Todd the Spectacular Chapter Two (I/2) The King of Jokes

ChapterTwo

The King of Jokes

After we had finally reached the end of our eternity at sea, we began our journey by train. We could bear it, though it was quite crammed. We were all miserable, but I have to say, Henry might have won the award for exercising his misery the best.

Throughout our time on the train, we laughed and talked and complained and told each other our fears. At night I sung softly under my breath, a song that Mother and Father used to sing, one about being called back by the river.

Felix whined about the food, one day, and tossed a handful of chips onto my lap. “Look at these scraps,” he mumbled.

“Ew, Felix, don’t,” I shoved them off onto the floor.

Claudia scurried as far as she could away from me, shrieking like a cat. “Don’t you know what grease could do to my clothes?” she cried. “How disdainful.”

I didn’t really care, just then. Nor did Felix.

“That’s all America is—grease,” he said bitterly with a careless wave of his hand. He took a seat across from us and avoided our gazes, something he did when he was displeased but wanted someone to console him. He very unsubtly released a sigh, and it took so long to finish, I actually worried for a second.

“What is it, now?” I willed him to look at me and luckily, my will was a strong one.

“No one knows how to make fish and chips around here,” he said mournfully.

“We’re not in England anymore.”

“Really, Annabelle? Thank you for enlightening me.”

“You’re not supposed to call me that.”

“Well, Father isn’t here,” he shot back at me, as if I didn’t know. “I’ll call you what I want.”

“I should hope your manners wouldn’t wear off, simply because we’re not where Father’s gaze is upon us.”

“We’re so far away,” Claudia said wistfully.

Felix did not seem to hear. He sat upright and whistled a tune; I guess to distract himself from his grief.

After a few moments of unnatural quietness I couldn’t help but worry Henry was somewhere on his own, perhaps getting into things he shouldn’t. He was not like Felix, loud and mischievous, and often uncontrollable. Instead, he was often quiet, curious, deep in thought, and he had gifts no one ever seemed to notice, except for me. At least I didn’t think anyone else noticed. Henry had always been one to run off and discover little forgotten places to hide that no one else knew existed. 

Later in my life, I never really knew how or why he did it. I supposed he was that way because—that was how he was. He was Henry. 

Suddenly, as I thought those things about him, there he was, bustling through the door. He slid it shut and joined Felix, across from me and Claudia. He didn’t look quite as gloomy as Felix had, at least visibly. But I knew something was bothering him. 

I did know it. 

I always did.

“Where were you?” I asked, though I knew he wouldn’t tell me.

“Nowhere, of course. And there’s literally nowhere to go, in this cramped moving contraption.”

“A locomotive,” Claudia corrected, importantly. 

Henry scowled. “I’ll call it what I want. Now, shut your eyes and close your mouth like a stupid little girl ought to do.”

Claudia blinked back tears and turned her face to the window, breathing on the glass.

True, it was a sad thing, but to be completely honest—just between you and I—almost every time, she asked for it. Simply asked for it. Sometimes she even begged for it. Perhaps she just wanted a bit of attention, even if it was bad attention. Even if Henry would scold her. Because that’s really the only time he spoke to little Claudia. When he scolded her.

I made a mistake by breaking the silence. I should have left it alone.

“Father’s been to America, before,” was all I said.

“I know,” Henry said dimly.

“Well…he thinks such a time will help us. And we’ll be alright, won’t we? He even says it might strengthen our—”

“You don’t have to pretend to be Father!” my brother fired at me, his words spewing from his lips like sparks. He made a frustrated grunting sound and crossed his arms. His eyes looked everywhere around the room; just not at me. Anywhere but me.

Felix and Claudia looked down timidly, each biting their lip or picking at their nails.

One might wonder what goes on inside Henry Phoenix’s mind, except for the obvious. Our brother was hurt, they knew that bit. And not just because of Mother. We guessed he was hurt by Father’s rash decision to send us off, just like that. Leaving home was not simple. It was hard and took all of our strength.

As hours drew on like pages of a book in the wind, we talked about most anything, or we just said absolutely nothing and stared straight forward. Inside us all was a world, always moving and thinking and dreaming. 

Felix reminded us that Aunt Victoria warned us about the ‘wild ones.’ The ones who tortured snakes and played with alligators. She said she had read about it in the papers and had done her research to prepare us for our journey. “Stay away from the wild ones,” she had said over and over again. But truthfully, I wanted to meet the ones she called wild.

“I’m scared of such evil,” Claudia confided in her most injured tone. “It’s wicked there. Heathens run loose and unbound.”

“Oh, stop with the dramatics and you,” Henry snapped. “That’s just Aunt Vicky talk. She was trying to scare you. Or she really believes it herself. Anyway, I knew better than that.”

“Really?” Felix challenged.

“He always does,” I admitted. And it was true, always. I admired him in more ways than one, though, if I told him so, he would never believe me. But I would always be there for my brother as he once was for me.

“Thank you, Ingrid, for once again taking sides with Henry.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“Well, you don’t have to live to please everyone!” he fired at me and I looked at my brother, taken aback. He wasn’t upset, but he was irritated. It was just a passing storm that would wash away. All of my siblings were a bit stormy, even myself. 

“I don’t,” I said, softly.

Felix crossed his arms across his chest and huffed. Then he slumped and his foot kicked Claudia’s.

“Get off, Felix!” she wailed.

Felix rolled his eyes so far back I feared they may get stuck that way and I’d have to fetch a pair of gloves and pry them back to how they were.

After a dull moment passed between us, Felix sat up and said chipperly, “This land we’re going to, how do you say it? Miss-ii-sip-ie?”

“It’s an eee, not an ie.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

“You’re welcome, Felix.”

This will be continued on Tuesday! 

Look out if you have been enjoying Chapter Two, The King of Jokes!

small note

 hello, everyone, I have been so busy that I forgot to post on Monday, so I moved it to tuesday. last tuesday a bunch of stuff came up so I wasn't able to. I am going to post half of Chapter Two today and the other half on Tuesday.

make sense?

most of my posts are pretty weird, but anyway, see you later!

Todd the Spectacular Chapter One Be Brave

 ChapterOne

Be Brave

It all happened like this. 

One simple summer that changed me immensely. Or perhaps you could say, it wasn’t a change. I merely discovered some things that were already there, just hidden from the world and myself. 

When those three monthes ended I was not who I was when it had begun. None of us were. 

And it started with but three simple words.

Be brave, Annie. Always be brave.

That’s what everyone was always telling me. “Be brave, Annie, be brave.” Although I must say with some, the message was interpreted quite differently.

“Don’t be a coward, Annie. Don’t be a coward.”

But nonetheless, I knew that it was my true meaning in life. 

To find my courage. My bravery. And I will admit I have not found that yet.

I am Annabelle Ingrid Phoenix. 

Fifteen years of age, though if I will be truthful, I am as brave and daring as a small child. 

But I hope I will overcome that. 

I often look to my brother, Henry Austen, for I am not ashamed to admit he is much braver than I. He deals with a lot of grief on his own, too. By grief I mean my mother. 

My mother Annabelle is gone now but will always be a treasure buried deep within me and my brother’s hearts. Felix and Claudia would never understand that. They were young then. I love them, of course, but I was different from them. They had what you might call an air of childish innocence. 

I did not. Nor did Henry.

I watched my mother become lowered into the soft springy earth and then buried under layers and layers of dirt like you might do to a seed. That dreaded vision will always be in some vague corner of my mind no matter how much I wish to forget it. The sound of her singing the river lullaby to me will always echo in my ears. 

That dark morning, I scattered seeds over her grave, and now, after all these years, there are still white daises who dance around her gravestone by day.

I imagine them singing to her by night.

Back to me being brave.

I know I am not brave because I have met brave people. Those who you will meet too, if you don’t turn away just yet. But right from the moment Father called me into the parlor to sit and listen I knew I would never be brave.

He paced the floor. He always did when he was nervous or upset or simply had an empty hole inside him for fear and doubt to linger there.

Sometimes it was closed. Now was not one of those times. These days, it was always open, always vulnerable. Because he was always upset.

“Ingrid.”

He said my name like you might say the name of a tree. His face looked like a blank slate right about now. I ached to try and draw some color onto him. Just a little bit of life and sunshine. He called me Ingrid because saying my mother’s name, my name, was too painful.

“Ingrid, please forgive me.”

An odd way to start a conversation.

“You have been raised comfortable and wealthy all of your life. But you know we’re struggling and…I can’t seem to keep up.”

His hand shook a little. I thought I must have imagined it. My father was always strong. Like a vast wall. And that was not always a good thing. 

For when my mother died, and he built up that vast wall, it kept me and my siblings out. And through the wall he could not hear me calling his name. He heard nothing through that wall.

“We are going to move, Ingrid. Very far away. We’ll have a fresh start. I will find myself an occupation and we will build a new life.”

“Build a new life?” I said.

“In America.”

I blinked. What a strange thing to say, so suddenly. I must’ve been dreaming.

“America?” I asked, wondrously, as if in a dream. 

I don’t believe it. “Are you serious Father? Are we really to leave?”

“It’s in the country, Ingrid. It will be different, much, much different, than Boughsberry. America is very far away. We’ll find a little house on a hilltop, perhaps, or on a quiet street. It will be small. But we have no choice.”

I believed him. 

I didn’t need to ask any more questions after that.

It was almost dark when I found my brother sitting against a tree staring off into nothing. Perhaps he was angry with father. Perhaps he knew.

“Henry?”

For a minute, nothing. 

Then, “Did Father tell you?” he asked, numbly.

“Yes.” I took a seat beside him. “It’s scary, isn’t it?” I laughed at myself then. “I’m not very fearless, am I?”

“It’s fine,” he said, again in his numb, sad way. 

“We’ll be alright.”

It took as much to convince myself as it did him.

“Maybe.”

Father told each of us goodbye with a kiss and a promise that he would meet us there as soon as he was able. I stood beside the car and he came to me with uneven, slow steps. With a hand that only I saw was trembling, he brought a finger to my cheek and stroked it gently. He ran his fingers through my hair and brought me to him. For a moment I felt young again, which really, I was. But lately, I hadn’t felt it.

“I told Henry to look after you children,” he whispered, “but you know he’s not completely…well, I’m not, either.”

“I understand,” I told him. “I’ll help him.”

He let me go. “That’s good. There’s my sweet Annabelle.”

He said my name.

I could hardly do anything more than look into his eyes as he looked into mine. “Somehow, I know,” I said.

“Know what?”

“That when I see you next I’ll have changed.”

He blinked. His fingers shook again.

“Father?”

He looked up at me painfully.

“Are you alright?” I asked and touched his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Then he turned and walked away from me, his hand rubbing the spot I had touched.

Somehow, I knew. Deep inside of me.

Father wasn’t coming to America.

“Father?” I whispered, my voice catching. “Father?” I looked around the side of the house but he was gone.

My brothers and sisters joined me and I told them nothing.

A Prequel-

 hey everyone!

for those of you who still check in on this blog from time to time,

my original plan for my new story was to post a chapter every Monday, but since the next part is just like a prequel type intro thing, I am going to post it today! It'll be pretty short, since it's not actually a real chapter.

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

dream

“I’m not brave like you. Not really,” she said. 

They spoke quietly then.

They stood on the dock, breathing in the evening, as it was one of the last evenings like this. The lake turned a sort of tainted gold as the sun fell away. On the water, she saw her own life. Tainted. But maybe still beautiful in its own way.

Slowly, light painted itself on the water, casting itself down like a sad sigh. 

Moments like these were spoken in whispers.

“But, you’re Annie the Brave.”

Annie the Brave.

My eyes opened. My fingers felt the keys beneath them. Another night spent at my typewriter. 

But I couldn’t have slept.

I needed to write.

I lifted up my head and my eyes focused on my paper, still waiting for the right words to come. 

I couldn’t think clearly right now, not with my dream still fresh in my mind. 

Oh, this dream. Why did it keep occurring so? It wasn’t a happy dream, though it appeared to be. In fact, it woke me in tears everytime, every morning. I didn’t really know why. It just came and never stopped.

Sometimes, I think I drift too far back into the hazy memories of my childhood. The blurry summer afternoons that will always mean everything to me. But will one day fade away.

This dream I had brought back my past memories, fresh and anew.

Maybe it because his death still lingered in my thoughts. 

My heart still ached for him. 

For the one who thought me to be brave.

I blinked my eyes and took a deep breath, anything but steady, but still I tried. 

And pushing away all other thoughts I began to write.