Picking Up the Pieces (Challenge #1) - PG
Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2009 11:54 am
This is my take on the the "Picking Up the Pieces" challenge, where authors were given a title and an opening paragraph and asked to finish the story in 1000 words or less.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
First published: 11/2008
Picking Up the Pieces
She ran out of reasons to stay inside. It was way too early but she couldn’t contain her excitement anymore. Putting a stray strand of hair back into the clasp she pushed the sliding doors to the garden open and carefully stepped barefoot over the rough tiles of the patio.
“Beth! I thought you were going to wait inside. Gramma was supposed to keep you on the phone.”
“I know, Mom, but …” she craned her neck to peer around her mother toward the picnic table newly decorated with festive colors and freshly cut flowers. “It’s not like it’s a big surprise.”
“Honestly, honey – if you wouldn’t snoop around so much, a mother might stand a chance….”
“You’re the best, Mom!” She threw her arms around her mother, gave her a quick squeeze and then ducked past her. “So where is everybody? Emmy? Jen? Where are you? I so know you didn’t have to babysit tonight.”
Giggles peppered with exasperation followed as three teenage girls bounced into the patio light from behind planters, chairs and the old rusted barbecue grill by the corner of the house.
“I give up.” “She’s impossible.” “Nothing gets past her.”
From beneath the trees on the edge of the property, he watched just out of sight, one corner of his mouth drawing up slightly. It wasn’t the first time Beth Turner had foiled an attempted surprise party and he couldn’t help but smile.
Laughter floated up and danced among the helium balloons thrumming together in the soft, summer breeze. Sighs and squeals, the fizz of soda bottles and the ripping of paper wrappings. Pizza with extra pepperoni. Some things never changed, even over a dozen years – not unlike the unfamiliar peace of mind that anchored him there on the edge of celebration.
That first month, back when the bougainvillea was only waist high, he had stood watch every night anticipating the cries that inevitably pierced the darkness. He couldn’t stop the nightmares, responsible or not , but he could make certain that no evil would ever touch her again. He’d closed his eyes, jaw clenched, and waited, until the light flicked on in her bedroom and her mother’s soft voice shushed away the demons.
Eventually, as the terrors shattered her sleep less frequently, his vigils grew fewer and farther between. But he never missed a birthday. Even the ones dampened by the odd summer downpour, the ones held inside and out of sight, were attended – never out of earshot. Her parties, no matter how small, were an affirmation of life and growth, each year a piece to a puzzle that would eventually make her whole.
And this night, ever as silently, he stood in shadow – just out of reach of the dancing glow of paper lanterns that bobbed between the house and the trees outlining the perimeter of the small yard.
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Beth….”
What a contrast to those first few birthdays – the ones where the candles remained unlit because even the tiniest, most joyful flames evoked the memory of that fiery night and brought back visions of that never quite forgotten nightmare. Tonight, however, all sixteen of them were ablaze and her face was illuminated not only with the golden cast of birthday tradition but with a new poise and confidence that must have bloomed there when he hadn’t been looking.
Beth was no longer the timid child who needed to be coaxed from behind her mother’s back and who even then held firmly to that one constant in her life – at least the only one she ever knew. With each added candle she had grown more inquisitive, more self-assured, more fiercely independent.
He quirked his head to one side listening to the sound of four young voices – one slightly louder than the rest and just a little off key – singing “I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky...” And he thought she probably could.
He had told himself long ago that the birthday vigil would continue until her eighteenth, that he’d see her safely through the childhood that could have imprisoned her forever, but tonight he knew would be the last. She was well-adjusted and happy. The scars that had marred her childhood were no longer evident. She had healed, even if he hadn’t. He gave a quick and resolute nod in her direction – a wish for a happy life. And, as he pushed off the towering ash that had sheltered him over the years and retreated into his darkness, it occurred to him that perhaps she had never really needed him as much as he needed her – that staying close involved so much more than keeping her safe. Somewhere over the years, while watching out for demons, he found a piece of his own humanity.
------
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
First published: 11/2008
Picking Up the Pieces
She ran out of reasons to stay inside. It was way too early but she couldn’t contain her excitement anymore. Putting a stray strand of hair back into the clasp she pushed the sliding doors to the garden open and carefully stepped barefoot over the rough tiles of the patio.
“Beth! I thought you were going to wait inside. Gramma was supposed to keep you on the phone.”
“I know, Mom, but …” she craned her neck to peer around her mother toward the picnic table newly decorated with festive colors and freshly cut flowers. “It’s not like it’s a big surprise.”
“Honestly, honey – if you wouldn’t snoop around so much, a mother might stand a chance….”
“You’re the best, Mom!” She threw her arms around her mother, gave her a quick squeeze and then ducked past her. “So where is everybody? Emmy? Jen? Where are you? I so know you didn’t have to babysit tonight.”
Giggles peppered with exasperation followed as three teenage girls bounced into the patio light from behind planters, chairs and the old rusted barbecue grill by the corner of the house.
“I give up.” “She’s impossible.” “Nothing gets past her.”
From beneath the trees on the edge of the property, he watched just out of sight, one corner of his mouth drawing up slightly. It wasn’t the first time Beth Turner had foiled an attempted surprise party and he couldn’t help but smile.
Laughter floated up and danced among the helium balloons thrumming together in the soft, summer breeze. Sighs and squeals, the fizz of soda bottles and the ripping of paper wrappings. Pizza with extra pepperoni. Some things never changed, even over a dozen years – not unlike the unfamiliar peace of mind that anchored him there on the edge of celebration.
That first month, back when the bougainvillea was only waist high, he had stood watch every night anticipating the cries that inevitably pierced the darkness. He couldn’t stop the nightmares, responsible or not , but he could make certain that no evil would ever touch her again. He’d closed his eyes, jaw clenched, and waited, until the light flicked on in her bedroom and her mother’s soft voice shushed away the demons.
Eventually, as the terrors shattered her sleep less frequently, his vigils grew fewer and farther between. But he never missed a birthday. Even the ones dampened by the odd summer downpour, the ones held inside and out of sight, were attended – never out of earshot. Her parties, no matter how small, were an affirmation of life and growth, each year a piece to a puzzle that would eventually make her whole.
And this night, ever as silently, he stood in shadow – just out of reach of the dancing glow of paper lanterns that bobbed between the house and the trees outlining the perimeter of the small yard.
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Beth….”
What a contrast to those first few birthdays – the ones where the candles remained unlit because even the tiniest, most joyful flames evoked the memory of that fiery night and brought back visions of that never quite forgotten nightmare. Tonight, however, all sixteen of them were ablaze and her face was illuminated not only with the golden cast of birthday tradition but with a new poise and confidence that must have bloomed there when he hadn’t been looking.
Beth was no longer the timid child who needed to be coaxed from behind her mother’s back and who even then held firmly to that one constant in her life – at least the only one she ever knew. With each added candle she had grown more inquisitive, more self-assured, more fiercely independent.
He quirked his head to one side listening to the sound of four young voices – one slightly louder than the rest and just a little off key – singing “I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky...” And he thought she probably could.
He had told himself long ago that the birthday vigil would continue until her eighteenth, that he’d see her safely through the childhood that could have imprisoned her forever, but tonight he knew would be the last. She was well-adjusted and happy. The scars that had marred her childhood were no longer evident. She had healed, even if he hadn’t. He gave a quick and resolute nod in her direction – a wish for a happy life. And, as he pushed off the towering ash that had sheltered him over the years and retreated into his darkness, it occurred to him that perhaps she had never really needed him as much as he needed her – that staying close involved so much more than keeping her safe. Somewhere over the years, while watching out for demons, he found a piece of his own humanity.
------
I loved this Picking up the Pieces challenge... it prompted a bunch of amazing stories. And this one, with its echoes of longing and love and the need for connection, has always tugged at my heartstrings. Well, you know how I feel about Beth... 
but this is Beth through Mick's eyes. And it's such an important turning point for him. Without this day, Mick could never have seen Beth as anything but a damaged little girl. But on this birthday, he let go of that little girl (well, as much as he could, anyway) and began to see Beth as an incipient adult. As a real person. And in a way, I think he freed himself to go on with his own life. Through his watching-over of Beth, he had developed other reasons to go on living. He had a purpose aside from being the guardian angel of one person. 
the fountain will be there a while later 
As unlikely as it may seem, this short piece is one of my very favorites. There's something about the way it came together for me -- I don't know how to explain it, but it just feels right, even after all this time. 
Oh my goodness Lilly. Here I was, browsing about, and thought I'd take a look at this... it's my first read. And it's so wonderful! It's SO easy to see him there, watching from the sidelines. And in the graphics challenge from a little while ago I'd had this kind of inspiration too! Even down to the mention of the nightmares! 
