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Museums and Thoughts [Jun. 16th, 2007|10:55 am]
[Current Location |far far away on a sunny sunny day]
[mood |rejuvenatedrejuvenated]
[music |surprisingly...silence!]

My parents have gotten it drilled into their brains that when any relative or guest visits, they absolutely MUST MUST MUST no doubt take them to every single museum in Connecticut. Or at least the rather important ones- the Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe houses, the Stanley Whitman house, and the Hillstead Museum. So yesterday after English and my voice lesson and then choir tryout, we went to the Hillstead for the 80th time. Okay, maybe only the fourth-ish time.

Putting your nose up two inches from an uncovered Degas painting is always fabulous until the tourguide hurries you along. I tried to figure out why I had been so fascinated with Monet when I was younger though, even to the point when I had the bridge with lily pads picture in my room, did a report on Givery for French, and watched videos about him. Maybe it was just seeing my not-so-favorite haystack pictures again compared to what it would be like to see the lily pads that made me wonder. It was probably a famous name that stuck with me when I was little.

I can practically give a tour on the place, though. Well not really, but close. Of course when I become a historian/curator/tourguide/etc. someday, and I work at a place like that, I will make the tour much more interesting. I will dress up like the maid or the daughter and put on a show and be all dramatic throughout the tour and talk in an accent if need be. The tour guide was very good and I could tell she loved it and it was interesting, but I don't want to be interesting and very good someday. I want to be so MARVELOUS and PASSIONATE that no one will ever forget the tour they went on with me (much like that crazy man at the whaling museum in Nantucket that inspired me times a million), that is, if I were to become a tourguide. We'll have to see....

My mom also reminded me about those poetry readings at the Hillstead that happen every now-and-then but I've never gone to. She suggested I see if I can help out or something and then get in free. I would love to do the highway man one someday, like Anne did, and it would be the perfect setting.

I also have to see if I can get a summer job/volunteer at the Stanley Whitman house, and also maybe dress up and help out at one of those battle reanactments or such. I'm a...nerd? Is that the right word? Or maybe a bit of a loser...and this entry had no purpose. But I don't care.
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DONE WITH FRENCH FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!....or at least High School [Jun. 13th, 2007|06:46 pm]
[Current Location |YIPPEE NO MORE FRENCH! land]
[mood |ecstaticecstatic]
[music |Top Of The World - Juliana Theory]


I am officially...okay...ready...?


I should have just taken Latin or easier Spanish from the start but I was an idiot. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the French or their country or their culture, their language is just awful. (not that English is any better from an outside perspective)

My dad talked to my guidance counselor again and she said French 4 CP was the same time as AP Art, and of course A) art came first and B) I would never take Honors French 4.

So I have the excuse for colleges (even though 3 years is enough for most of them and it's mostly not even required for my major) that french and art were at the same time and art came first...TOTALLY for my major *cough cough*.

So I am now signd up for graphic design in it's place, and I also have to decide if I want to take drawing or the other part of graphic design (I think it's parts 1 and 2?) instead. Since I don't feel like having more than one open.

My schedule is going to be amazing next year especially compared to this year's, except for maybe chem and also maybe math. But we'll see...we'll also see about choir!

I write too much every time.
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Simple Words and Complex Dreams [Jun. 13th, 2007|06:30 pm]
[mood |contemplativecontemplative]
[music |Broken Social Scene]

These songs makes me dream, and today Mr. Dridi tried to take that away from me. Of COURSE he didn’t succeed.

But the thing was, it was just a few simple words. It’s always been a few simple words that make me think the most. Anyone else would have forgotten that sentence, but not me, I have pondered it far and wide for the entire day so far. Just a few syllables seem to have the most meaning in it to me. I can hardly remember long speeches or lectures or discussions I’ve had throughout my life but at the most random times a few words pop into my head or someone says something that just STICKS there in my brain and infuses itself forever. And I think about them for hours, days, and even weeks. Like the “you smile too much” I most surprisingly received last year, after being told, “you’re too quiet!” years before. Of course, this confused me greatly so I thought about for the longest time. And of course I couldn’t stop thinking about more meaning behind it. Or “why aren’t you sitting over there, with them?” They just popped into my head out of nowhere when I was studying yesterday, like a good girl, and my mind wandered away to fight off words and brave the universe and become me even more.

But back to dreaming. When I showed him my imparfait/passé compose review sheet and got about 40 percent of them right or less, he told me something like, “You need to focus and stop dreaming; where is your head?” But I can’t, of course. Who would have written this song, built the Great Wall of China, invented the light bulb, painted your favorite picture, made that dress you’re wearing, if they hadn’t dreamed? We would be nowhere in life if a few people here or there didn’t sit in French class and pay no attention whatsoever to verb conjugations; and instead watched absolutely nothing out the window as they came up with a brilliant design or idea or a song began to formulate (stupid English and Geo class, I lost an amazing song I had been keeping with me in the back of my head for the whole day and planning to write down/work out ASAP when I got home a few days ago). I don’t even know when this happened, I used to be able to concentrate and that’s what got me straight A’s. Now it’s more B’s and also a lot of dreaming and wistfulness and thoughts and almost too much of that. Maybe I’m going crazy, but everyone always says that. Maybe this is Spring Fever, but it’s been like that for a while. Maybe I’m just more me than last year.

I feel like Luna Lovegood in that class.

Backyards and Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl by Broken Social Scene with Emily Haines are my world right now.
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This was pointless but I am procrasting respiration and circulatory studying [Jun. 12th, 2007|03:50 pm]
[Current Location |water fountains and benches]
[mood |giddygiddy]
[music |October - Pinewood Derby]

Today was...interesting. Or at least far from boring. I found out some more life-changing news from Devin, but since it was all on the same topic that had been haunting me for the past few weeks, it wasn't too much of a shocker. After school we went to the AP Lit meeting. It seems hard (and boring...considering the stuff written by John Smith and the other colonizers of America...yuck!) on one hand but also very worthwhile on the other. And I will finally have a chance to read works by great authors such as Nathanial Hawthorne, Emerson, Thoreau, Fitzgerald, etc. because sure, my family have visited the homes/birthplaces, whatnot, (which are mostly in MA, RI, CT, NH, PN, NE in general) of a lots of the names on the sheets on the great authors. But I've never had time or drive to actually read or work through any of them (discluding Gatsby), or I was a bit to small when we visited. But I still remember most of the homes.

I really hope I get Mr. Lachance. I sorta kinda know him from Lit Mag in 9th grade but of course dropping out didn't give off the best impression. Ah well, I had tennis and voice lessons. But I need him for English because the other lady sounds too strict and harsh. Males for English are some times kinder but still teach you just as well, just in a less evil form. (except Ms. Wiellette and Mr. Elliot were exceptions...both are just the opposite of above and then Mrs. Schwartz, well, I sort of love/hated her)

Open was working on the art project; same with art.

Choir was milling about with Colleen, Kilian, and Hannah... AND learning about the exam for Chamber Choir. Yes, I'd be more than happy to be in Women's Choir again because it's the next best thing, but CHAMBER CHOIR, come on! For a person who just NEEDS to sing like myself in order to survive; for someone who's only lifeline is their ipod, this is the choir for me. I hope I don't burst into tears if I don't make it. The choir is SO DARN GOOD and I just want to be a part of that.

History was exam talk...English was OP's...I won't even get started on the 'gun' one, oh my Lord. Basically talked to Thaisa about being 'giddy' the whole day.

French was boring...review packet; preppy guys fighting over chocolate was interesting for .05 seconds; Mr. Dridi STILL confusing everyone's name today after a whole year got my attention for .025 seconds. And then I was so bored I almost died.

Bio was that quiz. Even a simple open notes quiz is HARD?/or at least requires brain power when you have Mrs. Kane and take Honors. Please gag me now.

Geomtery was not listening to Mrs. Napoli talk about review and instead staring at the clock because the exam's not until Monday...and that's the way I've begun to work lately.
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People Change, Especially Myself [Jun. 10th, 2007|09:43 pm]
[mood |embarrassedembarrassed]

So I was reading my first entries, like when I first got this thing back in the day...okay...it was only 2005. I read some entries from the end of 2005 to the beginning of 2006, when it was 9th grade, and I cannot even believe to BEGIN to comprehend that person was ME! I seem so entirely different. I wonder what it would be like to meet myself last year, and the year before that, and the year before that? At this very moment? I always thought I was a somewhat intelligent person, I mean I HOPE so, with common sense and book smarts and regarding everything, really, but reading those...wow. I feel like I was a ditzy, shoe-obsessed, over-the-top blonde, hyper, fruitcake of a dingbat of a person or something last year. I would hope I didn't actually act like that and it was just in my entries...but wow. Have I EVER changed. I guess I needed a bit of that time period in my life to figure out exactly who I was...

And now I think about what it would be like to meet myself in a year, and a year after that. Will I still have all of the same friends? Will I act the same? Think the same thoughts? Love the same things and have the same interests? Or will I become someone totally different? Even if I am the same person...so how CAN I become someone different? And now I am confusing myself.

I should have never ever even read those entries. It was embarassing. I may as well just delete them or something.
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Meaningless Numbers and Meaningful Words [Jun. 8th, 2007|04:25 pm]
[Current Location |Yes he is sticking his tongue out at you]
[mood |crazystill crazy hyper...haha]
[music |Beating Hearts Baby- Head Automatica (amazing...)]

Okay...I am still not done typing random and pointless things into my Livejournal for no apparent reason at all...lalala!

Math. Is. STUPID. Yes, it's been said plenty of times before. But it really is. And pointless, at that. I don't understand why so many of my friends these days seem to want to be math teachers or something involving math. So you find x...now what? Does that really make you feel COMPLETE inside and give you a RUSH? Wouldn't you rather SEW...or sing or write or dance or paint or....yeah you get the picture. But what is so interesting about mx+b=y or whatever that equation is? Or the pyathagoreom theorem? I guess maybe math helps architects...but how many people become an architect? Like 1 in 800? Not even? So the rest of us have to suffer so someone can go make cool buildings...okay. Yes, I am being selfish because I suppose that SOMEONE had to build this house I'm in right now. And they needed math. Science is okay...but both complex and boring at the same time. Math is at least slightly easier to comprehend...there's no weird ATP cycle thingy-ma-bob. Now THAT was stupid to waste my time half-learning just enough to get a B something in the class but not studying THAT much because I didn't really care about it. I am being selfish, I know...we need to learn science so that all of those future doctors can start working towards their PhD's...like 1 in 800 again...woot...not.

They all say (the teachers) that math and science are important to take in life so that you understand things like how the world works (or what the volume of your moving box is? jk)...except I understand/memorize something for about week...and then forget it and move on. Now THAT helped me out in life a WHOLE bunch! I need to stop being to selfish and close-minded, really...

Now it's time to go write my totally teenage novel series...as in work on 2 books at once...while I try to write a new song and calm myself down from hyper-ness.
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let's all jam out like rockstars [Jun. 8th, 2007|04:08 pm]
[Current Location |in a banana peel, of COURSE!]
[mood |crazycRaZy!!!!!!!!]
[music |Hannah Montana- Nobody's Perfect]

I am so incredibly happy right now. In fact that is my facebook status...it's weird that I'm so happy because the rest of the week hasn't been that great and today wasn't even that amazing, just some fun/funny/etc. stuff but I am all cheery right now and listening to Hannah Montana, just about the most ditsy (the ONLY ditsy) thing I own on my itunes because it's just perfect for my happy-go-lucky mood right now. Which is weird, beacuse I haven't been like this since...like Christmas or the retreat or something, I don't even know. Sure, I smiled plenty of times, but mostly I didn't mean it inside...

I guess I'm excited for summer and all of the freedom and the no stress that comes with it. I'n excited for the family vacation and major creation time whether's it's with music, writing (which I majorly miss), design, art, or anything else...I'm so excited to be done with sophomore year. It was certainly interesting, but not the best thing ever. I actually liked 7th, 8th, and 9th grade more than 10th grade. Everything was pretty much better, except for the fact I learned about 1 million new things about myself and the world this year, and yes, that's important, but other years were still better. And I'm mega excited for junior year! Which I really shouldn't be excited about, but I am...mostly because I might not take french and that I'm doing cp chem and specializing in history art and english. Yes, it's weird that I'm excited for all of that, and only I can really understand that. But this is my livejournal.

I still don't quite understand myself, however, don't get me wrong. Like why I was depressed a few days ago (okay not really DEPRESSED quite...) and all happy now and all out of the world and dreamy and etheral at the beginning of the week, pretending I was in the medieval days and/or Luna Lovegood because she's amazing...I get so weird and have all of these different moods at all of these random times...I feel like an entirely different person every single day sometimes. Oh...I ate a whole load of chocolate...that can explain the random happy-crazy dancing around my room, singing/shouting, pretending I am a rockstar moment right there...uhm yeah, cough cough. But every teenager does that. Or I'm just really strange and a total loser. Hopefully not the latter.

I feel like reading or watching Tom Sawyer. What a random urge. Maybe it's because of the Broadway Review song that reminds me of Tom and Huck with the men's choir? Anyway, the show will be amazing I am SO EXCITED! My favorite song we do is I Could Have Danced All Night, OBVIOUSLY, but others by different choirs that are good are Facade, Hard Knock Life, So Long, Farewell, and Summer Nights that our choir does is also a lot of fun! I am very excited, even if I didn't get the solo in the sound of music one...ah well. Maybe next year's new choir teacher will actually give me a decent chance?
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THEY ALL SURROUNDED MEEEEEE! [Jun. 4th, 2007|09:59 pm]
[mood |bouncybouncy]
[music |Whistling a tune and skipping along on through the woods]

My own personal song lyrics of the day...I have been humming and singing this the whole day, skipping along with my hair in a princess fashion and pretending I am part of the song. I wish I could live it and go to the jolly ol' medieval days (like the good times we read about in books even if they were truly the 'measley middle ages'- aka horrible histories books) and BE the song itself. I looked at Roxanne and Aurelia, a story I started in 6th-ish grade about a witch and a princess back in those days and I realized it wasn't half bad and I could spruce it up a bit this summer, and it would be perfect for kids...kinda like those Gail Carsone Levine princess spoof books, which are sort of the liek Shrek movies (I swear the movies like stole from those books).

I gathered my thoughts and set out on a trail
into the woods, wearing sword and chainmail
I started to whistle and walk to the beat
that my heart played constantly on repeat

The nightfall was chilly, I slumbered right where I fell
dreaming up adventures cause' I had none to tell
Upon the morning, I woke with a start
for the beasts had blackened the horizon
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Some OP Buisness [Jun. 4th, 2007|04:39 pm]
OP Quarter 4
Caroline Wilson
Period 5 Niedbala

When the buggy finally stopped, dusk had already fallen and the ghostly, late winter shadows were playing games on the snow-covered stony drive. The carriage driver opened my door and helped me down. I took in the sight before me: simply but, it was a magnificent mansion.
“Would you like me to help you with your bags, Miss?” the driver asked me.
“No thank you, I can manage,” I said, picking up my two small suitcases. The eerie moonlight hit the side of the building and then ricocheted off onto the snowy shrubbery lining the walkway as I made my way to the front door.
I picked up the large brass knocker and knocked twice. The door was opened almost at once by a tall, thin middle-aged lady wearing spectacles and her dark hair in a tight bun. The woman looked me over in an imposing manner and I could tell immediately that she was not at all pleased with my short, rather scrawny appearance and my ratty old black dress.
“Welcome to Lowell Manor. I’m Polly, Head Assistant. How may I help you?” she inquired.
“I’m here for the position of governess,” I explained nervously, trying to smile.
“You are Miss Abigail Pickens? The seventeen-year-old girl we sent for from Concord?” She looked at me in disbelief.
“Indeed I am,” I said, trying to stand up taller, but one of my bags was weighing me down on one side, and I was tired from the long ride.
“Very well,” she said and reluctantly told me to come in. She led me into a large entry way, mumbling to herself, “I should have known better.”
The sun shone through my window and danced on my face, awakening me from my slumber. I squinted, trying to look around. Polly had given me a quick tour the night before and then shown me to my room complete with a vanity table, lace curtains, and a canopy bed. I had never seen quite a room in my life before. I was used to living in a small, simple house in a small, simple town in Massachusetts. This large, extravagant estate was quite a contrast. The ceilings were high, the rooms were magnificently decorated, and there was a vast library. I hoped that it was full of splendid books about romance, adventure, and everything a girl could possibly dream about.
I rose out of bed and somehow managed to find my way through the maze of hallways and staircases, finally leading to the basement kitchen for breakfast.
“Good mornin’!” a large, jolly dark woman sang as I entered the kitchen. She was busy arranging some breakfast food on a plate. “You must be the new governess!” she continued.
“Why yes, I am,” I smiled. I liked this lady a great deal better than Polly.
“I’m Nan, the cook, maid, and everythin’ else!” she told me, handing over a plate of eggs and toast. “Well don’t just stand there! Sit down and eat, darlin’,” Nan laughed.
“Did you say new governess?” I asked her as I took my breakfast.
“Yes, but only the second in total this year. I guess Forsythia just depressed the last one to bits and she couldn’t stand it any longer. Forsythia went to a private school for girls before…”, she stopped as she handed me my juice. “Well, before everythin’ happened to ‘er health and she got stricken’ with that disease, the Polio”.
“Forsythia depressed her? How so?” I questioned.
“Forsythia’s not the most healthy apple in the bunch, bein’ a cripple and all. She’s just a small moody thing, really, even bein’ almost twelve. And it doesn’t help that ‘er parents are across the world, claiming it’s for business. I think it’s just mighty depressin’ for them to be here with their failure of a child. So she’s left at the manor with us to tend to ‘er, though she doesn’t do much ‘sides sit in corner all alone and read the Ol’e day through.”
“Oh my, she sounds utterly miserable!” I became worried as I tried to envision this child.
“She’s not too difficult though, since she’s usually as quiet as a mouse and does what she’s told for the most part. It’s just sad to see ‘er sittin’ there all day,” Nan explained.
“I would think so”, I said sadly. I finished up my breakfast as Nan told me a little more about the manor and how to stay on the right side of “Strict Ol’ Polly”, then I made my way back upstairs.
I went down the wrong hall and had to turn around and try to find the one leading to the stairs to the next level. Along the way, I somehow managed to find myself in front of a set of grand doors; intricately embossed with a scroll and design from top to bottom. I knew that I should keep to myself and not do anything without Polly’s permission, but I couldn’t stop myself from pushing open one of the doors, already ajar, and peeking inside.
Sunlight was shining into the most elegant room that I had ever laid eyes on. It was a ballroom with a ceiling of seemingly endless height, a marvelous crystal chandelier hanging in the center, a shiny black grand piano in one corner, and enough room to dance forever. I entered, and did a quick twirl in the center. Then hearing a small voice, I spun around quickly.
“What are you doing? “Would you please be so kind as to get out of there? We don’t use that room anymore,” the mysterious voice said.
I went back in the hall and closed the huge doors behind me. I saw a girl sitting there in a wicker wheelchair, which surprised me. I knew it was Forsythia, but I was surprised to see she was in a wheelchair. I had only expected her to have a limp or an arm sling.
“You must be my new governess,” she said quietly.
“Yes, my name’s Abigail. And I take it you’re Forsythia?” I was satisfied with a little nod. “Well we’re going to have lots of fun together. I hope you enjoy learning, because I love teaching. What are you’re favorite subjects? I’ll be sure to spend extra time on those.”
“I like reading, very much so,” she said.
“As do I!” I smiled. “I probably spend a little too much time reading, but I adore it.”
“Writing is alright too, I suppose, and some mathematics are good. But I spend most of my time reading Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare and Agatha Christie. Just about everything under the sun, really.” I inspected her as she spoke. Forsythia had mousy brown hair and large green eyes that seemed to glisten when she named all of her favorite authors. She seemed like a brilliant child, having devoured all of those masterpieces.
It was then that I noticed that her legs looked very weak and seemed to limply hang down from her body in the wheelchair as if they hadn’t been used in a while. I pretended not to notice because if I were in her position I knew I would not like to be stared at like an oddity.
Forsythia and I spent the rest of the afternoon getting to know each other, but mostly talked about our favorite stories. Forsythia said that she was surprised that we weren’t going to begin with studying a tiresome list of the European monarchs or delve into perfecting her script. I could tell that she hoped we’d never get to either, but I told her that it was all in good time. Suddenly, I overwhelmingly wanted to help this poor child, and encourage a fascination with her studies. I wanted learning to be special for her, and I was going to put every ounce of my being into it. Forsythia was the kind of girl who deserved that.
The next day I knew that we had to get started on our lessons. I had never taught anyone before, but I started by teaching Forsythia mathematics and we delved into history later on that day. She was a very quick learner and the day went by in the blink of an eye. In fact, the whole week flew by right before me. I could tell that Forsythia had started to consider me a friend more so than as a governess. It was probably because we got along so well and were especially united through our love of literature. When I asked her how she liked our lessons together she said, “Oh, Miss Abigail, I’ve absolutely adored everything I’d learned so far! And you are so unlike any of the other teachers I’ve ever had.”
But Polly cornered me in the hall that night and said, “Miss Pickens, I fear that you are perhaps not what we’re looking for. Forsythia needs a strict tutor and not a friend. The job of a governess is in no way to discuss all of those silly books you waste your time on. If you do not get your act together within the next week, we may have to send you away”, she reprimanded with a cold, bitter look on her face.
Surprised and rather embarrassed, I apologized and went up to my room to ponder everything over. It was then I realized, though, that I didn’t care what Strict Ol’ Polly had said, even a little bit. She could say all she wanted about it, but she still didn’t know what was best for Forsythia. Polly didn’t understand Forsythia in the least, but I did. Just to spite Ol’ Polly, even though she wasn’t aware, I pulled out some of my “silly books” and “wasted my time”; the whole entire night in fact.
By the time of that spring was in the air, Forsythia was beginning to brighten up more than ever and take on the persona that her name inferred. I knew that she had spirit inside of her; she just needed to spend time finding it again. She was no longer the miserable, weak little girl I had first met a few months ago. With her newfound happiness Forsythia was actually starting to look healthier. When I had told Nan about Polly’s threat to me about firing me, she said, “Pish-posh, where’s she gonna find another governess in the beginin’ o’ Spring?” So I wasn’t worried about that anymore.
I suggested that we have a picnic in the town park in nearby Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I didn’t know that she would blurt out the idea to Polly at dinner one night, though. I had planned on bringing up the idea little by little and when Polly was in the best mood she could possibly be, even being as cold and hard as stone.
“Polly, Miss Abigail and I want to take an adventure!”
“To where, some far away, non-existent land in one of those books of yours?” Polly scoffed.
“No, we want to go on a picnic! It’s springtime and the flowers are blooming, and my yellow ones, the forsythias are just coming out!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.
“You are not well enough for that. Your parents would not have it. Just look at you,” Polly said.
I would not stand for this a bit and interjected, “Yes, Polly, just look at her! Look how much better she looks. Fresh air and flowers are what she needs right now, not to be cooped up inside. Please?”
“It’s a brilliant idea, Polly, oh please let us!” Forsythia begged.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do but it’s not going to work. Forsythia is remaining inside. A number of things could happen that could impair her even worse. She is a poor little thing and a cripple at that. She doesn’t have enough energy to go on a useless picnic.”
Forsythia’s face sank, reminding me of the way she had looked when I first met her. I had begun to think that the only reason Forsythia had been miserable all along was because of Polly’s cruelty towards her. I knew that she was implementing Forsythia’s parent’s wishes way too far.
“Miss! Miss!” Nan came into my room early a week later. “Quickly, wake up!”
I rose out of bed and looked at her, puzzled.
“Strict Ol’ Polly has gone to see her sister ‘n won’t be back ‘til this afternoon, but I ‘ait quite sure when. If you two hurry you can go do your picnickin’ for a while. Yes, I heard your conversation from the kitchen the other night,” she answered even before I asked.
Forsythia and I quickly got ready while Nan asked the neighbor to take us to one of Pittsburgh’s parks, since he was already headed there for a few hours.
“I haven’t ridden in a buggy in the longest time,” Forsythia told me as she looked out of the window at just about everything, fascinated. “I think the last time was when I was diagnosed with Polio and my parents took me into New York City to get some treatment. It didn’t work though.”
Ididn’t quite know what to say so I remained silent. It was the first time she had openly discussed any of that with me and I knew it was painful for her, but it was a step that brought us even closer.
“Is there anything special you would like to do today, while Polly’s gone?” I finally spoke.
“Yes”, she told me. “More than anything in the whole entire world I would like to dance, but that’s not going to happen, is it?” she asked me.
“I…I’m afraid it probably won’t. I’m sorry, dear. But why do you want to dance so badly?”
“Because I was meant to be a dancer. My mother was the most elegant ballerina and it was her dream that I dance, too. It wasn’t that it was only her wish, though, it was mine too. I adored every lesson and practice I had, and the costumes were just marvelous as well. Remember that room with the high-ceilings you were in when we first met, and I told you to get out? Well, that was my practice room,” she explained solemnly. I understood now.
“My mother and father and I used to go see brilliant ballets, like Coppélia and Swan Lake. My middle name is even Giselle, so of course that one is my favorite. Just when I was about to start dancing Pointe last year, I got Polio. It was terrible…almost the most tragic thing in the whole entire world”, she finished, a bit dramatically.
“I wish I could do something, anything, for you,” I told her.
“It’s all right I suppose. I can still become the next best thing perhaps, a writer,” she smiled.
“And I’m sure a very good one at that,” I smiled back.
The picnic turned out to be perfect. Nan had packed all of our favorite food and had even made a special cake for us. We had fun picking flowers, especially the yellow forsythias, and making wreaths and bracelets and necklaces out of them. Forsythia said that she used to keep a few of her namesake flowers stuck behind one ear each Spring. I gathered up a bunch in a bouquet to take home and then checking my pocket watch realized that we needed to leave soon.
I was rushing to pack everything up when suddenly I saw that Forsythia was lifting herself up and out of her wheelchair. With her legs wobbling beneath her, she held fast onto the wooden arm.
“Forsythia!” I rushed over and steadied her. “What are you doing?”
“I just need to twirl around once, and feel the breeze in my hair and see the world in motion spinning around and pretend I am a ballerina. Just once,” she said, about to fall over.
“I know I sound like Polly,” I said, “But you’re too weak! You’ll collapse! And look at you now, trying to stand! You can’t do it,” I told her.
She ignored me and let go of the wheelchair. Something magically that only happens in the books we both read seemed to happen. For one fleeting moment in time, Forsythia revolved around in a circle, almost lifting off of the ground as her dress twirled out from her body, flowers falling out from her hair. But then, as quickly as she was up she was down again, fallen onto the ground in a heap.
“Forsythia!” I cried and ran over to her.
“I’m fine,” she told me and somehow managed to get back up and into the wheelchair with little help from me.
“Are you sure?” I asked, still worried.
“Yes, very, Miss Abigail. Don’t worry,” she said as she wheeled and I walked to find the neighbor’s buggy, and she did actually seem all right.
Summer came and went by, Forsythia rarely being let out of the house. Thankfully, Polly never found out about the picnic for I knew that if she had, I would be fired. The only time when Forsythia was allowed to escape Lowell Manor was when Polly was out. We continued our lessons, though, so Forsythia would keep herself occupied. Her parents sent a letter once over the summer, saying that they were going to visit in August, but they never came and I don’t think any of us expected them too. I had learned that they had never come back since they left after Forsythia could not be treated for Polio. I could understand that her mother was disappointed that Forsythia had not become a famous ballerina like herself, but I could not understand why she left her forever. No matter what happened, a mother was supposed to stick by her daughter’s side, but apparently her mother was off someplace in Paris, teaching ballet.
Autumn soon fell as did the crisp leaves, and Forsythia watched them tumble from the trees as she sat by the window and read even more novels. I suggested to Polly that she might run out of books to read and that we should take a quick stop to the Pittsburgh library, but she said that she’d simply have more books sent if Forsythia absolutely felt that she needed to read that garbage.
Somehow that Fall, I finally convinced Polly to let us go to the library because I said that Forsythia could not be kept inside any longer. She wanted to go outside and see the snow and downtown Pittsburgh. We only went for two hours, under the strict rules of Polly, but Forsythia had a marvelous time nonetheless.
“Oh, Miss Abigail, thank you so much for this!” Forsythia grinned as she left the library with a dozen books in her lap, her cheeks rosy from the cold winds.
“You deserved it,” I said. “But I still can’t believe we managed to convince that old grouch to let us get out of there!” I said and we both laughed.
I was given a two week-long winter break for Christmas, in which I visited my parents back in Concord. When I returned, however, I was sorry I had left at all.
As I entered the manor, I came upon a man sitting in the front hall, talking with Polly. “What’s going on?” I asked.
Nan came out from the kitchen and replied, “I fear she has taken ill, Miss Abigail. She has something dreadful called Scarlet Fever, and the doctor doesn’t quite know how to treat it.”
“What?” I asked disbelieving, for I knew this sickness was very serious.
“It’s all your fault”, Polly snarled at me. “It was that silly library trip in out in the cold that did it!”
“No!” I shouted, running up the stairs to Forsythia’s room.
“Miss Abigail, don’t go up there! Don’t you enter her room, you’ll be sick too!” Nan called after me but I didn’t listen.
“Forsythia!” I cried as I entered her room and saw her just lying there, limp, under bundles of covers. “Speak to me!” I said, but she just moaned. She was very pale except for the red patches on her cheeks and forehead, probably from the fever.
“Abigail? Is that you?” she finally managed to whisper weakly, and then fell asleep right after.
“How did she get this? Why did she deserve this? It’s not fair! Oh God, help her!” I cried out loud as I knelt by her bed and prayed with all of my heart and soul.
I spent every waking moment of the next few weeks with Forsythia, by her bed, reading her stories and telling her tales, but she rarely responded or even recognized me. The doctor visited every day and did what he could, but said that she was getting worse and worse, and was probably too weak to make it through. I refused to accept that and pretended that she would be okay with all of my might.
I needed to get out of the house for a little while and so I went for a quick walk. When I came back in, I could tell that something was wrong.
“Oh, Miss!” Nan latched onto me right, shaking, as I walked into the front hall. “It happened just now!”
“NO!”I shouted. It couldn’t have! She couldn’t be-! I couldn’t say the word.
“I’m so sorry, honey, it ain’t right at all, it doesn’t do the world justice! Forsythia was the loveliest child ever ‘n I don’t know why she went this way”, Nan cried. “I went in to give her some porridge ‘n her fingers and forehead were all cold. Her little heart had stopped beatin’, and my mind knew it, but I didn’t want to believe. I didn’t want to believe it was true!”
“Call the doctor! Have him do something!” I yelled.
“I’m afraid it’s too late. You know that, honey,” Nan said, embracing me.
“Nan!” I wept into her sleeve. “If only I hadn’t gone away to visit my parents and left her here! I feel absolutely miserable. It’s all my fault!”
“Don’t say that, Miss Abigail. Now you listen to me. It would have happened either way and I don’t want you going and getting’ falsehoods drilled into your brain”, she told me.
“But if I had been here, it would have been different, Nan. I just know it”, I said.
“You know nothing of the sort, Abigail. You had a right to see them, and the two events are completely unrelated.”
The funeral was that weekend, and only consisted of the household staff, a sparse number of neighbors, and the minister. Forsythia’s parents stayed in Europe and I wondered if they had even cared when they had found out.
Everyone in attendance was sobbing except for Polly, who stood there as stiff as could be, acting like her normal self. But I wondered if she was feeling sad at all on the inside. I wondered if the little girl named Forsythia had changed her life at all, had made her heart just a little bit softer, or had made her smile at least once when no one was looking.
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Together just one beating heart...I catch your breath [Jun. 3rd, 2007|02:15 pm]
[Current Location |sweetness and tears]
[mood |loveddreamy isn't an option is it?]

"Sleep Tonight" by Stars- my song of the weekend

We dont want to sleep tonight
Still young like that I count the lines
Beside your mouth that smiles now
My arms reach up as you go down
With buried heads we both forget
All of the past and its regret
Wind picks up, the window shakes
We wont hear the morning break

You will cry
And i will cry
Cuz all the love's
Alive tonight

Neighbourhoods will try to dream
While you and me we hold and lean
Onto bodies slick and charged
Together just one beating heart
All around us quiet now
We hear the leaves fall to the ground
Morning light upon our bed
An ally while I catch your breath

You will cry
And i will cry
Cuz all the love's
Alive tonight
You will cry.....repeat
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