Sense of Wonder
Summary:
Amanda Williams is the daughter of a single graphic novelist. She never knew her mother, because her father was never married. She would listen to his stories of his adventures in Cyberspace at night, and she would always try to find a portal that would lead to Cyberspace, but never having much luck. When Amanda's father's old friends from Houston decide to come to New York for a visit, Amanda is thrilled that they finally have some company over. But when she meets one of her father's friends that looks much like her, she decides that she was the missing link to the family. Now, she's trying hard to reunite the departed couple, before it's too late! A funny, heart-warming drama.
Author's Note:
I'm back!♬ With a new story, too! I actually was inspired for this story when I was listening to Amanda Falk's "Sense of Wonder" and "Broken." My friend, Katy, gave me the CD for my 13th birthday which was the past two Mondays (June 5), and I started listening to it when I got home. She actually writes songs that are styles similiar to mine. This story will feature a lot of songs by Amanda Falk, because most of the songs seem to fit with the story plots. You can probably guess who Amanda's father is. Yep, it's Matthew Williams! And you'll find out who the birth-mother of Amanda is in either this chapter or the next. This is the first chapter. The story will be in Amanda's POV, so get ready to see through the eyes of a child for once. Enjoy and review please! No flames please either! This chapter features Amanda Falk's "Sense of Wonder." ;-)
-Avalons-Healer
Chapter One: Sense of Wonder
When I was a little girl, I would be snuggled up between quilted sheets, and I would listen to my father's stories from Cyberspace, when he was 11. I would always try to look for any of Motherboard's Portals, incase one opened. But, seems like she didn't need my dad and his friends anymore.
Growing up, my anticipation to find Cyberspace grew and grew, until it became a goal or a quest for me. But if I'm ever going to find a portal, I'll probably as old as my dad. Not saying that he's old. He's actually 26 years old. Pretty young if you ask me.
Yet...
Well, you see, my birth-mom had to stay behind in Houston, Texas, while my dad happened to move to New York City. The court decided that my mom was too weak and busy to take care of me, so, they appointed my dad as my legal guardian. Both my mom and dad were great friends, and they're still together. They would exchange e-mails and letters, usually sending a gift with it. It breaks my heart to see my dad all alone, either at his work studio in our big apartment, or at the dinner table when I'm with my friends for a sleepover or something (I can just picture that one in my head. My dad doesn't have any friends in New York City because he barely gets out).
But one day, all of that changed. When my birth-mother and her friend moved to New York City. Why don't I tell you the whole story...
It all started on the last day of school. I was coming back from a long awaited day at my school...
It's 4am in Memphis
I guess the sun is risin' somewhere
But as I lay here in the darkness
Feels like night is here to stay
"Hey, Amanda! Comin' over to our house for summer celebration?" my friend, Alison Downes called.
"No, I'm going straight home!" I called back, as I put on my helmet and my pads. I put down my skateboard and pushed myself down the streets of New York City, "I'll see you guys on MSN!"
Even time has lost it's meaning
A minute turns into an hour
But as I lay here with eyes wide open
Doesn't mean that I'm awake
"Yo, Amanda!" one of the boys from school called.
"Hey!" I greeted back with a wave, as I rode down the down-side slope of a sidewalk, towards home.
Because I've lost my sense of wonder
Feelin' number and number
Lightnin' strikes but there's no thunder
Is there a cure for a heartbreak?
I continued to ride down the sidewalks, the wheels of my skateboard scratching on the rough sidewalk and rolling along with sliding and scratching noises.
People on the sidewalk greeted me as I rode down the sidewalks, occasionally grinding on a railing when I'm taking the stairs down, since I have to cross through the park to get on my street.
I try to step out in the rain
Hope to feel a little somethin'
I play my favourite song again
But there's no music today
"Hey, Amanda!" one of the boys from the skatepark in the Central Park called, a foot on his own skateboard, "How 'bout ripping some tricks before you go?"
"Sorry, Adam, not today!" I called back, "Maybe tomorrow!"
"Fine with me!" Adam called back, as he continued to rip his own tricks on his skateboard with his friends.
Because I've lost my sense of wonder
Feelin' number and number
Lightnin' strikes but there's no thunder
Is there a cure for a heartbreak?
I continued to skate through the park, until I finally reached the stairs that led out of the Central Park. I launched myself and my skateboard on the railing and grinded down onto the smooth pavement below.
An elderly man was sitting at a park bench nearby and was awoken when my skateboard slammed down on the pavement.
"Watch how you land with that skateboard, Amanda." the elder said.
I braked my skateboard and stood infront of the elder. "Sorry, Mr. Anderson. I'm just really excited today."
"Of course." Mr. Anderson smiled, "Your father's old friends are coming over today. A very good fellow if you ask me."
"I agree, Mr. Anderson." I said, getting back on my skateboard. As I boarded back down the path, I called back to Mr. Anderson, "I'll see you tomorrow for workshop, Mr. Anderson!"
"You too, Amanda!" Mr. Anderson called, and snored back to sleep.
Because I've lost my sense of wonder
Feelin' number and number
Lightnin' strikes but there's no thunder
Is there a cure for heartbreak?
I made a sharp turn and wheeled down the sidewalk, the wind rustling my short, chestnut hair. I did a small flip with my skateboard before I continued down the sidewalk. I was nearing home.
Because I've lost my sense of wonder
Feelin' number and number
Lightnin' strikes but there's no thunder
Is there a cure for a heartbreak?
I finally arrived at the apartment building that I lived in and got off of my skateboard. I picked it up, and ran up the stairs to me and my dad's apartment.
It's 4am in Memphis
I guess the sun is risin' somewhere
But as I lay here in the darkness
Feels like night is here to stay...
I finally arrived at the door of my apartment. But there was something new on there. It was a note. From my dad. It read:
Amanda,
We're going to have guests over from Houston (which I'm sure you already knew of). Get changed, set up the guest rooms if you want to change anything that I already altered, and try to put away your skateboard and gear this time. There's a roast beef in the oven when you get home. It should turn off on schedule by about 3:20pm. When it's finished cooking, take it out, place it in the aluminum plate and cover that grandma and grandpa gave us and place it on the dinner table with the other stuff. Work on your homework if you have any and finish it before we arrive. We'll be home by 3:30pm.
Love, Dad.
I checked my watch. It was only seconds until 3:20pm.
"Oh, shit!" I hissed, and jiggled my house key into the lock. I flung it open, flung it shut, rushed to the kitchen, just as the timer of the oven went off.
I turned the oven off, grabbed the oven-mitts, opened the oven door, and pulled out a tin pan with a roast beef on it, steaming with a sweet aroma.
That's when my stomach grumbled. I looked down at it, then frowned. I just had to be hungry now, didn't I?
I placed the tin pan down on the heat plate, and forked the roast beef onto the plate of the aluminum cover serving plate that grandma gave us for Christmas (Dad had left it out for me). After I placed some garnish on the roast beef to make it look presentable, I placed the aluminum lid over the roast beef and brought it to the dining room, where I found that my dad had already set up for what looked like a family dinner. The skinny candles that we used for Christmas dinner were lit on silver and gold candle holders, giving the room an orangy glow. Plates of silver and china were set up with fancy silverwear and beautiful handkerchief-type napkins, with golden embroidery. The ones that grandma made for us. The place mats were the ones that I made when I was in Grade 3 for when grandma and grandpa had their anniversary for the first time at our home. I still can't believe my dad kept those all these years. I'm Grade 5 now.
I placed the covered roast beef in the empty spot in the middle of all of the appetizers and main courses on the table. I realised that I didn't stop to take off my helmet and pads before I took the roast beef out.
I rushed back to where I dropped my skateboard by the doorway and brought it to my room. I hid it under my bed, along with my helmet and pads. I got changed, washed my hands, brushed my shoulder-length, chestnut hair, and took out my contact lenses. I found my square rimmed glasses and placed them on. I prefered the glasses better than the contact lenses. More comfortable, even though I'm in a framed world. I changed from my school uniform to a lavender purple tank-top, green shorts, and I wore black, boy sandals on my small, petite feet. Well, at least, that's what dad called them.
My dad's a famous graphic novelist, well-known for his Cyberchase adventures series, which he based off of his own experiances. That's how everybody in New York City knew me. I was actually one of the characters in my dad's stories. He said that my personality was mixed up with my birth-mother's and my dad's. He even said that I looked a lot like my birth-mother.
I saw a few photos of her before. She did look a lot like me. Same hair, but I had my dad's eyes. But I seemed to be more Hispanic rather than American like my dad. That's what you get when an American teenager and a Hispanic girl reproduces.
I don't know what happened to their relationship now, but I hoped it was still going on. If they weren't, then I was gonna have to go into "Matchmaker" mode.
I entered my room and started cleaning up. But I always kept a close I on the clock. Dad said he and his friends would be back by 3:30pm. It was 3:21pm when I first began.
Just when I was almost done, I checked back on the clock. It was 3:25pm now. I only had five minutes left.
I picked up the last of my books and slid it into the shelf. As I did so, a picture slid out. Curious, I knelt down and picked it up. It was the photo of my father's graduation day. He was wearing his sky-blue graduation robe, holding an honor roll in his hand. WIth his other, he placed it on a Junior female student's cheek, as the two shared an everlasting kiss.
The Junior student seemed to be a Hispanic. She had chestnut hair that was just below her shoulders, and she wore round-rimmed glasses that made her seem like a smart girl. Almost a nerd. If it wasn't for the handmade, lavender, Spanish-style dress that she wore last night, I would've mistaken her for someone else than who I knew it was. She wore a white, silk shawl with the dress, her hands on dad's shoulders.
In the background, was a flurry of graduation hats being flown into the air: a formal, yet fun tradition of the high schoolers. I'll be in the similar position as my dad in 9 years.
I checked if my job was done, then rushed to my dad's studio, where he worked in a cluttered workspace, with storyboards of his cartoon on the walls. There were even some of his and my own character/poster designs pinned up on the walls. A computer and telephone were set up infront of the floor-to-ceiling windows, that covered half of the whole studio. Chains of paper cranes and other pieces of art I made were suspended from the ceiling. The floor had boxes of other items and artworks that my dad found no room for against two corners. The floor was also littered with scrunched up paper balls that had overflowed from the small trashbin.
I rushed in with the photo in my hand, grabbed my art kit from my 10th birthday, and snatched a piece of paper from the shelf of papers and cartoon books that my dad and grandmother had published, plopped down in my dad's wheeled chair, rolled up to my dad's drawing area at his cluttered table, opened up my kit, and started drawing, with the photo close-by.
5 minutes later, the phone rang. I dropped my pencil crayon and rolled up to the computer and telephone. I picked up the reciever and greeted, "Matthew William's office, Amanda speaking."
"I see you're getting the hang of that." a voice on the other line replied.
"Oh, hey, dad!" I smiled, leaning back on the chair, almost falling over head-first, because of the small support of the chair.
"Hey, Amanda." Dad replied over the phone, "Did you read my note?"
"How could I miss it?" I shrugged.
"So, you finished everything?"
"Yup."
"Good, 'cause we're on our street."
"Eep!" I squeaked, bolting up, "How close?"
"I can see the light in the studio on." Dad replied, "Not to mention you sitting in my seat. What in the world are you doing in there?"
"Drawing." I replied, standing up and peering out the window. Sure enough, my dad's car was driving down to the underground parking spot.
"A gift for my friends?" Dad asked over the phone.
"Yeah..." I squeaked. Okay, so I was supposed to do one more, big whoop! I have some old ones!
"Okay." Dad replied, some chatting and the bang of the car door being closed in the background, "We're on our way up."
"See ya here!" I squeaked.
"You, too." With that, he hung up.
I slammed down the reciever and ran back to my drawing, almost tripping over the rolling chair. I coloured in the last bit of lavender, then signed it: Amanda Williams.
I dropped my pencil crayon, snatched my picture, and rushed into my room. I pulled out my recent portfolio and pulled out a drawing of my dad's graphic novel characters. I set the portfoli back, just as the door lock clicked, and the door knob turned.
I dashed out of my room to greet my dad, and a woman in her mid-20's. About 25. She was a Hispanic. She wore small, square-rimmed glasses with lavender frames. She wore a white t-shirt, a purple sweatjacket, a pair of worn-out jeans, and a pair of worn-out sandals as well. She had long, chestnut hair that reached up to her waist.
She looked almost like me.
"Amanda," Dad said, wrapping an arm around the woman's shoulders, "Meet Inez... your birth mother."