Story Part 8

The next installment is now ready for viewing. I didn't post on Facebook last week, but I did post, so if you missed it, I would recommend reading that post before this one. Just to keep you informed of my progress, I have about 5 posts left of what I have written so far. Now that you know, I will have to write more, because I hope to have at least one more post ready before next week. (That means next week I should have another 5 posts left).

The list he gave her was long. There were so many charities in Vancouver and all of them had worthy causes. There were children charities, cancer charities, charities for homeless people, and battered women. There were charities for other diseases like AIDS and multiple sclerosis. There was no end to all the save the world charities like save the whales and save the trees. She tried to remember what Busby had told her in that she had enough money now to make some mistakes. And if her mistake was choosing a charity that wasn’t as important to her as another, that would be more than okay. There really were no wrong decisions in this case.

“What is this?” her mother asked as she came back from dropping the kids off at their house.

“Mr. Busby gave me a list of charities to look into. To help me figure out what I want to do. He also gave me some literature on the ones he thought I’d be most interested in with the promise that he could get more if another on the list strikes my fancy.”

“Which one do you think is most interesting so far?”

“Oh I don’t know, they’re all very worthy causes. And none of this has really touched my life before, so I’m not really emotionally attached to a particular cause the way some people are about say, breast cancer.” She held up the pink breast cancer foundation brochure that Busby had given her. “I was never abused, I’ve never had a disease that threatened my life, I’ve never known anyone like that either. I can see these are all really good causes and I’ve decided to make a donation to all of them over the next while, but none of them strike me emotionally. I want to find something that speaks to me, you know? Right here.” She pointed to her heart.

“You’ll find it, Syl. One day you’ll wake up and it’ll occur to you that it has been staring you in the face this whole time. You’ll wonder for a moment how you didn’t see it before and then you’ll figure out how you’re going to make it part of your life.”

Her mother went into the kitchen to see about dinner and Sylvia went back to the papers in front of her. There was something on the list or in the brochures that would strike her emotionally. And when it did, she would know what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

“We’re not getting anywhere.” She paced the bedroom in a sheer, white robe that enhanced her nudity rather than concealed it.

“Our PI is doing all he can, darling. Come lay down. Relax.”

“I can’t relax. William is in jail. He called her last night telling her to bail him out and the little tramp said no. Can you believe that? She said no. To William. If she said no to him, she’ll say no to any of us. What if I need something? Grandfather always bought me the nicest things when I asked him to. But she won’t even bail William out of jail.”

“You need to calm down, dear. You’re working yourself up and it’s not good to have a high stress level. Come here and I’ll rub the tension from your shoulders.”

She flopped down on the bed that she had recently gotten out of so that he could make her feel better, again. “I just want the money so we can get away from here. So we can be together and not have anyone look at us like we’re crazy.”

“I know, dear. I know. I want that too. We just have to be patient. Peter will come up with something. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. We’ll back her into a corner and she’ll have nowhere to run. She’ll have to give us the money we need.”

His hands gently rubbed her shoulders and she started to relax a bit.

“You’re right. Everyone has something. Except, Peter said she’d been poor most of her life. And poor people don’t make secrets the way rich people do.”

“Even if that’s true, she’s rich now, isn’t she? All we have to do is wait. She’ll do something, or has already done something and we’ll find a way to use it against her. She took everything from us, now we’ll have to take it back.”

His hands slipped down her arms and around to her breasts. He squeezed them gently in his hands, kneading the soft mounds.

“I thought you were giving me a shoulder massage.”

“You don’t want a shoulder massage. You want something else.”

“Maybe you’re right. A nice new Hermes bag would be nice. Those Louis Vuitton sunglasses I saw yesterday were to die for. A million dollars in my bank account would be a nice start.”

He pinched her nipple hard between his thumb and middle finger. She yelped and jumped but he held on. Finally, he loosened his grip and she sighed with satisfaction.

“Now what do you want?”

“I want you.”

He tore the expensive robe off of her and tossed it away.

“That’s right. And don’t forget it, either.”

Story Part 7

Here is the next installment of the story. Sorry for last week. I promise I'll get better.

The next day, Sylvia went to see Busby.

“Sylvia, how nice to see you.” Busby’s receptionist, Grace, greeted her enthusiastically. “It’s always nice to see you instead of another of the old men. That’s all who ever come in here is old men, and you know they never have anything interesting to talk about.”

Sylvia smiled at Grace. “Well, I’m afraid today, neither do I. Is Mr. Busby available?”

“I’m always available for you, Ms. Rowland,” Busby said from his office door. “Come into my office. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.”

“Would you mind bringing some in, please, Grace.”

Sylvia followed Busby into his office while Grace went to get the coffee. The office was large. A huge oak desk took up space in the middle of the office. Busby’s black leather chair sat behind the oak desk and two comfortable, brown visitors’ chairs sat across from Busby’s usual spot. There was a large picture window to the right as they came into the office. Bright sunshine shone through the window making the office warm and cheery even though outside it was very cold and windy. But the item in the room that commanded the most attention was the large family portrait that hung behind Busby’s desk.

The dark oak frame matched the desk. It was the four people in the painting, though, that really made the piece fascinating. Busby stood at the back, slightly behind his wife. In front of them were their two children when they were about ten and twelve. All four of them seemed happy to be there, posing for the painting, and also just being together. Just looking at the painting, the viewer could see that Busby was proud of his family and that he loved his wife dearly. It was obvious that his wife loved him just as much as he loved her. And finally, their children’s personality also shone through the painting in a way that a photograph couldn’t have captured. His daughter, the older child, had a mischievous look in her eyes as though she was ready to get into trouble and have fun doing it. Busby’s younger child was pensive. For a ten year old boy, he was more serious than his older sister and always had his nose in a book. In fact, a small table stood next to him in the portrait with a book on it. His hand rested on it as though he’d just put it down and yet was about to pick it up again if only the painter would finish.

“What brings you to the office, Ms. Rowland?”

“I got a phone call last night. From Will Cassidy. He’s been arrested for fighting. He was allegedly in a bar fight and broke someone’s nose.”

“I see. And he called you because he wanted you to pay the bail.”

Sylvia nodded as Grace came in with the coffee. “Will you need anything else?”

“No, thank you, Grace. Please hold my calls.”

“Of course, sir.” She left the office, closing the door behind her.

Busby removed his glasses and set them on the table. “I have received calls from the Cassidys in the past, even when James was alive. They are always asking for money. I hoped that since they had never met you before the funeral, or really at the reading of the will since I’m sure they didn’t introduce themselves at the funeral, that they would leave you in peace. I’m afraid that the only way you will be able to get them to stop asking for money is if you move to a place where they don’t know you’ve gone. Maybe even leave the Lower Mainland.”

“So they’ll keep asking for money?”

Busby nodded. “It’s likely. There’s something you should know about the Cassidy family. James has a drinking problem. William has a gambling problem. Clare and Vanessa both have shopping problems. And then there’s the next generation. They all have spending problems. Gordon has had his license revoked because of excessive speeding. On numerous occasions.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “There was a reason that James left everything to you. He knew that they would drain the bank accounts dry within a year. Two at the most. He didn’t want his hard work to go to people who didn’t appreciate it.”

“So what should I do?”

Busby laughed. “I think you should ignore them. I told James the same thing. He asked me years ago what I thought he should do about them. I told him then that the only way they’d learn is if he stopped rescuing them. He grew up poor. His family was very large and there was never enough money to feed and clothe everyone properly. He turns nothing into millions and he and Ruth lived well. Their kids wanted for nothing. Unfortunately, he continued to give them everything they asked for when they should have been getting things for themselves.

“I heard that Jim Pattison has three children. He told them all that his estate was not going to be broken up when he dies. He would leave the whole estate to only one of his three children. He said that the child who had the largest net worth would be the one who inherits everything. And now, not one of his children need his estate. They’re all incredibly wealthy in their own right.

“James Cassidy’s children on the other hand have been living on scraps from their father’s estate for their entire lives.”

Sylvia nodded. “I understand. So what should we do about Will?”

“Leave him to rot in jail. He’ll be out of your hair if he’s in jail.”

“Maybe I should do something. I could bring them all together and give them something from the estate and tell them that there won’t be any more if they run through it.”

Busby shook his head. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. It’s like the saying, give them and inch and they’ll take a mile. In this case it’s more like give them a dollar and they’ll take a million. They should have been cut off years ago.”

“It’s just hard. I shouldn’t have any of what he gave me. They should have it. Or a charity. And so when they ask for money, I want to give it to them. I don’t feel like it’s mine. There are nights I lie awake and think I should give it all away. And then there are times when I think that I can do something really good with it, I just need to figure out what that is. I just don’t know –” Her voice broke and she had to swallow past the tears that had formed in her eyes to finish. “What to do.”

“You are an extraordinary person, Ms. Rowland. Most people would think of this as though they had won the lottery. They wouldn’t be kept awake at night and crying because they don’t know how to make the world a better place now that they are able.”

“People who win the lottery know there’s a chance that it can happen. It’s something that they hope will happen. I didn’t even know I could hope for this. I didn’t buy a lottery ticket for it. It doesn’t feel like it’s mine.”

Busby sighed and stood up. He moved around his desk and sat in the other visitor’s chair. He reached for the box of tissues on his desk and held it out to Sylvia. “Ms. Rowland. Sylvia. It is yours. I understand your desire to give it all away. But that’s not what James wanted for you. He chose you because he knew that you would do what was right. I know that that is a lot to ask of you, but he did. And right now, you don’t know if you can do it. But James knew you could. And from the short time that I have known you, I know you can do it as well.”

Sylvia took a tissue and wiped her eyes. Then she gave him a wobbly smile. “My mom also says I can do it. I just need to believe it as well, I guess. I just don’t want to make a mistake.”

Busby laughed. “The good thing about getting James’ whole estate is that you can afford to make a mistake or two and get away with it. If you want, I can put together a list of charities that you can donate to and possibly become involved with.”

“That would help, I think.”

Story Part 6

After a few weeks' hiatus, I'm back with more. Sorry it took so long, but with Christmas, I was constantly busy. Anyway, here is the sixth installment. Enjoy.

After lunch, they went for a walk through the stores on Granville Island. They stopped in several stores before continuing on around the sea wall toward Vanier Park. They passed the Bard on the Beach site and then passed the Planetarium. Then they started along Cypress toward 4^th where Sylvia was going to catch the bus.

“There are some very nice houses along this street,” Peter said.

“Yeah. They have small yards, but they’re beautiful houses.”

“True, but beautiful houses on large property are rare around here. And expensive. These houses are what a million apiece?”

“More. Probably around 1.5 million give or take. The ones with yards are ten million plus.”

“Exactly. And who can afford that?”

Sylvia was quiet. She didn’t mention that she could by another two of the beautiful houses with the yards if she wanted to.

When they reached 4^th, they stood together at the bus stop waiting.

“So, you don’t drive?” Peter asked.

Sylvia shrugged. “My mom can’t drive and my dad died when I was little. We didn’t have the money for lessons, so I never had anyone to teach me. Now I live in Vancouver and so does my mom, so it seems like a waste of money at the moment. Maybe I’ll get my license later, but for now, I’m fine with the bus. It’s gotten me everywhere for the past twenty-four years, it can continue to do so for a while longer.”

“You know, Sylvia, you are a very remarkable person.”

The bus came into sight and Sylvia took out her wallet to find her bus pass.

“So do I get your number this time,” Peter asked.

Sylvia smiled at him. “Nope. Not this time. Maybe next time.”

“And when will next time be?”

“How about Friday? There’s a movie out that I’d like to see. What do you say?”

“I love movies. I’m in. Where do you want to meet?”

“Fifth Avenue Cinema on Burrard and 5^th. Let’s say at 5. That’ll make sure that the movie hasn’t started and we can get something to eat first.”

“I’ll be there.”

The phone woke Sylvia at 1:32 in the morning. She stumbled out of her bed and went to the sitting area where the phone was ringing incessantly.

“Hello?”

“Sylvia? It’s Will. Will Cassidy. I’m in jail. I need you to come bail me out.”

Sylvia frowned at the telephone. “Why do you think that I would do that?”

“My father always bailed me out of jail when I got locked in here. It’s a stupid charge. I didn’t do anything wrong. Anyway, you have his estate now, so you have to come and help me.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Will. I can simply go back to bed and pretend I never got this phone call.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the telephone. “You can’t.”

“Yes I can. When you’re father left me everything, there were no caveats and addendums attached to the will. I can do whatever I want with the money. If I want to come bail you out, I can. But if I don’t want to bail you out, I don’t have to. It’s my choice.”

“What am I going to do, then?”

“How old are you, Will?”

 Another pause. “Forty Nine.”

“Mm-hm. And why were you arrested?”

“I allegedly got into a bar fight and broke someone’s nose.”

“So you’re almost fifty and you’re doing stupid things like getting into bar fights.” Sylvia sat down on a chair and closed her eyes. “Do you have any idea how childish that sounds? You say that your father would have come and bailed you out? Well, maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have let you take the consequences of your actions and you wouldn’t be where you are right now.”

“That’s ridiculous. Now come and get me. I’d like to go home.”

“I know you would. Which is exactly why you’re staying right where you are. You’re going to deal with what you got yourself into. Maybe I’ll change my mind and come tomorrow. But it is quarter to two in the morning and I’m going back to my nice, warm, comfortable bed. Good night, Will.”

“Wait! Sylvia! You can’t do –”

Sylvia pressed the end button before she could hear him tell her what she couldn’t do. She wasn’t sure if she should go to the jail the next day and bail Will Cassidy out. It was true that if his father was still alive, he would have gone and done it. And if she hadn’t been James’ beneficiary, Will may have gotten his share of the estate and been able to bail himself out. But neither of those things had happened. If James had decided to leave his estate to charities, as he said in his letter was what he had been thinking when he changed his will, Will would not have anyone to turn to in this situation. Maybe that would have been better.

Regardless of what could have been, Sylvia now had all the money that the Cassidys thought should be theirs.

NaNoWriMo Part 4

Part 4 of the NaNoWriMo story. I shoud really start calling it something else since I'm not finishing it on time for National Novel Writing Month. Anyway, this one is longer but I didn't want to cut it off in the middle of a scene.

They spent a few hours touring the art gallery. They went to every floor and saw every piece of art that currently resided at the gallery. There were a few pieces that confused Sylvia, a few pieces that she thought were interesting, and a few pieces that really spoke to her. That being said, she felt no closer to the answer to the question that had plagued her for months. What was she going to do with her life?

She left the gallery somewhat defeated.

“So, where do we go from here?” Peter asked.

They stood on the steps of the art gallery looking down at the city of tents of the protesters.

“I don’t have any idea,” she responded.

“We could go for lunch. My treat. I know this great sushi place over on Burrard.”

“I don’t think so. I should get home. I have a lot of work to do.” She started down the steps and toward Howe Street.

He caught up to her as she reached the bottom of the stairs and started toward the bus stop. “Can I see you again?”

“I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

“How will I know when you’ve made up your mind?”

She stopped and looked at him. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

He shook his head. “We had a good time, I thought. I’d like to do it again.”

“All right. Tomorrow, meet me at the Granville Island Market. 1:30. Don’t be late.” She looked down the street. “My bus is coming.” She fished in her purse for her wallet and pulled out the yellow bus pass. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The 44 UBC stopped and four other people got on the bus with her. They all had similar bus passes to hers. She sat down midway on the bus by a window and watched as Peter disappeared as the bus drove away from him.

She wasn’t sure what to make of him. She found that she was suddenly suspicious of everyone since James had died. She wasn’t sure who she could trust. Her name had been in The Province and The Vancouver Sun and since then people she had barely known before were suddenly her best friend.

It took thirty minutes to get back to the house on Drummond Drive in West Vancouver. Every time she took the bus downtown, she was always grateful that it went down 4^th and not 3^rd. She did not want to have to go past James Cassidy Junior’s house and be reminded of how she had gotten everything and James’ family had gotten nothing. She understood why he did it now. They were all selfish, callous people. That didn’t stop her from feeling bad that they now had nothing thanks to her.

When she got back to the house, Kelly and Victor were playing in her yard with her mother. Sylvia watched the Roberts kids bundled up in their warm rain coats and winter boots as they ran around her yard playing a game of tag. She missed being with them all the time but she didn’t miss all of the other chores that came with being a housekeeper and nanny. Mrs. Roberts had been very kind to her since everything changed. She invited Sylvia over for tea and let her take the kids to the park the way she used to whenever she wanted to. Mrs. Roberts had even befriended her mother, Katherine, when she moved into the huge house with Sylvia. She wasn’t sure how she would have made it through the last few months if it hadn’t been for the advice from Mrs. Roberts and Mr. Busby, and the support of her mother.

“Hi, everyone,” she called as she came into the yard. Kelly shrieked and ran to her, jumping into her arms almost before Sylvia was ready to catch her.

“You’re home. I thought you’d never get here. I have some important news.” At eight years old, Kelly thought that the fact that it would rain tomorrow was important news.

“What’s that?” Sylvia asked.

“I got picked to say my speech in front of the whole school. It’s about killer whales, you know.”

“That’s great, Kelly. When’s the big day?”

“Next Monday. Will you come? Mrs. Kirkpatrick said that I could invite four people. I already told Mommy and Daddy. They said they would try to come if they weren’t working. And I asked your mom. She said she would be delighted.”

“I’ll be there. Nothing could keep me away.”

“Great!” Kelly squirmed to get down now that she had what she wanted.

Victor moved next to Sylvia after his sister had gotten down and started running away toward Sylvia’s mother.

“I’ll be there, too,” he said quietly. “My speech was picked as well. It’s about how bullying can affect people even as adults.”

“I can’t wait to hear it. Why don’t you go play for a while longer before we go in for some hot chocolate.”

He smiled at her and ran off to where his sister was playing with her mother. Sylvia went inside and took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack inside the door. She went into the kitchen where she put a kettle on to boil. She got the hot chocolate mix out of the cupboard and poured some into four coffee mugs. She poured a generous amount of milk into two of the cups and then added the boiled water.

When the hot chocolate was ready she called the kids in. The kids sat at the table to drink their hot chocolates and Katherine asked how the trip to the art gallery had gone.

“Not bad. But I still don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t think art is going to be a good direction for me. I just don’t know what I should do. I could do anything but now I have too many choices.”

“When you were little, you wanted to help people. I understand you were going for a business degree because you thought it would help you get a good job. But I knew that it wasn’t what was going to make you happy. You just need to figure out what makes you happy and then turn that into a career. You have the ability to do that now.”

Sylvia sighed and leaned against the counter, watching the kids drink their hot chocolate. “I know. But there are so many things that deserve attention. What should I focus on? James left me his estate, I want to do something good with the opportunity he gave me.”

“So you didn’t get anything from the art exhibit?”

Sylvia shook her head. “No. But I did meet someone. He seems nice and I’m seeing him again tomorrow.”

“A boy?”

“Mom, he was older than me. He had to be at least twenty seven. I don’t think he can be called a boy anymore.”

Katherine laughed. “When you get to be my age, everyone under the age of forty is a boy or a girl. So tell me about this boy you met.”

“I think he was interested in me, but I don’t know. Ever since the articles ran in the papers there have been a lot of people who seem to be interested in me but are really only interested in my money. Peter didn’t mention it at all though, so he may not have realized who I am. I hope not anyway.”

Kelly set her cup down with a thunk and pronounced, “I’m done! Can we play the Wii now?”

“What do you do with your cup when you’re finished with it?” Sylvia asked.

Kelly sighed heavily and climbed down from her chair. She took her cup from the table and put it in the sink. Then she turned to look at Sylvia expectantly.

“You can go play now. Thank you for putting your cup away.”

The little girl smiled a large, gap-toothed smile and raced off to the play room where the Wii was set up on a sixty inch flat screen television. James had decorated this room with the games and toys after he met Sylvia, Victor, and Kelly. Sylvia suspected that he had been lonely and wanted them to want to spend time there. They hadn’t needed him to buy the expensive things for them, but he didn’t know another way to act at the time. He only understood people who sold their love as a commodity.

Victor finished his drink slowly and got up to put it away. He carefully set the cup down in the sink upside down so that the last drips would drain into the sink.

“Thank you for putting your cup away, Victor.”

He smiled, too and went to play with his sister.

“You’re very good with them,” Katherine said as they followed the kids into the play room.

Sylvia shrugged. “They like to be able to do things for themselves. It gives them independence. But more than that, they like to know that someone is watching and is appreciative. The Roberts’ are good people, but they don’t seem to have enough time for their children.”

Kelly had put Just Dance 3 into the game console and was already dancing like a maniac. Victor was dancing as well. When Sylvia had met the kids, Victor wouldn’t have ever played a game like Just Dance. He would have sat and watched Kelly have all the fun. Slowly, Sylvia had got him to participate as well.

After they had danced themselves into exhaustion Sylvia looked at the time. “Okay, guys, it’s time to go home.”

“Awww! But why?” Kelly asked.

Victor had been about to go for his shoes and jacket, but Kelly’s protest stopped him.

“Because your mom is home now and she will want to see you and ask about your day.”

Kelly pouted but went for her shoes and jacket. Victor, seeing his sister’s attempt at staying defeated, went as well.

There had been a time when Sylvia first started when she had used a similar line to get the kids to see their mother and Kelly had protested by saying that her mother didn’t care how her day had gone. They went downstairs and saw Mrs. Roberts and she had listened with divided attention while the kids told her about their day. That night, Sylvia had told Mrs. Roberts what Kelly had said and immediately things began to change. Mrs. Roberts listened closely to her children now.

Sylvia put her own shoes and jacket on and walked the kids to their house. Mrs. Roberts came to the door to let them in.

“Hi guys, your dinner is just about ready, why don’t you go wash up and then you can tell me about your day?”

Both Kelly and Victor hugged their mother and went to do as she asked without complaint.

“Sylvia, you don’t have any idea how much I appreciate you still watching the kids during the day. I feel so much more comfortable knowing they’re with someone I trust. And you’ve helped them so much.”

“It’s no problem at all. Really. My mother and I love to have them. I understand why James always invited us over now. The house is far too big for just the two of us.”

“You’re not thinking of moving, are you?”

“Not right now, no, but maybe in the future. I’m still making a lot of decisions. I wanted to mention though that the kids invited me and my mother to their speech readings. We both said we’d come, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you, as well.”

Mrs. Roberts laughed. “Of course it is. I was the one who prompted the kids to ask. They were afraid Katherine would say no.”

Sylvia smiled. “But not that I’d say no. I see they understand me well.”

“They do. Well, I should go. They’ll be at the table waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sylvia walked back to her house. On the way she looked up at the three story structure and wondered again how she had come to own something so absurdly expensive. The house was worth over fifteen million dollars. An old Victorian house sitting on a 38,000 square foot lot, it had six bedrooms and eight bathrooms. She still hadn’t figured out what to do with it. It was far too big for only her and her mother.

She knew she would have to make some decisions soon. She only had a few more weeks before she had to choose her classes for the winter semester at UBC. By that time, she hoped she will have figured it out.

NaNoWriMo Part 3

I'm still working on the story, but I don't think I'm going to make 50,000 words this month. That said, I will continue to write it so that I can continue to post it for any and all who are interested in reading it.

Peter Hartley looked at the building in front of him and wondered what he was doing here. This was not where he was supposed to be going with his life. He was a licensed private investigator, not a puppet. But he needed the money or else he may not be able to eat this month. Or pay is rent on his tiny apartment/office. If he didn’t have a place to do business, he couldn’t make money to pay for anything.

So he’d taken the job. It was a terrible job that went against every moral he had, but it paid well. All he had to do was find out some bad things about a person he didn’t know. How hard could it be? It was just like any other job he’d ever done as a PI.

Except for the one minor difference. In the week that he had been working on the assignment, he had not come across a single bad thing about this girl. Not even a parking ticket. Granted, she didn’t have a car, but that wasn’t the issue. There was nothing that his clients could use against this girl and if he found nothing, he didn’t get the bonus at the end of the job. The bonus would take care of his rent for the next three months.

So he decided to do the unthinkable. He was going to get to know the person he was investigating. It was what the client had wanted him to do in the first place, but he had maintained that he would be able to find something the old fashioned way, through research. However, you can’t find something that has never been recorded. It was possible that this girl had some secret that couldn’t be found on any database or in any file. He had to go to the source to find out.

Thus, he was here, at the Vancouver Art Gallery, to meet the girl that apparently did nothing wrong.

He went in through the main entrance, ignoring the protestors on the front lawn. They had been “occupying Vancouver” for weeks now, through rain and bitter cold nights. Peter thought they were all insane. The peaceful protest wasn’t going to change anything. The rich would remain rich. The poor would remain poor. A small percentage of the population would still retain the vast majority of the wealth in the country.

Peter didn’t care. He got to the front desk, paid the $17.50 admission and went in search of the feature exhibit: the Audain Collection. That was what Sylvia Rowland had come to the Art Gallery to see.

He found her admiring an Emily Carr painting. Her unruly auburn hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that curled down her back. Her green eyes moved over the painting quickly, lingering for a moment on the people in the background of the picture. She was shorter than he imagined her to be, even though his dossier stated that she was only 5’3”.

All at once he was overwhelmed by the thought that he shouldn’t be doing this. He should not be prying into the woman’s life so that other people can use the information against her.

When she turned away from the painting, she looked right at him and he had to struggle to keep the guilt from his expression. She smiled at him and was about to walk away. He had to say something.

“Hi,” he said, stalling, trying to think of something. Should have come up with something before coming in here, idiot.

“Hello,” she said to him.

He had managed to make her stop for a moment. He had to think of something else to say. “So, you like art?”

Of all the stupid things you could say.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. My name is Peter. I just couldn’t help but notice you looking at the Emily Carr painting. It’s quite something isn’t it?”

“It is. She uses such interesting colours.”

“Are you here by yourself?” he asked, looking around as though he was expecting to find someone with her, even though he wasn’t.

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad. It’s nicer to be able to talk about the pieces with someone.”

“True. But I really just wanted to take a look at some art, see if anything sparked my interest. I figured the best place to see art is at the Vancouver Art Gallery.”

“Spark your interest?”

She nodded. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I really don’t know. I thought I did. But then things changed and now suddenly I have more options than I know what to do with.”

“It’s nice to have options.”

“Yes, but also makes it more difficult to choose.”

“I’d like to help, if I could.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

He spread his hands and tried to look trustworthy. “Honestly? Because you’re interesting. I saw you standing there and I just wanted to get to know you.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He did think she was interesting. She was young, had inherited a large estate worth a fortune, and seemed to be a bona fide good person. Peter didn’t meet many good people in his line of work. Now, here he was trying to prove she really wasn’t what he hoped she was.

She looked at him for a long moment before speaking again. “I don’t think you can help me choose what direction I am going to take for the future. However, I suppose that if you really are interested, we can walk around in here together. If you’re still interested when we leave, I’ll consider what can come next. My name is Sylvia, by the way.”

Peter smiled and tried not to look too relieved. If this hadn’t worked, he doubted he’d have gotten another shot.

NaNoWriMo Part 2

Well, I was doing really well, making all my word counts. Right up until Tuesday when I donated blood. The trouble is that donating blood makes me really tired. I came home, had dinner, and went to bed. And didn't write. And even just one day behind made it a lot harder to write Wednesday and today. Now, I'm really far behind and I am going to have to spend all day tomorrow writing. Anyway, here is the second part of the story.

After the reading of the will, Sylvia went to the park where she and James used to take the kids she watched.

She sat down on the bench and stared at the envelope in her hands. She wanted to tear into it, read it, hopefully understand why he had given her everything.

But she also wanted to wait. This was the last conversation she would ever have with James, one-sided though it may be. She wanted it to last.

She took a deep breath and carefully ripped open the envelope along the top folded edge. She removed the letter and unfolded it.

Dear Sylvia,

You probably don’t understand why I made you my sole beneficiary. I’m not quite sure I understand myself. Only, one night I lay awake in bed thinking of all life as given me and taken away and suddenly I knew that my sons did not deserve to inherit my estate. They’ve had everything handed to them their whole lives. I don’t want to hand them their future forever. They would use it selfishly, as they have used everything ever given them in their life.

When I made this decision I knew that I had to re-write my will or else they would get everything. I was getting older all the time and it wasn’t something that could wait. I met with Busby late the following day. It was the day I had asked you what you would do if you won the lottery.

You told me that you would quit your job, finish school, and travel. I asked why you would finish school and you told me it was for two reasons. First because you never know when the money might run out and you wouldn’t want to be caught broke with no education. Second because you wanted to finish what you started.

I was impressed and I am no longer easily impressed. They were such wise words for someone so young.

Even going to Busby’s office that afternoon, I had intended on splitting my estate up and giving it to charities. But I sat down with Busby and I told him I didn’t want my sons to get my money and he asked who I was going to give it to then and I told him, Sylvia Rowland.

The moment I said your name, I knew it was the right thing to do.

I love you, Sylvia. If you had been my own daughter, I couldn’t have loved you more. I hope this helps.

James Cassidy

Sylvia folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope.

Children were screaming, running, and playing everywhere in the park. She hadn’t noticed until now. She wouldn’t be bringing the kids here anymore. She wouldn’t be the housekeeper/nanny for the Roberts family anymore. The summer semester at UBC was almost over and she could take a semester off to figure things out. Then she could go back full time. She had always wanted to go to school full time, but never had the money for tuition and bills. Vancouver was a very expensive city to live in.

But she didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

It suddenly hit her. She didn’t have to worry about money anymore. She could pay all her bills next month. She could buy a new winter jacket and boots this year. Her feet would stay dry this winter. She didn’t have to take transit anymore. Vancouver transit was pretty good, but her mother lived in Langley. Getting out there on weekends was very difficult and took about two hours by transit.

Everything was going to get easier from now on. For her and for her mother.

November 2011

They sat together in the drawing room of James Cassidy Jr.’s house on 3^rd Ave. The room was large and bright. A chocolate brown leather sofa and chair were predominant in the room. Blue and white throw pillows decorated each end of the sofa as well as the chair. There was a luxurous white rug that covered the hard wood floor. They had had sex on the rug less than an hour ago and were now dressed again and sitting on the sofa. Though most of the Cassidy family lived in the large house, everyone else was not home.

He suddenly spoke. “We have to do something.”

“I know,” she replied, taking a hairbrush from her bag and brushing her tousled blonde hair. “But what can we do? We’ve already tried to get it back. The will is uncontestable.”

“There has to be another way to get the money. It’s ours. It’s rightfully ours. We waited for years to get that money. I had plans for mine.”

“So did everyone. Look at William. He has gambling debts and they’re about to be called in. Senior always paid them before. I doubt dear Sylvia is going to offer to do that.”

“Junior isn’t much better. He may not have debts, but he sure can get in a lot of trouble when he’s been drinking. Remember when he went to the Boulevard Casino with William and they got thrown out after James started a fight over a roulette game?”

“I remember.” She stood and paced to the window, looking out into the gloom of November rain. “I wanted to get away from here this winter. Winter in Vancouver is always so depressing. Why couldn’t we move to California?”

He got up to pour himself a glass of scotch. “We don’t have the money now. But I might have an idea of how we can get it.”

She turned to him. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, we can’t very well kill her, now can we? She may already have a will leaving everything to some charity or something. That would be like her. Giving it all away.”

“What is your idea?” she prompted. She knew how much he hated philanthropy. He thought that people only gave money to alleviate their consciences and that charities were no better than homeless people begging for money.

“We’ll have to get her to make sure we’re in the will before she dies.”

“And how do we do that? She doesn’t like any of us. She won’t speak to anyone in the Cassidy family without her lawyer, present. Busby is a tricky one. He knows us all too well. He’d know we’re up to something.”

“That’s why we won’t be the ones she gets to know. We’ll hire someone to get to know her. He’ll cozy up to her, pretend he likes her, and he will find out what kind of dirt she’s hiding. Everyone has something they don’t want known. Maybe we’ll get really lucky and it’ll be something illegal. Once we have the dirt, we’ll convince her that she should write us into the will and also pay us a million dollars to keep quiet. When we’re in the will, we’ll kill her and inherit everything. You and I can leave Vancouver together. We’ll go to California, or somewhere in Europe, where no one will ever find us. We can be together and we’ll have the whole fortune. We won’t have to share it with anyone else in the family.”

She stepped toward him as she thought it over. “It’s a good idea. She might not want to write us into the will. I don’t know if I can live on only a million dollars for long.” She continued walking closer and closer to him through the room until she was standing right in front of him. “It’ll be tricky.”

“But it’ll be worth it.” He grabbed her around the waist. “Worth every penny.” Then he lowered his head and claimed her mouth.

Untitled

Here it is. The last entry before NaNoWriMo. It starts Tuesday. I'm quite nervous. I'm going to have to write about 1500 words every day in order to make the number of words I need. Wish me luck.

The house of delight leered at me from my spot on the sidewalk. We lived there once. No longer a house of delight, but a shabby monument to a brighter time.

I always swore that I didn’t believe in a higher power, but it took only a taste of sacrifice and suddenly I am praying for hope, relief, another chance, freedom. There has been no answer yet. So I’m here, standing in front of the house and wondering where you are.

Remember when the rooms of this house held us in a warm embrace that seemed to keep the world at bay? Now, the world has invaded our togetherness and we didn’t survive the invasion.

I admit that I saw you. You saw me, too, but I pretended not to notice. I am conflicted. Not sure whether to hold on or to let go. But you. You were laughing and carrying on with friends. I had to swallow a pitcher of bitterness at the knowledge that while I toiled without you, you were happy without me.

I hoped to come here to the now decrepit house (was the paint always peeling? Did the screen door always hang crooked?) and let go. But I am here now and just as conflicted as before.

I want to hold on.

I want to let go.

Ann-Louise's Story - Chapter 1 "The Beginning"

I'm sorry that I again missed a week. I haven't been very good at writing every week. I think the problem might be that I don't really like writing short stories. I like writing longer pieces. So today I am posting something that I wrote a long time ago. It is the beginning of a story that I haven't finished. What I am planning on doing now is taking one of the stories that I have posted the beginning of and continuing to write and post only that story. If you have a request as to which one you would like to hear more of, please post or send me a message (though I'd really like it if you posted since I haven't gotten any real posts yet).

Anyway, this is the beginning of Ann-Louise's story. It is only the first scene from the first chapter. Let me know what you think.

“You want to know why I did it, don’t you?”

The young man at the door nodded. He had never been to this house before, had never met the woman at the door, but he had come here for information that only she could give him.

She stood aside and said, “Come in, Kevin.  Would you like coffee?  Or would you prefer tea?”

“Tea, please.”

“I’ll put the water on.”  She led the way into her kitchen.  “Twenty years is a very long time.  You look like your father,” she said, pausing to look at him.  His dark hair was quite short and small rectangular glasses perched over strikingly blue eyes.  His black and white suit was impeccably tailored to his wiry frame, and it looked like he kept well in shape.  She shook her head and turned back to filling the kettle.  “Anyway, it seems like a lifetime ago.”

“It was.”

He sat down in her sparkling kitchen and watched as she set the water to boil on the stove.  Her sleek black hair held a few strands of grey that wouldn’t have been there before and though she was looking away from him now he had seen her green eyes were still bright with life.  She really wasn’t all that much older than he was at forty to his twenty; everything that had happened made it seem like there were more years between them than there was.  He watched the way her slim body stretched to reach the cups on the top shelf and seeing her fluid, no-nonsense movements reminded him of something his father had once told him.

“He told me you were graceful, that you used to dance.”

She nodded.

“I think he was half in love with you.”

She smiled and shook her head.   “No, he wasn’t.”

They were silent as the water finished boiling and she poured two cups.  They added their own milk and sugar and she asked him, “Shall we go into the living room?”

“Here is fine.”

“It’s a long story,” she warned.

“Here is fine.”

 She nodded and took a sip of her tea.

“It really was so long ago.  It seems almost to have happened to another person.  But I remembered it all, as accurately as it is possible to remember something with twenty years between then and now.  I knew that, one day, you would come to me and ask me this question of why.  And I knew that, those nine months we spent would force me to answer.”

She took another sip of her tea and looked at the young man across from her.

“You’re looking for truth, Kevin.  Beware that this is what you’re going to get.  It may not be pretty, and it may not be what you’re looking for.”

When he nodded, she looked away from him into a past that he could never see.

“The year was 2039 and my friend, Lucy and I were looking for jobs.  I still find it slightly ironic that the 1930s and the 2030s were decades of severe economic depression for Canada.  As my history teacher would later tell me, there are no new ideas in Canadian history.

“Lucy was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and the kind of a body a man would kill for.  She was gorgeous.  She had gotten involved with someone a couple of months before and he had gotten her pregnant.  Then he left and we were on our own again.

“Needing money, we went to the last place either one of us wanted to be.  We didn’t want to get caught up in the controversy surrounding the place.  But they paid good money.  Kwan Dynastic is what would eventually help turn the economy back around for Canada, since the whole world wanted what he was supplying.  First, they offered jobs, which Canadians from all over came for.  Then, by putting a lot of money back into the country, the company put Canada back on its feet.

“Lucy and I, however, we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into.  We didn’t know our lives would be irrevocably changed as a result.  It was our fault, I suppose.  We never asked what the consequences were until it was too late.”  She shrugged.  “Plus, we were desperate.”

A Beginning

I really don't know what this story is about exactly. I was thinking about making it a fantasy story but I really am not yet sure. Hope you like it and if you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them.

Darkness surrounded him and rain pelted down on his bare head. He should have remembered his umbrella. Lightning flashed, illuminating the deserted street for a brief moment before plunging him into darkness once again. The young man continued walking and two steps later, thunder crashed around him.

He moved forward steadily, unhurriedly, heedless of the rain that poured around him.

“It was stupid,” he said to himself. “I should have been more careful.” He shoved his wet hands into his wet jacket pockets and kicked a stone dejectedly as he continued to walk.

“But of course, you do stupid things all the time,” he continued. “Like deciding to walk home but leaving your umbrella behind.”

Rain dripped from his dark eyebrows into his green eyes. It dripped from the tip of his sharp nose. It collected in his normally brown hair, turning it almost black and dragging the ends of it onto his forehead.

He kicked another stone.

The stone jumped and skittered away, scaring a cat seeking refuge under a bush from the storm.

He kept walking, unconcerned.

Lightning flashed again, and the street was visible to the end of the block for half a second before the light died away again.

The young man didn’t flinch.

Not at the lightning.

Not at the rain.

Not at the thunder a few seconds later.

He just kept walking. Muttering to himself about how big a fool he was.

He walked all the way to the end of the block and never noticed the dark van slowly trailing him.

The lightning flashed again and the van sped up, pulling next to the young man. As the resounding thunder rumbled through the sky, the side door opened and the young man was pulled inside.

The door slammed shut and the van took off all in the same moment that the thunder died away.

Through his fear, the young man thought again of what a fool he was.

Secret in the Attic

I'm sorry I missed a week and am late this week. It's been a little crazy lately what with work and driving and lack of sleep and all. I wrote something new and I'm not sure exactly what it is, but I hope you like it.

It was a really windy, the day she arrived at the house. It had been threatening to rain all day, but so far only the wind had arrived.

She had driven all day to make it to the house before everyone else arrived. She wanted to have some time to herself to face the house. She hadn’t been here for five years, but she had been expected to be here this time, regardless of whatever had happened previously.

The house was three stories tall with whitewashed siding and a dark green door and shutters. It was an old Victorian house. Most people would love the house. It really was beautiful. She was not most people.

She forewent the front door and instead went to the back yard. There was a rope swing hanging from the large oak tree. She used to swing off it into the lake that stretched out to the East. She looked toward the back door. There was a screened porch around another dark green door with a window.

She remembered the door well. It was the one that had allowed her to escape.

She had run out of the house that day through that back door. Now, she would enter the house for the first time since then through that same door.

She strode determinedly toward it, climbing the five stairs quickly. She opened the screen door to the porch and crossed to the green door. But there she hesitated. She could hear again the screams of that day. She didn’t even have to go inside to hear it. To see it.

She had run down the stairs from the attic and found her mother in the kitchen. “How could you not tell me? Why did you never tell me?”

Entering the kitchen she could see the scene between herself and the woman who had raised her. They had fought for an hour before she had finally left. Her mother called after her, “Really, Eliza. It’s not that big a deal.”

But it was a big deal. So big that she hadn’t spoken to her mother since. She hadn’t been to the house where her family spent most weekends during the summer since that day.

She moved through the kitchen and started climbing the stairs to the second floor. Then to the third. Then finally, she pulled the hatch down to release the stairs to the attic where she had found the papers that had torn her world apart.

She found the spot where the papers had been. She didn’t know if they’d still be there, but it didn’t matter. She remembered what they said.

“I thought you would be here before everyone else.”

Eliza turned around to see her father coming up the stairs to the attic. “I had to come. My brother is getting married. I couldn’t miss that. Even if he really isn’t my brother.”

“Just because we adopted you doesn’t mean we’re not your family.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We didn’t want you to feel exactly what you are feeling now.”

Eliza looked down at her feet and then up at the man who had been her father all her life. She wanted to forgive him.

“You’ve had five years, but I can see that you need more time. I will be here when you’re ready.”

Blackheart's Treasure

I know I promised new writing this week, but I didn't get it typed up in time (it's quite long). It'll be here next week. For now, enjoy this scene from a romantic suspense story that I never got around to finishing. I do plan to come back to this story eventually. But not yet.

May 1635

Juan, El Corazòn Negro, looked over the side of his ship and sighed.  The sun was setting in the West over the land where he had settled his family.  He still missed his Spanish home, but his new home was beautiful as well.  And his sons were still able to have Spanish wives brought over from the old country.

A rare smile touched the old man’s face as he thought of his sons, Nicodemo and Ricardo, finding the letters he had left for them.  Let them fight over his treasure now.  All those years of piracy had made him a rich man, but for what?

“One more trip, Elisa,” he would say.  “Then I’ll stay home for good.”

But that one more trip always became one more and one more and one more, until now he was too old for one more trip and Elisa had died.  The smile fell from his lips and a tear slipped down the battle-scarred cheek of El Corazòn Negro.

Le Cœur Noir.  The Black Heart.  A merciless pirate known throughout coastal Europe and the Americas.  He had found nothing but gold on the seas while the true treasure waited for him on the land he had bought in the Colonies.

Since Elisa’s death three months ago he had found nothing to fill the hole in his heart.  A heart that wasn’t as black as his name described.  Not even his two precious sons could open his life once more.  He longed only to join Elisa.  While Nicodemo had grown up like his mother, Ricardo had, regretfully, grown up like himself, restless and full of an insatiable greed.  But since their mother’s death they had begun to fight tirelessly over the fortune Juan had amassed through his years of piracy.  He had eventually split up most of it to give them equal amounts.  However, there was one piece left.  The treasure from his final voyage, by far the most booty he had ever returned with.  His greatest prize settled now in a wooden crate back in a deep cave in the ocean.  The letters told them how to find it, but who knew how long it would take to find the three underwater caves?  And then they’d have to choose the right one and find their way through the mass of tunnels to the right place.

The letters said:

I know you will fight over the last piece of treasure until one kills the other, so I have hidden it.  There is a place deep within the ocean where three caves sit side-by-side and tunnels wind through them.  But I must warn you that the true treasure does not lie deep within Davie Jones’ Locker, the true treasure lies beside you each night and lifts their small arms to you each morning.  It is the love of your wife and child.  Do not repeat my mistake, son.

Your Father.

Juan wiped the tears from his eyes, tears that no one would ever have believed he shed, and took a match from his pocket.  He lit it as his eyes followed the line of black gunpowder to the three barrels stacked in the center of his legendary ship.  He touched the flaming match to the end of the line at his feet.

Years later, they would still talk of the demise of El Corazòn Negro and wonder what his last thoughts were when the ship was blown away.  Speculation abounded but none even came close to touching on his last thoughts.

In the final moments of his life, Juan Marcos-Ramirez cursed the treasure so that only love, true love could find it.  Then Juan Marcos-Ramirez, El Corazòn Negro, was no more.

The Essence of Stupidity

I would like to take a moment to tell you a little bit about this story. I actually wrote this one a long time ago. It is based on a true story. It's also longer than the others that I have posted before. I hope you enjoy it.

If you’re going to understand the complete essence of stupidity, you’re going to have to first agree to not be stupid yourself. Second, you’ll have to look at the stupidity of Man. In all the time that I have been studying the essence of stupidity, I have come across no creature in the world as positively dumb as human beings.

I have looked at many animals, and while they cannot tell you the answer to questions like what two plus two equals, or what colour the sky is, they will eat when they’re hungry, sleep when they’re tired, mate when they need to reproduce, and fight only out of necessity. Their’s may be a simple existence, but at least they don’t pay for something and then drive away without it.

Don’t question it.

How people can be so completely blind, so utterly stupid, honestly baffles me. Some use the excuse of self-preservation, that whole ignorance is bliss thing. There are others who manage it by sheer force of will, the if I don’t look, it’s not there thing. Then, there are the ones who are simply people with hopelessly vacant minds. Those poor souls.

This story has all three types of stupid people in it. You have the boy, Ronald, Ronny to his friends, who is stupidly trying to protect himself from the pain of the world, an impossible task if you ask me. You have the girl, Sally, who is determined to find something that doesn’t exist. Then you have all the stupid people that they meet along the way. Those poor souls.

To say that Ronny and Sally hit it off right away would be a lie. In fact, they hated each other before they became friends. Ronny wasn’t the type to make a good first impression. Then they worked together, just one shift at the Tim Horton’s where they were employed, and realized how stupid the hate had been. Sally was never quite sure how it happened. It might have been that he asked if she was okay when she hit her finger against the soup well, or it might have been because she is just the kind of person to become friends with anyone who is willing.

Don’t question it.

She would say, “Do you want to do something?”

He would answer, “Like what?”

She would say, “I don’t know.”

He would answer, “Okay.”

Sally’s friends became Ronny’s friends. There was Thomas, Dominik, Brianne, and Matthew, just to name a few. They would get together often, having parties, hanging out, laughing and carrying on. Those were the Golden Days, if you will allow me to use so cliché a term.

But it wasn’t long before Sally and Ronny discovered feelings that ran a little deeper than friendship, and both reacted accordingly.

Ronny refused to admit he had feelings for Sally.

Sally tried to use other people to forget the fact that she had feelings for Ronny, knowing that he would never really let her in. Even after only a few weeks, she knew him quite well.

They continued to try to be friends for a long time.

Don’t question it.

They would joke about the customers who would come into their work during the graveyard shift.

Sally would say, “You’d think, if they see the chairs on the tables they would sit at one of the tables without the chairs on them. Or at least put the chairs up when they’re finished. Can they not see me sweeping on the other side of the lobby?”  She would shake her head. “I don’t understand people.”

Ronny would shrug at the stupidity of people. “Don’t question it.”

Sometimes someone would come into the store and ask one of the two of them, “Are you open?”

Sally would usually grimace as she replied, “Yes,” through clenched teeth.

Later she would say to Ronny, “Can they not read the big sign out there in big red letters, ‘Always Open’?”

Ronny would reply, “No, they can’t read. And they can’t figure out that if the door is open and they can get in here then, yes, we are open.”

She would smile and say, “Don’t question it.”

But the stupidity wasn’t confined to them and to their customers; even some of their friends had the stupid gene. Like Thomas and his friend Emily.

Thomas told Sally that he and Emily were just friends. And maybe Thomas wanted more, but he’d never share that secret. Sally knew that the only secrets he could keep were his own. Besides, Emily had a boyfriend named Sam, whom, Sally knew, Thomas detested. But he explained that he put up with Sam in order to remain Emily’s friend. Thomas was doing well, too, until he told Emily that he didn’t like Sam and she called him two-faced for being nice to someone he hates. He told her all the reasons he was not going to fight with Sam, but that poor soul, Emily, just wouldn’t understand.

“I’ve tried to explain it to her,” he told Sally one night, “why I don’t want to fight with him. She doesn’t get it. I told her that I would rather be her friend than be his enemy. I’ve explained that he and I work in the same building and it would cause tension if we had a fight. We could both get into trouble for it. I’m just getting sick of the whole thing. It’s like she’s listening without actually hearing what I’m saying. She thinks I’m being two-faced, but it’s not like I’m acting like his friend when I hate him. I just hate him and leave him alone.”

Sally nodded. “I understand. How come people are so stupid sometimes?”

He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know. Just don’t question it.”

Still, when Emily and Sam broke up, Thomas asked her out. Sally knew it was a bad idea.

“Thomas, just be careful,” she told him.

He wasn’t.

Don’t question it.

About a week after they started dating, Emily listened to what many people told her to do and dumped Thomas. The poor soul was heartbroken.

But Sally had other friends, like Matthew, who was not so stupid, and he told Sally that she needed to stop what she felt for Ronny; good, strong advice. When Matthew came in at three in the morning to do the baking, Sally would be doing dishes and they would discuss the problems she was having.

“Just let it go,” Matthew told her once.

She looked at her friend, allowing all the confusion she felt show in her eyes, and she shrugged helplessly.

“I can’t.”

Don’t question it.

Unfortunately, Ronny was better at turning off his feelings than Sally would ever be. She tried hard to pretend for his sake, but in the end, Ronny knew her too well. Just as she knew him better than he thought she did. They could read each other’s minds and finally, Sally had read too much.

He kept turning away so finally she turned to someone who didn’t.

One night was all it took for Ronny to feel justified in keeping his heart from Sally. He built his wall higher and thicker than it had ever been before and Sally couldn’t get through anymore. Weeks went by and not a word was spoken on the long nights of graveyard. Sally tried to call a truce, but Ronny was disinclined to venture into the realm of friendship again.

Don’t question it.

Eventually, the inevitable happened and Ronny let down his guard enough to make a joke. Sally wondered if everything was going to be all right. She kept a little back, just in case – finally learning from her mistakes. It was a good idea.

One day, they left Tim Horton’s, for good and together, like they had said they would. And when she walked to his home (her bus was going to be another half an hour) they talked.

She said, “You know, this means we don’t ever have to see each other again.”

He replied, “We will.”

She believed him.

Don’t question it.

The thing is, he didn’t lie – exactly. They saw each other a few more times, and then he stopped answering when she called and so she stopped calling.

One year later, nearly to the very day it had all begun, whatever it was, ended. Her heart had been broken and his had been locked away. The glimpse that they saw was gone.

Don’t question it.

Will either of them learn from their mistakes before it’s too late?  Who knows?  The thing is, I have been studying people for a long time now, even before Sally met Ronny, trying to figure out where this essence of stupidity comes from, trying to understand people. In all that time I have learned a couple of things.

Simply, don’t question it. All you come up with is that humans really are stupid and you realize that you don’t understand people at all. The second thing I learned is that it’s people who make people foolish. You see, the thing about stupid people, what really makes them stupid, is whether or not they learned from their mistakes. If they do, then they aren’t really dense, they just made a mistake and mistakes should be forgiven. If they don’t learn from what they did wrong, that’s when you run into that essence again. These people lack common sense, and it’s sad. But don’t question it.