(AN)- I wasn't going to post till Friday, but your reviews made my heart so happy I couldn't resist. So you get chapter 2 early! But next week...next week you get nada till friday night! (Puts on my 'I mean it' face).
When Life Gives You Lemons: Eat Them
I'm awake and I've been losing sleep.
I've been fighting all my demons,
I've been getting weak cause I've been
Trying, trying, trying to be
Anything other than me
~Losing Sleep, Charlotte Sometimes
Chapter Two- Are We Having Fun Yet?
Mondays are depressing enough for the mind of a well rested individual. For someone like me, who tosses and turns all night, they are downright unbearable. I groaned as my alarm clock ushered me towards reluctant consciousness.
Why the hell am I up this early on my day off? Oh right, Renee…airport.
With a groan, I heaved myself out of bed, and sluggishly padded into the bathroom. The shower returned some of my baser brain functions, but regaining higher level processing would definitely require coffee.
Sinfully wide awake, and as a hyper as a five year old who's had way too much sugar; Renee smiled at me as she bounced across the kitchen to hand me a cup of delicious, caffeinated goodness.
"I'm so sorry to have gotten you up so early sweetie, but Phil has training and this was the only time he'd be able to get me from the airport in Jacksonville."
"It's fine Mom," I assured, sipping my coffee as I made us some eggs and toast.
An hour and a half later, I was being suffocated by Renee's tight embrace. I suppressed the desire to roll my eyes when she began sniffling into my shoulder. She was awful at goodbyes. Even though she'd been traveling frequently for 4 years now, she still cried her eyes out.
"I want you to call me every night," she demanded.
"That means you'll have to keep your phone charged," I teased.
Renee's eyes widened. "Oh shoot…I think I forgot to pack my power cord!"
I laughed as I pulled the cord out of my bag and handed it to her. "Try not to lose anything really important while you're gone, okay?"
"I'll do my best. I love you, Sweetie."
"Love you too, Mom."
The first day of having the house all to your self is always the best. No matter your age, you find yourself feeling much like McCauley Caulken in Home Alone. I ran around the house with my music as loud as I wanted. I ate my meals in bed while I watched TV, feeling satisfied when the crumbs mingled with the folds in my bed sheets. I left my dirty dishes in the sink instead of rinsing them first. The next morning I would clean the messes, and reclaim my domestic responsibilities. But for one day…it was fun to act like I didn't have a care in the world.
This time around, something was different. As I scarfed down greasy foods and sat around on my butt all day, there was a gnawing feeling deep within my mind. I couldn't put my finger on where the discontentment was coming from. It bothered me for the majority of the day, until I was finally pulled from my revelry by the sound of the phone.
"Hey Rose."
"So, guess where we're going next week?"
I blinked. "Um…I wasn't aware we'd made any plans, Rose."
She huffed on the other end of the line. "Just guess already."
"The…mall?"
"Wrong! We are going to go to California for a week! We'll leave Sunday morning, and come back late afternoon the following Saturday."
"Uh…Rose. I don't think…"
"Don't you try and tell me you can't go, Bella Swan! The family that you babysit for go on vacation next week. You've got nothing better to do."
I bit my lip and glared at the ceiling. There was no redirecting Rosalie once she had a plan in mind. "Where will we stay? I don't want to pay for a hotel."
"My cousin lives in Pacific Beach. We can drive up and stay with him."
I grimaced at the thought. "You know I'm not really a beach person, Rose."
"Come on, Bella, pleassssse. We'll walk the boardwalk, and eat funnel cake, and my cousin is really cool. It'll be an adventure."
I don't like adventure. I like couches, and take out, and my TV.
I sighed. "Ugh, fine. But I'm going to have an awful time, and when we get back, you will spend the next week making it up to me."
Knowing she had won, Rose quickly ended the conversation so she could go confirm her plans with her cousin. I was left to stew in my feelings of displeasure. The beach involved walking, bathing suits, beach babes, rides I was too big to fit on, and a slew of other non Bella-friendly activities. Plus we'd be stuck with Rose's cousin. I did not function well around males over the age of 20. They made me nervous and more socially awkward than I normally was.
I spent the rest of the day trying to think of a way to get out of the trip without incurring Rose's wrath. Unfortunately, my poor brain came up empty. I fell asleep that night with a gnawing feeling still hovering disconcertingly along the edges of my fading consciousness.
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"I'm bored!" a muffled, yet squeaky voice declared.
I looked over with mild exasperation at the pile of pillows and draped fabrics within which my charge was currently hiding. "Well then, let's think of something to do."
The pillows shifted, and I was glared at with all the fury that a four year old boy could muster. "I know what I want to do, but you won't let me."
"You know the way it works Conner. You get a half hour of TV and a half hour of videogame time before lunch, and a half hour of each after lunch. Maybe tomorrow you won't use it all up at once."
Conner harrumphed cantankerously, his hair a blonde, rumpled mess, and his gray-blue eyes narrowed in disdain. "You're the meanest babysitter ever."
I tried not to smile. I was often told that I had inhuman levels of patience with kids. A child having a temper tantrum rarely ever grated on my nerves. If anything, it amused the crap out of me that they thought behavior like that would get them anywhere. "Why don't we go play outside?"
"It's boring outside," he proclaimed. "You don't like to play anything."
I felt a twinge of guilt. Despite the fact that I kept my inner child well exercised and loved playing games with Conner, physical activity just wasn't my forte. He could run for a good 15 minutes straight without getting winded, whereas I needed a break after a minute of jogging. I tried to time our outside play with when other kids on the street were out playing, but most of the children in the neighborhood were 7 or 8, and spent their summers at camp and such.
"Tell you what," I said, coming to sit next to Conner, "if we can keep ourselves occupied with books and games until lunchtime then I'll take you to Chick-Fil-A, and you can play on the playground there."
God bless fast food chains that have playgrounds. Seriously.
Those little blue eyes lit up at the thought of chicken nuggets and the indoor playground. "Deal!" he exclaimed happily.
We amused ourselves with games of make believe and arts and crafts until noon. Then we were off to lunch, where Conner consumed 8 chicken nuggets, a bag of waffle fries, and a cookie in 15 minutes flat, before racing off to play. The little man had a blast chasing other kids through the tubes and down the slides.
By the time we got home, two hours later, he was exhausted. This made the afternoon easy and calm. Until he decided he wanted to use his half hour of television time to watch SpongeBob.
Most of the time, a caregiver or parent says no to a child for reasons involving safety, or time constraint. But sometimes…we say no for no other reason than to preserve our sanity. SpongeBob was the bane of my freaking existence. After an episode of that show from hell, Conner would be a hyper mess, running around the house and banging into things. Once, after watching an episode, he walked around doing an awful imitation of Patrick's voice while saying "Der… I'm Patrick." For an hour.
I almost cried.
Thankfully, I managed to steer the child away from the sponge of doom, instead enticing him with one of his old school Scooby Doo tapes. He was happy, I wasn't on the verge of a migraine, so it was a win-win scenario.
The rest of the day passed without incident, and Conner happily recounted our day to his mother when she got home. We exchanged a few words, and then I headed out, eager to go home and enjoy the quiet solitude of an empty house.
This plan was thwarted, when my attempt to start my truck gave me nothing but half garbled squeaks. I took a breath…checked all my buttons and settings…and tried again. The poor engine made sounds akin to that of a dying animal. I'd had this truck since I was 17, and it had been well used even then. But I wasn't ready for it to quit on me now. Then again, I couldn't sit in my employer's driveway for hours either.
"Aw come on, baby, you can do it!" I pleaded. Crossing my fingers, I tried one more time, and much to my relief, it was finally successful.
When I got home, I gave Rosalie a call and asked her if she could take a look at my poor truck. She snorted, "I'm only going to tell you what I've been telling you for the past two months, Bella. That heap of junk is on its last leg. The condition is terminal, there's nothing you can do. So don your black mourning clothes, prepare the casket…and start window shopping for a new mode of transportation."
"I really don't want to spend that kind of money right now." I said with a sigh. "Fudgerbucket."
"Bella… kiddy time is over. You're allowed to curse now."
"I can't help myself. I'm trained to say it now."
Working with little ones meant finding alternative ways of expressing oneself when it came to situations where cursing would normally be the response. For some reason…I had stitched together this word… fudgerbucket… and it now symbolized every curse in the book. People looked at me like I was crazy when it slipped out during adult conversations, but I couldn't seem to break myself of the habit.
Rose offered to take me to her mechanic, to make sure that the truck would last me until I could find a replacement. Truthfully, she sounded gleefully excited at the thought of my poor darling breathing its last mechanical breath. She said it was a piteous eyesore, and refused to ride in it. Naturally, she was right, but it was my eyesore…and for five years it had served me proudly. I was going to miss it.
The topic of conversation was switched from the impending demise of my beloved truck to our upcoming foray to California. I pretended to care as Rose gushed over all the plans she'd made with her cousin, and the details of our departure and return. And then, after dinner, Renee called to inform me of her whereabouts, and her day in Jacksonville. Hearing her voice made me feel a little better, and by the time our conversation was ended, I was feeling much more optimistic.
Change was good. Change lead to growth, and new opportunities. Maybe a new car was just what I needed. And maybe this trip to California…would be a good thing.
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"Rose…for the love of God, please put some different music on."
"I thought you liked Journey."
"I do, but not for two hours straight. I'd get sick of any group after two hours." I grimaced and leaned against the window as 'Don't Stop Believing' began to play…again. "Make it stop!"
Rose pouted, but dug around next to her, and handed me her booklet of CDs; technically she threw it haphazardly into my lap. Her eyes focused on the road, "I thought it would give us good vibes, listening to Journey while we're on a journey."
"Gosh, that's so deep, Rose," I teased, as I flipped through the music options. She gave me her bitch brow…because she was too classy for the finger.
With me in charge of the music, the next hour of our drive was accompanied with a hearty mixture of artists. Then, our rumbling tummies suggested we stop and get some food. It was a little after noon, and after running into some traffic, Rosalie's GPS said we still had another three hours to go before we reached our destination.
We stopped at a cute, homey diner. Rosalie didn't notice how every male eye in the vicinity appraised her wantonly, but I did. I also saw the way the lust in their eyes died upon seeing me, instead replaced with disgust and pity.
I hid my dissatisfaction when the waitress led us to a booth instead of a table. Just barely able to squeeze myself in, the feel of the table pushing into my gut made me uncomfortably self conscious. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a group of guys in the booth adjacent to ours were staring at Rose like she was a free all you can eat buffet. And Rose…was totally oblivious.
"What?" she inquired, upon seeing the incredulous look on my face.
"It's just not fair, the affect you have on people without even trying."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."
I raised an eyebrow. God how I love a challenge.
The waitress came, and we ordered individual entrees as well as an appetizer to split. When the waitress left, I clasped my fingers together and smiled at Rose across the table. "Ten bucks says one of the guys from that table over there will come over and hit on you before the appetizer is out. I led Rose's direction to the table, and she rolled her eyes. "You're on."
Our drinks were delivered, and I sipped on my iced tea happily as I waited. After maybe 5 minutes at the most, I became aware of one of the guys getting up out of the booth.
"Don't get overexcited, maybe he has to use the 'John'."
"Rose…nobody uses the term 'John' for the bathroom anymore. And he's coming over here."
He was tall, muscular and gorgeous. Or at least he would have been if there wasn't a cocky, egotistical twitch hidden in the corner of his mouth, and gleaming in his eyes. People don't realize how much a thought or feeling can twist the face, and mutate features until what was once beautiful was hideous.
Rose looked at me in horror. I gazed back at her with smug satisfaction. And then Mr. 'I think I'm too sexy for my shirt' opened his mouth.
"Do you have a map?"
Rose and I shared a look. This sounded like the opening to one of those awful pick up lines guys thought were charming, but really just made them look like jackasses. I silently willed Rose to play along though. I needed a good laugh.
God love her, she did play along; although it was with a heavy dose of boredom coloring her words. "No. Why?"
Sir 'I kiss my biceps goodnight before I go to bed' flashed a triumphant smile. "Because I'm getting lost in your eyes."
*Cricket…Cricket*
Rose smiled. To anyone who wasn't me, it appeared to be a gentle, perhaps even flirtatious, smile. But I knew better. This was her 'just give me a reason' smile. The one she reserved for those who pissed her off. "That's coincidental," she said, in a deceptively sweet tone, "because I'm getting lost in your massive ego."
Normally, a response like that was all Rose needed to send a guy running with his tail between his legs. But this guy had an impenetrable wall of confidence surrounding him. He laughed at Rosalie's insult, leaning towards her across the table. "I really respect a girl who knows how to deal out a verbal lashing. What are you drinking, gorgeous?"
When Rose blinked and then looked at me, I shrugged. Macho man was ignoring my presence, which was perfectly fine with me. I grabbed some metaphorical popcorn and sat back to watch the show.
My fair haired friend indicated her glass. "It's water," she answered flatly.
Her wanna-be suitor winked. "Well baby…the next one's on me." He straightened, and then sauntered…fucking sauntered…back to his buddies who were watching him with reverence.
Rose was silent for a moment, and the she looked up at me. "What the fuck was that?"
"That was a cocky bastard who thinks he's swept you off your feet. He walked away to give the illusion that he's thrown the ball in your court."
Our appetizer arrived, and I dug in while Rose looked at me in wonder. "How did you know that was going to happen, Bella?"
I tired to leave the melancholy out of my response, but I'm sure some of it slipped through. "Because it always happens, Rose. I've know you for a long time, and I couldn't even attempt to guess at how many times I've watched you get hit on."
As we ate through the appetizer, and then our entrees, I could see Rose getting increasingly agitated. She kept shooting hostile glances at the cocky bastard, who responded with winks and smirks. I expected him to come slithering back when the waitress brought Rose a second glass of water. Yet he remained fixed in his seat. I kept trying to figure out what his strategy was, though part of me doubted he had the brain power to really formulate a strategy in the first place. Guys like him tended to function on pure ego alone.
It wasn't until we had finished our meals, and were digging out our wallets to pay the bill, that he made his move. Rosalie heaved a sigh as he approached with a cocky gait. When he reached the table, he pulled a five dollar bill out of his pocket and threw it down in front of Rose, Who consequently made a face like she was going to take the paper currency and shove it down his throat until he choked on it. "What the hell is that?" she demanded.
"I told you your next drink was gonna be on me," he replied, all sugar and spice.
Oh you better run while you still can, pretty boy.
I saw the temper rage in Rosalie's eyes. "If you insist," she growled. Before the guy knew what was happening, she had grabbed her glass, which was still halfway full, and had emptied its contents onto his perfectly pressed, and most likely expensive, outfit. The water seeped through the denim of his jeans, making it look as if he'd urinated in his pants. I was too stunned to move.
"You bitch!" he yelled, now calling the attention of every patron and employee in the diner.
Rose stood, and though she was almost a head shorter than him, her fury seemed to give her height. "The drink is on you, just like you asked. And for future reference, you ass-mongrel… water is fucking free!" With that she stalked past him, and after putting down money for the bill and tip. I hastened to follow her.
Silence reigned as we got into the car, and Rose started the ignition. It fell heavily around us as she pulled out onto the highway, and lasted for a good five minutes after. Finally, my lips seemed to move of their own accord.
"You called him an ass-mongrel."
Rose's death glare softened a fraction, her lip twitching ever so slightly, and then we began to laugh; deep, guttural sounds that seemed to spring uncontrollably from somewhere deep inside of us. We laughed so hard that Rose had to pull over to the side of the road and stop the car so that she could throw her head back and roar with wild abandon. By the time we began to calm down, we were wiping tears of mirth from our eyes.
"Are we having fun yet?" I asked teasingly.
She smiled; a wide, natural grin that lit up her whole face. "Damn straight we are. Admit it; you're glad you let me talk you into this. Having finally regained her composure, she started the car and pulled out onto the highway once more.
I fiddled with the buttons of the radio and stopped at the first clear station I came across. Coincidentally, the familiar melody of 'Don't Stop Believing' spilled forth from the speakers. I removed my hand and began tapping out the beats on my thighs as I hummed along.
"I thought you were sick of Journey?" Rose observed.
My humming stopped for a moment as I pondered, and then answered with a shrug. "Changed my mind." She was right. I was having fun, and I was glad I'd agreed to come. But I'd never admit it out loud, for it was my experience that echoing sentiments of a 'so far, so good' nature was an open invitation for disaster.
(An)-Still with me? If so...I'll see you next week.