help but smile. "I'd like that, actually."
He smiles back at me. "Come on in."
A/N: HA! I know it may seem incomplete, but it's only to benefit the story, I swear. I hope you review!
