Yet another product of my writing for the Heilum Network when I was stuck at home with a broken ankle during the fall of 2012. Dinners with my entire family during my childhood could be nothing short of chaotic, but I remember them with fondness, especially given I live alone now. With my stepfather's passing, I thought it was time to re-post this one.
Family Dinners
By Emma Redmer
Dinner together was important in my family. I guess it had to do with Dad not being home all the time. Dad was a commercial fisherman. Still is. His job takes him out to sea for weeks at a time. The rare times we were all home to eat together were precious. It was the one time we could all do something together.
I grew up in a big family. There were six of us - my mom and stepdad, two younger sisters, and younger brother. Before dinner, while Mom worked in the kitchen, we’d play a game in the living room. Something simple, like Go Fish, Uno, or Candy Land. If my sisters were really full of energy, they might wrestle. I generally stayed out of that. I knew Mom didn’t like it. I thought they were completely nuts. Sometimes my little brother would join them. Other times, he’d go downstairs and watch the news with Dad, or toddle into the kitchen to help Mom mash the potatoes or add shortening to the biscuits.
Dinner was a merry cacaphony of “Who is sitting where?” and “Where’s MY milk?” and “Darlin’, you forgot my fork.” We’d all fight to be the first ones in line to get the burnt cheese off the top of the macaroni or the seasoned crusts at the end of the roast beef. We’d pull up the ends of the old Formica kitchen table to give us more space. When all was ready, we’d sit down and enjoy the feast.
We didn’t have meals like normal Yankee families. My mother was a southern belle (born in West Virginia), and my father frequently brings seafood home from his job. A typical dinner would include roast beef, mashed potatoes drenched with butter, green beans with bits of real bacon and onion, and Mom’s heavenly, flaky biscuits. My sister Rose always covered hers in honey and butter. I liked strawberry jam on mine. Our little sister Anna preferred just butter. And little Keefe would just eat as many as his small belly could hold!
On other nights, we’d have baked fish fillets with a crispy coating, Italian zucchini and yellow squash sauteed with tomatoes, Mom’s home-made macaroni and cheese, and spoonbread. Spoonbread is a heavenly concoction that is basically cornbread baked in a casserole dish. You load it onto your plate with a spoon, hense the name. We all fought over who would get the browned bits on the side.
In summers, Dad would grill burgers and chicken, and Mom would make all kinds of salads - potato salad with bacon, cole slaw made with thick cabbage slices and mayo, and macaroni salad with vegetables. In the winter, there would be home-made chicken soup and thick, salty ham and cheese soup. There would be chicken baked in the oven (Mom didn’t like frying - too messy) and cornmeal muffins from her mother’s recipe.
With six opinionated people sitting around the table, dinner was never anything less than lively. Dad and Rose argued over politics, local news, and world affairs. Mom and I generally stayed out of it. We knew better than to get between the two of them when they got going. I’m not sure Anna and Keefe understood a word of their arguing. Anna would sometimes inject a tidbit about something that happened at school; in her younger years, she’d make up wild fictions about the kids at school and what she saw there. Her favorite was the one about the dragon who suddenly appeared at school and ate the teacher. When he got old enough, Keefe would talk about the kids at day care.
Keeping an eye on your milk was of paramount importance. Especially since I usually ended up sitting next to Rose. She was always drinking my milk, whether because she genuinely thought it was hers, or because she’d run out of her own. You’d turn to make a comment on something someone else said, and when you turned back, your milk would be about an inch lower than you swore it was two minutes ago. I was about twelve before I finally caught on and moved across the table.
All of the kids had a chore to do after dinner. My job was to wash the dishes. Anna would bring me the dishes and dry them after I washed them. Rose would put the leftover food into plastic containers, load them into the refrigerator, and wipe the table. When he got old enough, Keefe ran the vacuum cleaner on the rug under the table. It was really kind of fun to have so much help. Anna and I used to sing together when we’d do the dishes. I remember singing the 30s hit “All I Do Is Dream of You” after Mom rented the musical “Singin’ In the Rain.”
After dinner, we’d all go in the living room to watch TV. The Pennsylvania Lottery would run the numbers for today’s winning tickets after Channel 6 news. We’d make a game out of it and see who could come closest to guessing today’s winning numbers. After that, we’d play along with “Jeopardy!” and “Wheel of Fortune.” There would be much laughter as everyone would chime in with the questions for Alec Trebek and see who could get the most letters in the phrases of the day.
When the game shows were over, we’d go our separate ways. Keefe would go to bed. We’d go upstairs and play with our toys, or if Dad was watching something we’d like, we’d stay with him. Or we’d go read, or finish working on our homework, or play a few more games of Uno or Go Fish until bedtime.
I live alone now, in my own small apartment. Most of the time, I eat dinner by myself. I usually don’t get lonely, but sometimes, when I find a recipe for spoonbread or make Mom’s biscuit recipe, I remember all the pandemonium and the noise and the laughter. It was crazy, sure, but it was fun. Most of all, it was family.
Thursday, November 8, 2018
I Dance Alone - Original Short Story
I wrote this one around 2003, not long after getting out of college and moving on my own. It's based after a real-life incident. Around 1989, I went to a friend's birthday party in West Cape May. It was my first boy-girl party. Despite us only being in fourth grade then, there was dancing, and we played spin the bottle. I avoided the latter and wasn't wanted for the former. None of the boys wanted to dance with me. I went outside in my friend's backyard and danced by myself...which is what inspired this story.
I Dance Alone
By Emma Redmer
I dance alone. I dance alone in the moonlight in the backyard. I dance alone because I have no friends. All of the other boys and girls are inside, dancing with each other, but I dance alone. Nobody wants to come out in the backyard with me. It’s a warm spring night, and the moon is really bright, but I dance alone.
This is my first boy-girl birthday party, and I dance alone. I bet I was only invited because everybody in my fourth-grade class was. The girls don’t want me here. They are all pretty and have long hair and wear dresses with ruffles on the skirts. I’m not pretty at all. I’m too tall and my hair is short and I already have a chest and I’m fat. None of the other girls are fat, or tall, or have a chest in fourth grade.
I dance alone, because none of the boys will dance with me. They dance the slow songs with the pretty girls, but I dance alone. Even Ryan, who is tall and thin and doesn’t smile, and Dan, who is fat and round, won’t dance with me. Dan’s sorta nice to me sometimes in school, and he won’t dance with me. The other boys don’t even see me.
I dance alone because it’s easier that way. I can do what I want when I’m alone, and no one else will complain or say I’m not doing it right. It’s cool in the backyard, not stuffy, like the living room where all of the other kids are. The living room smells like greasy food and too many people, but the backyard smells fresh. The grass under my sneakers is softer than any carpet.
I dance alone because there’s more room for me outside, and the crickets and the owls aren’t going to tell me I’m not wanted. Well, the kids didn’t say that, either, but most of them acted like I wasn’t there. The crickets and the owls don’t mind if I like things that the other kids don’t, like old music our parents listened to and weird science fiction movies with light swords and stuff. They don’t mind that I look funny, walk funny, or talk to myself because there isn’t anyone else to talk to. Crickets and owls don’t crowd you out when they play Spin the Bottle, or make fun of the book you gave Laurie the birthday girl, or call you a baby because you’d rather talk to Laurie’s mom than watch horror movies.
I dance alone because I always have, and I probably always will. I can be myself out here in the moonlight. Crickets and owls don’t care if you aren’t normal, if all the other kids think you’re nuts. Sometimes I wish I was in there, dancing with a boy, but then I remember that they don’t like me because I’m not like the other girls who are pretty and fun. I spend all my time alone. The boys at school call me “Fatty” and put glue on my chair, and the girls ignore me at lunch when I talk about old music or light swords.
I dance alone because you can’t dance with someone else when there’s only one of you.
I Dance Alone
By Emma Redmer
I dance alone. I dance alone in the moonlight in the backyard. I dance alone because I have no friends. All of the other boys and girls are inside, dancing with each other, but I dance alone. Nobody wants to come out in the backyard with me. It’s a warm spring night, and the moon is really bright, but I dance alone.
This is my first boy-girl birthday party, and I dance alone. I bet I was only invited because everybody in my fourth-grade class was. The girls don’t want me here. They are all pretty and have long hair and wear dresses with ruffles on the skirts. I’m not pretty at all. I’m too tall and my hair is short and I already have a chest and I’m fat. None of the other girls are fat, or tall, or have a chest in fourth grade.
I dance alone, because none of the boys will dance with me. They dance the slow songs with the pretty girls, but I dance alone. Even Ryan, who is tall and thin and doesn’t smile, and Dan, who is fat and round, won’t dance with me. Dan’s sorta nice to me sometimes in school, and he won’t dance with me. The other boys don’t even see me.
I dance alone because it’s easier that way. I can do what I want when I’m alone, and no one else will complain or say I’m not doing it right. It’s cool in the backyard, not stuffy, like the living room where all of the other kids are. The living room smells like greasy food and too many people, but the backyard smells fresh. The grass under my sneakers is softer than any carpet.
I dance alone because there’s more room for me outside, and the crickets and the owls aren’t going to tell me I’m not wanted. Well, the kids didn’t say that, either, but most of them acted like I wasn’t there. The crickets and the owls don’t mind if I like things that the other kids don’t, like old music our parents listened to and weird science fiction movies with light swords and stuff. They don’t mind that I look funny, walk funny, or talk to myself because there isn’t anyone else to talk to. Crickets and owls don’t crowd you out when they play Spin the Bottle, or make fun of the book you gave Laurie the birthday girl, or call you a baby because you’d rather talk to Laurie’s mom than watch horror movies.
I dance alone because I always have, and I probably always will. I can be myself out here in the moonlight. Crickets and owls don’t care if you aren’t normal, if all the other kids think you’re nuts. Sometimes I wish I was in there, dancing with a boy, but then I remember that they don’t like me because I’m not like the other girls who are pretty and fun. I spend all my time alone. The boys at school call me “Fatty” and put glue on my chair, and the girls ignore me at lunch when I talk about old music or light swords.
I dance alone because you can’t dance with someone else when there’s only one of you.
Wednesday, November 7, 2018
Little Red Riding Rose: A Star Wars Sequel Trilogy Fairy Tale
This short story was originally intended to be Rey's fairy tale, but I decided I liked Molly Whuppie better for her and switched this one to Rose. Besides, Rose can be just as feisty as anyone, as the Big Bad Kylo Ren wolf discovers the hard way in this story!
Once upon a time, in a deep, dark forest, lived a girl named Rose Tico. She lived with her sister Paige in a small cottage surrounded by fir trees. Their parents had been dead for years, but they'd largely been raised by each other and the community of woodsmen and hunters who lived in the forest. Rose was a wonderful carpenter and mechanic who often spent the whole day aiding other woodcutters and hunters in repairing their weapons, or fixing a grist mill's wheel so that it ground grain as fine as sand. Her sister often came home so late, Paige gave Rose a bright scarlet cloak to make her more visible to hunters at night.
Rating: PG
Pairings: Finn/Rose
Disclaimer: Star Wars is owned by Lucasfilm and The Walt Disney Company.
Once upon a time, in a deep, dark forest, lived a girl named Rose Tico. She lived with her sister Paige in a small cottage surrounded by fir trees. Their parents had been dead for years, but they'd largely been raised by each other and the community of woodsmen and hunters who lived in the forest. Rose was a wonderful carpenter and mechanic who often spent the whole day aiding other woodcutters and hunters in repairing their weapons, or fixing a grist mill's wheel so that it ground grain as fine as sand. Her sister often came home so late, Paige gave Rose a bright scarlet cloak to make her more visible to hunters at night.
One day, Paige gave her sister a basket of bread, cheese, and apples along with her usual tool belt and cape. “Luke Skywalker, the head woodsman, has asked me if you could fix his sister Leia's stove. Luke was called away on business, and her husband Han is a sailor who won't be in port for over a week. Leia would normally do it herself, but she tripped over a rock in her garden and twisted her ankle.”
“Oh, I wouldn't mind!” Rose threw her cloak over her shoulders. “Leia and Han are kind people. They've always been very nice to me. Han tells the best stories of his time at sea, and Leia has recommended me to her friends in town for several jobs. The Woodsman Luke is the oldest and most respected woodcutter in the forest.”
“The basket is for your lunch. Share it with Leia! Luke told me she's feeling grouchy and out-of-sorts because of her accident.” Paige waved a finger at her sister. “And be careful! The forest is filled with wolves and bears and even scarier things. Magical things. Evil magic lurks in those woods. I've heard of maidens who were eaten by animals, or spirited away by terrible sorcerers or magicians.”
Rose laughed. “That's only gossip, Paige. You worry too much. I walk through the woods every day!”
The first person she met on the path was the Woodcutter Finn and his good friend, the Huntsman Poe. Poe was accompanied by BB, his faithful orange and white hound. BB nudged her leg, whining for a treat.
“I suppose you smell the goodies.” Rose gave him a bit of cheese. “Here you go!” She patted the dog as he noisily slurped up the Gouda.
Poe laughed. “Are you spoiling my dog again, Mistress Rose?”
“Goodness knows you don't!” Rose snickered. She'd been friends with Poe and Finn for years. “You run that dog ragged, looking for your old rabbits and quail.”
“We're after bigger game today.” He scratched BB between the ears. “Wolves have been seen attacking livestock in town. We're worried they may start going after larger animals next, including cattle.”
“Oh, I doubt they'd do that.” Rose made a face. “If they attacked cows, they'd be trampled.”
“Those lazy things?” Finn shook his head before he split another hunk of oak. “A cow wouldn't have sense enough to run from a stinging nettle, never mind a wolf!”
Rose frowned. “I haven't heard of any wolves around here for years. I thought they were all hunted down.”
“This one just started to appear last week.” Finn spoke softer. “The way people talk...I don't think he's a wolf.”
“What do you mean?” Poe raised an eyebrow.
“I think he's a shape-shifter.” The dark-skinned woodcutter shuddered. “They say the Knights of Ren roam these woods. They're the minions of the evil magician Lord Snoke. Leia's son, Kylo Ren, was a sorcerer who fell in with Snoke and the Knights. Beware of him, Rose. The forest is full of creatures like him, and real wolves too. They'll eat you alive...the human ones and the real ones.”
“I'm fine, Finn.” She gave him a kiss on his cheek. “I know what I'm doing. Why don't you meet me at Leia's house when you're done? She could probably use that wood for her stove after I finish fixing it.”
Poe smirked as his friend blushed. “Well, well. If you turn any redder, Finn, you'll blend in with her cape.”
“Well, yes, um...” Finn quickly turned to his wood. “This isn't going to chop itself. I'll see you then.”
Rose grinned at his flushed cheeks. Poe nearly fell over laughing. She waved to him as she, Poe, and BB made their way down the dirt path into the woods.
“This is as far as I'm going.” Poe stopped when they found themselves at the fork between the main forest and the road to Leia Organa-Solo's home. “If you need us, BB and I will be just up the road where the trees are thicker.”
“I'll be all right, Poe. I can take care of myself.” Rose smiled at him. “Thank you anyway!” She gave BB one last bit of Gouda before moving on her way.
Rose shuddered. The path she took lead into the deepest part of the forest, where the trees were so tall and black, they blotted out the sun. Soft moss and fine grass bounced underfoot. Leaves rustled in the trees. In the distance, she heard a movement in the brush as a rabbit leaped out of its hole.
“It's just the bunny,” the girl reminded herself. “Nothing to be scared of. This is the woods. You walk here everyday. There's no large animals here.”
“Oh, I wouldn't be sure about that.” Two shining red eyes pierced the thick brush. “You never know what you'll find in the woods, child.”
A huge black wolf stepped out of the bushes along the road. Rose had never seen anything like him. He was long and lean, with thick, sleek fur and a long, aquiline nose and sharp white teeth. His paws were larger than usual for a wolf, and his eyes were far more expressive. They glittered in the dim sun beams between the trees.
Rose stepped back. “H..Hello, Mr. Wolf. Good day to you.”
“Hello, child.” He stepped around her, like he was looking for a place to bite at the tender parts. “Where have you come from, and where are you going?”
“I'm going to an older woman's house.” Something about the wolf made the hair on the back of Rose's neck stand on end. She'd heard that there were a lot of strange and even magical animals in the forest, but she'd never knew there was a wolf that could talk. “She's hurt. I have lunch to share with her, and I need to fix her stove.”
“Well, isn't that kind of you?” The wolf gave her a little half-grin. It reminded her of Captain Han's half-smirk when he was right about something. “You know, little old ladies appreciate flowers. There's a field of wildflowers just along that path there.” He pointed his paw at a road off to his right. “Why don't you go pick her some? It won't take that long.”
The girl frowned. “My sister did say that Mrs. Solo was grumpy because she can't move around.”
“Why don't you pick her some flowers? That would make anyone feel better.” The wolf's big smile showed pointy, gleaming white teeth. Rose was sure those teeth would cut her to ribbons if he decided to have her for lunch.
“What about you?” Rose watched him as he sniffed her. “Why are you suggesting this?”
“Oh, I'm just being a good neighbor.” The wolf nudged her. “You're so nice and plump. I'll bet you're full of energy.”
“Ok, now you're just scaring me.” Rose started along the path. She pointed down the road that went back towards town. “My friend Poe would love to meet you. He's been looking for wolves all day.”
“I know.” The wolf twisted his muzzle into a grimace. “I've been avoiding him. He's the last one I want to meet.” He sniffed a little further into Rose's red cape. “You're so...small...so juicy...”
She did not like the direction this conversation was going in. “Uh, bye!” Her feet darted down the nearest path as fast as they could take her. There was no way she was going to be a meal for some scrawny black dog!
At least he was telling the truth about the flowers. Within minutes, she came upon a meadow that was awash in sweet-smelling blossoms. Here, the sun was warm on her shoulders, warm enough to pull her hood off and loosen the cape from her shoulders. She stopped to pick the prettiest bouquet she could, then tied it with her blue hair ribbon and dropped it in the basket.
Leia's home wasn't far from there. It was slightly larger than most houses in the area, two stories with a tiny garden out front. She hoped Leia didn't mind that she was a bit late. It had taken her longer to gather flowers than she thought.
“Hello?” Rose popped her head in the house. The front parlor was sunny and elegant, filled with beautifully carved wooden chairs and jars of shells and shark's teeth that were mementos of Han Solo's years at sea. “Mrs. Solo? Leia?”
“In the bedroom, dear!” Came a muffled response from upstairs. “I'm waiting for you! Bring your basket!”
“Well, all right.” Rose shivered. Despite the warm sun streaming into the house, she felt cold. Something wasn't right here. Her fingers wrapped around one of the iron wrenches in her tool belt.
“Hello?” A lump lay under the silken sheets on the massive king-sized canopy bed. Rose set the basket on the bedside table that was made from a crab trap. “Mrs. Leia? It's me, Rose Tico. I'm here to fix your stove.”
A long, sleek nose and pointed ears popped out from under the blanket. A white ruffled cap was perched precariously between them. “Well, hello there, dear. Come closer, so I can see you.”
Rose didn't like this, but she did as she was told. “Mrs. Solo, what a big nose you have.”
“The better to smell you with, my dear.” Mrs. Solo had a deep voice for a lady, but not that deep. A pair of red eyes peered out from under those ridiculous ruffles, looking her over like she was the blue-plate special.
She wasn't a fan of that, either. “Mrs. Solo, what big eyes you have!”
Those eyes pierced her soul. “The better to see you with, my dear. Come.” His paws patted the bed next to him. “Join me, where I can get...er, see you better.”
Rose really didn't like that at all. She drew back, her fingers wrapping around her belt. “Mrs. Solo, what big teeth you have!”
“The better to eat you with, you juicy little morsel!” The moment the huge black wolf sprang out of the bed, she was ready. It howled when she slammed her wrench over its head.
“Where's Mrs. Solo?” Rose pulled back, brandishing the wrench. “Did you kill her? Was she your last meal?”
The wolf growled, glaring at the wrench. “No. I couldn't eat her. She's locked in the closet downstairs. You, however, I have no such feelings for.”
“Don't come any closer!” The girl walloped his nose with the wrench again. This time, he just barely managed to avoid it. “I'm not some innocent little girl. I know how to take care of myself.”
“You're still a plump morsel I can draw energy from.” He grabbed at her cape, trying to force her onto the bed.
“Hey, my sister made me that!” Rose yanked at her cape, finally tearing it enough to free herself. “You're fixing that!”
The wolf lunged for her. “Enough! You're mine, wrench girl!”
Rose screamed and dashed downstairs. She had to find Mrs. Solo and get them both out of here, before that wolf devoured them whole. “Mrs. Solo! Mrs. Solo! Where are you?”
“Rose?” Finn poked his head in the door. “What's going on? We could hear you screaming from half-way down the path.”
Poe followed him in. BB the hound bounded after him. “We saw a black wolf on the path coming here just twenty minutes ago. I tried to get him then, but he ran off before I could get a clear shot.”
“He's upstairs. He'll probably be down any minute!” Rose screamed again as the black wolf charged downstairs. “And here he comes!”
BB tried to attack him, but the wolf knocked him away easily with his big paw. “You leave that poor dog alone!” Rose walloped him in the rear with her wrench. “What did he ever do to you?”
“That mutt tried to attack me!” The wolf charged at Poe next as he raised his gun. “Don't even think about it, Dameron!”
Poe managed to dive away just in time. “Would you stop moving so I can shoot you?”
The wolf snarled at him. “Not a chance.”
“We have to find the closet on the first floor!” Rose grabbed Finn's hand as Poe shot at the wolf. “That's where Mrs. Solo is. The wolf told me.”
“The wolf...what?” Finn didn't have the chance to ask more questions before they heard muffled yelling in a door behind them. “Wait. I recognize that voice.”
“Mrs. Solo!” The moment the girl flung open the door, Leia Solo nearly tumbled out. She'd been bound with sheets, gagged with a lacy handkerchief, and dropped on the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Oh gosh, are you all right?”
“No.” Leia's bark-brown eyes blazed as Finn tugged the bit of lace out of her mouth. “I know who the wolf is, though, and what he's after. Help me out of this. Finn, we'll need your ax. Rose, dear, hand me the cane next to the sofa.”
“Yes, Mrs. Solo.” Finn did as he was told. Leia's throaty voice was mad as a hornet caught in a spider's web. She wasn't a woman anyone would disobey, even when she was in a good mood. Right now, Rose was pretty sure she was ready to grab that gun and shoot the wolf herself.
Leia had no sooner got on her cane than the wolf came charging their way, chased by Poe and BB. “Finn, your ax! Cut off the wolf's head!”
Finn wrinkled his nose. “Ok, Mrs. Solo, but I think that's a bad idea. It'll get awfully messy in here.”
“Finn!” Rose pushed Leia back as the wolf darted their way. “Just do it!”
The young woodsman lunged for the wolf, chopping off his head with one clean hack of his ax. To the surprise of everyone but Leia, the head didn't roll to the ground. A black light surrounded the head and body, allowing them to come together in the shape of a long, lanky human with thick, dark hair and an aquiline nose.
“Ben!” Poe's eyes widened as the tall young man managed to get to his feet. “That was you? Why were you a wolf?”
Ben glared at him under his black cape. “I was collecting magic for my master, the Lord Snoke. I thought too many people would recognize me as a human, so I turned into a wolf.”
Leia frowned. “Ben, you're going to have to go into town to see the magistrate. I know that was you who killed the livestock at those farms.”
“I had to have some magic to take to my master!” Ben made a face. “And it's Kylo Ren, Mother, not Ben!”
Rose's eyes widened. “Kylo Ren?” She whirled to Leia. “Your son is Kylo Ren?”
“Yes.” The older woman sighed as Rose and Finn settled her down on her sofa, with a pillow behind her back. “Poe, see to it that he's taken to Magistrate Holdo in town. She'll have the perfect magic-absorbing jail cell for him.”
Poe bowed. “Of course, Mrs. Solo.” He poked Kylo Ren in the back. “Come on, Ben Solo. Let's go talk to Lady Holdo. If you're a really good boy, she might just let you off with ten days in jail for stealing the magic from animals.” BB growled at him for good measure.
“It's not Ben!” The former wolf glared at him. “My name is Kylo Ren!”
“Sure it is.” The huntsman rolled his eyes. “Let's just go.”
“Mrs. Leia, I'm sorry,” Rose said as soon as they left. “I shouldn't have told Kylo Ren where I was going.”
“That's all right, dear.” Leia patted her hand. “He grew up in this house. He would have come here sooner or later. It's more likely that he wanted to draw your energy and my magic and take it to his master. I have some magic, as does my brother Luke, but we don't use it that often. It tends to...unnerve people.”
Finn sat on her other side. “I'm just glad I came with that ax when I did.”
“So am I.” Rose smiled kindly at him. “Thank you, Finn. You were wonderful.”
“I was?” His cheeks flushed scarlet.
“You both were.” Leia grinned at Rose. “Now, why don't we have something to eat before you two start in on that stove? I'm so famished, my stomach is starting to make more noises than my son as a wolf.”
“Oh!” Rose ran upstairs and came down with her basket. “I brought lunch. It's from my sister. There's enough for all of us to share.”
Finn grinned. “Great!” He jumped as another growling noise rumbled on the couch. “What was that?”
“That was my stomach, silly!” Rose giggled and kissed his cheek again. “Don't worry, my hero. I'll save you from the big, bad wolf.”
Finn turned an even deeper shade of red. “Oh.” He stayed red all through their meal.
The End
Thursday, November 1, 2018
Daddy at the Beach - Original Short Story
This story is dedicated to my late stepfather, William Jackman. He really was a commercial fisherman; clams were among the many fish and shellfish he used to catch up and down the East Coast. He did used to take us to the beach when we lived in Cape May, New Jersey in the 80's and early 90's. He died of a long, terrible bout with cancer on October 28th. I miss you, Daddy. I hope you're walking on the beach somewhere, swimming and collecting shells with your friends...
Daddy at the Beach
By Emma Redmer
“Daddy?”
Daddy at the Beach
By Emma Redmer
“Daddy?”
My daddy looked up at me from where we
walked on the sand. My daddy is the most handsome man in the world.
He has blue eyes and red hair and a bristly mustache that tickles
your nose when you kiss him. When he smiles, it makes the corners of
his eyes crinkle. He's got a good laugh, the kind that bubbles up
from your tummy like Santa Claus' ho-ho-hos.
“Yeah, Lizzie?” He smiled as I came
over with my red plastic bucket. “What did you find over by the
water?”
“Shells, Daddy!” I laughed and
picked up a big white one with grayish stripes that was sort of
shaped like a rounded triangle. “Lotsa and lotsa shells!”
“You sure found a lot of 'em.”
Daddy grabbed me and took me on his lap. He has big, strong hands
from catching fish all day on his boat. “That's a clam shell. Clams
are really soft. Their shells protect them from fish an' other
animals who wanna eat them.”
“Us too!” I grinned. “You catch
clams!”
“Yeah, I do. And they sure like to
protect their homes! They can be hard to cut into sometimes. You have
to use a knife with 'em, get 'em between the shells.” He pulled out
a long shell with sharp edges. “This one is called a razor clam.
You've gotta be careful with this one. The edges can cut you if you
grab it the wrong way.”
I picked up the shell, making sure to
hold it so it wouldn't bite me. “You know everything about clams,
Daddy!”
“I've been catchin' clams and fish
for a long time, darlin'. You have to know about what you're
catching.” He gently took me off his jeans and on the sand. “You're
getting heavy! Soon, you'll be too big to sit on my lap.”
I hugged him hard. “I'll never be too
big for you, Daddy.”
“We'll see how you feel about that in
a few years.” He stood up and brushed off his jeans and hooded
sweater. “I think it's time to move along. Your mom's gonna wonder
where we are. She's probably already rolling up the beach blanket
with your sisters.”
“Ok!” I brushed off my own pink
leggings and took Dad's hand. “I love you, Daddy.”
Daddy gave me his great big smile back.
“I love you too, Lizzie Boo.”
“Always, Daddy?”
“Always and always.”
The Movie Theater Adventure - Original Short Story
I think I wrote this one in college. It was inspired by my love of the real-life serials of the 1930's and 40's and by the popularity of family comedies in the 80's and 90's like Hocus Pocus and Home Alone that had kids foiling bad guys and sometimes solving crimes. One of my college writing teachers insisted that what happens to the kids here is too coincidental and sudden...but some of those 90's movies were kind of like that, too. At any rate, I think it's pretty cute, especially if you have grade-school-age girls who like old-fashioned adventure.
The Movie Theater Adventure
By Emma Redmer
I never had an adventure until my tenth birthday in 1944. Sally, Amanda and I spent the whole afternoon at a movie for the cost of a quarter. We brought lunch and sat in the huge theater. The movie showing that day was a terrific musical, “Cover Girl,” and the serial was a mystery about a lost key and an heiress. The cartoon was Woody Woodpecker. We laughed a lot and ate tons of food. Sally sang along with Gene Kelly and Rita Hayworth, but she had to stop because she annoyed customers.
The three of us had a lot in common. We loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and always brought them to the movies with us. We liked listening to adventure shows on the radio. We loved movies where the good guys won and the bad guys lost and the hero got the girl. We all had relatives who went to war and our mothers volunteered for the Red Cross in their spare time. We sat in the same row at school. We called ourselves the Three Comrades after the three main characters of the radio show “I Love a Mystery,” who were best friends and detectives. We wanted to be detectives and adventurers when we grew up, too, like the heroes in comics and movies and on radio.
Amanda brought three slices of Italian rum cake from her house for my birthday and we snuck it into the Royal Theater that afternoon. I never figured out how Amanda’s mom managed to make rum cake when both sugar and rum were hard to come by, but we had it on my birthday. Sally nearly upset her popcorn when the bad guy in the serial looked like he was going to slice the good guy into little pieces, but I reminded her that it was all fake and the good guy would be fine next week, anyway. They always found a way to get the hero out of the situation at the last minute.
Our adventure started after the serial, during the newsreel. None of us were particularly fond of the news. It was depressing. The announcer never said anything that we hadn’t learned in school or read in letters from our brothers and uncles and cousins who were involved in the fighting. We packed up early and decided to go back to the tree house in my backyard and play pirates or Superman.
The Royal was the fanciest and most expensive movie theater in town and the three of us had gone there as a special treat. Mom called it a relic from her childhood. It had velvet seats, red carpets, lots of fancy angels and pretty carvings, potted palms, and uniformed ushers who called us "miss."
“They oughta have a map of this place,” muttered Amanda as we wandered up and down corridors, looking for the main entrance. “It’s like a maze.”
“We’ll never get out of here,” whimpered Sally, who was trying not to cry. “We’ll be trapped in here forever and ever and ever and I’ll never see Mom and my cat again!”
“Sally,” I protested, “we are not that lost. I’ll bet we’re just two steps from the entrance right now!”
Amanda frowned. “Ok, Miss Smarty-Pants Beth Bates, prove it!” She pointed to the nearest door. “Open this door and see if it’s the way out.”
I couldn’t resist a challenge like that without looking like a yellow-bellied coward, so I flung open the door and nearly tripped over a messy pile of boxes and reels. A man was tied to a chair with a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. He was making noises and trying to loosen the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. Sally and I untied him and Sally got the cloth out.
Amanda looked around the room. There were boxes and papers strewn all over. A huge steel box that squatted in one corner was jutting open. “What happened here?” she asked.
The man looked frightened. “You girls shouldn’t be here. Go back to the matinee! They could be back any second.”
“The newsreel is running right now,” I explained. “We got lost and thought this was an exit.”
Sally turned as white as a sheet. “Who’s they?”
“They are the people who robbed this theater. They held me up and made me give them the contents of the safe.” The man nodded at us and shook our hands. “I’m Richard Caulingsford, the theater accountant, and this is the main office. Those men stole the several thousand dollars that we intended to give to various charities for the war effort.”
“Can we call the police?” I asked excitedly. I’d never called the police before. Amanda and Sally looked hopeful.
Mr. Caulingsford shook his head no. “Thank you, but you girls have done more than enough already. I can take over from here.” He gave us directions to the front of the theater and almost pushed us out the door. “And be careful, because they may still be in the building,” he warned as we left the office.
Something didn’t seem quite right to me. Sally grinned as we exited into the warm sunlight, relieved that we’d come out of that alive. Amanda looked irritated. “I don’t like this,” she grumbled. “I think that guy was lying.”
I nodded. “Me too. Something stinks like my little brother’s dirty socks.”
Sally caught our drift. “The man wasn’t really tied that tightly. He could have gotten out long before we found him.”
“And he was awful quick to get rid of us,” Amanda added.
I snapped my fingers. “Maybe he wasn’t who he said he was. Maybe he was an Axis spy looking for information, like in the Spy Smasher comic I read last month.”
Amanda snorted. “What would a spy be doing tied up in a small town movie theater? He probably just didn’t want to explain us to his boss.”
“Or maybe he’s a Nazi,” I continued, ignoring Amanda’s sarcasm, “and he’s going to use the movies to play evil messages from the enemy and control our minds and make us do Hitler’s bidding.”
Sally put her hand over my forehead the way Mom does when I have a fever. “Beth, are you feeling ok? You sure you didn’t eat too much rum cake?”
I pushed her hand away. “Sally, I’m fine. I just don’t think...”
I don’t quite know what happened after that. I remember Sally putting her hand on my head and me starting to tell her that I was fine and the next thing I knew I was laying under a man on the ground. The man wore a black trenchcoat and hat and his face was covered with a mask. He quickly got up, but I’d noticed something else. A bag of money had spilled onto the ground. I gasped. “You’re they! I mean, you’re the people who robbed Mr. Caulingsford!”
Amanda was pounding on the back of another man, but he just pushed her aside. “You’re gonna pay for this, you know!” Amanda screamed. “That money was for soldiers and nurses and tanks, not for you!” The men hadn't noticed Sally, who screamed and took off. Rabbits scare her. I hoped she was doing something useful, like getting the theater manager to call the police.
One of the men clamped his hand over her mouth. “Looks like we got a live one here, Louie,” he sneered.
Louie, the guy who fell over me, got up and grabbed his money. “George, they’re just kids. What trouble can kids cause?”
“Plenty,” George snapped. “They know about the dough. They could squeal to the cops.”
“They won’t if they know what’s good for them,” whispered another voice that emerged from the shadows. It was Mr. Caulingsford. He didn’t look like an accountant now. He looked truly evil, like one of the master villains from the serials, the kind who had names like the Crimson Ghost and the Black Tiger. “After all, little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. If they’re smart little girls, they’ll come with us or they won’t talk.”
“We’ll never go with you!” exclaimed Amanda from under George’s huge hand, but I shushed her.
“Amanda, quiet. After all, we’re only little girls. What could we do to big, strong men like you?” I fluttered my eyelashes and looked cute. “Mr. Caulingsford, could you be so kind as to tell us how you did that, seeing as we’re going to spend a lot of time together?”
Mr. Caulingsford was halfway through his explanation when the police arrived on the scene and took them to the station. It seems that he and his buddies had planned this caper for a long time. He’d found out when his boss was going to be gone for the week and then had his friends to arrive dressed like burglars and tie him to make him look innocent. He’d join his friends later, after the last show of the night.
“I went back to the Royal and told an usher what was going on. He didn’t believe me, so I said to go look at the office. He called the police from there,” Sally told us later, after the police officers took Mr. Caulingsford and his goons away.
The Royal’s owner gave us free tickets to the show of our choice and supported our school scrap drive the minute we asked him. Amanda asked me the day of the scrap drive if I wanted to see the new Batman serial with her, but I said no. I’d had enough adventure.
The Movie Theater Adventure
By Emma Redmer
I never had an adventure until my tenth birthday in 1944. Sally, Amanda and I spent the whole afternoon at a movie for the cost of a quarter. We brought lunch and sat in the huge theater. The movie showing that day was a terrific musical, “Cover Girl,” and the serial was a mystery about a lost key and an heiress. The cartoon was Woody Woodpecker. We laughed a lot and ate tons of food. Sally sang along with Gene Kelly and Rita Hayworth, but she had to stop because she annoyed customers.
The three of us had a lot in common. We loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and always brought them to the movies with us. We liked listening to adventure shows on the radio. We loved movies where the good guys won and the bad guys lost and the hero got the girl. We all had relatives who went to war and our mothers volunteered for the Red Cross in their spare time. We sat in the same row at school. We called ourselves the Three Comrades after the three main characters of the radio show “I Love a Mystery,” who were best friends and detectives. We wanted to be detectives and adventurers when we grew up, too, like the heroes in comics and movies and on radio.
Amanda brought three slices of Italian rum cake from her house for my birthday and we snuck it into the Royal Theater that afternoon. I never figured out how Amanda’s mom managed to make rum cake when both sugar and rum were hard to come by, but we had it on my birthday. Sally nearly upset her popcorn when the bad guy in the serial looked like he was going to slice the good guy into little pieces, but I reminded her that it was all fake and the good guy would be fine next week, anyway. They always found a way to get the hero out of the situation at the last minute.
Our adventure started after the serial, during the newsreel. None of us were particularly fond of the news. It was depressing. The announcer never said anything that we hadn’t learned in school or read in letters from our brothers and uncles and cousins who were involved in the fighting. We packed up early and decided to go back to the tree house in my backyard and play pirates or Superman.
The Royal was the fanciest and most expensive movie theater in town and the three of us had gone there as a special treat. Mom called it a relic from her childhood. It had velvet seats, red carpets, lots of fancy angels and pretty carvings, potted palms, and uniformed ushers who called us "miss."
“They oughta have a map of this place,” muttered Amanda as we wandered up and down corridors, looking for the main entrance. “It’s like a maze.”
“We’ll never get out of here,” whimpered Sally, who was trying not to cry. “We’ll be trapped in here forever and ever and ever and I’ll never see Mom and my cat again!”
“Sally,” I protested, “we are not that lost. I’ll bet we’re just two steps from the entrance right now!”
Amanda frowned. “Ok, Miss Smarty-Pants Beth Bates, prove it!” She pointed to the nearest door. “Open this door and see if it’s the way out.”
I couldn’t resist a challenge like that without looking like a yellow-bellied coward, so I flung open the door and nearly tripped over a messy pile of boxes and reels. A man was tied to a chair with a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. He was making noises and trying to loosen the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. Sally and I untied him and Sally got the cloth out.
Amanda looked around the room. There were boxes and papers strewn all over. A huge steel box that squatted in one corner was jutting open. “What happened here?” she asked.
The man looked frightened. “You girls shouldn’t be here. Go back to the matinee! They could be back any second.”
“The newsreel is running right now,” I explained. “We got lost and thought this was an exit.”
Sally turned as white as a sheet. “Who’s they?”
“They are the people who robbed this theater. They held me up and made me give them the contents of the safe.” The man nodded at us and shook our hands. “I’m Richard Caulingsford, the theater accountant, and this is the main office. Those men stole the several thousand dollars that we intended to give to various charities for the war effort.”
“Can we call the police?” I asked excitedly. I’d never called the police before. Amanda and Sally looked hopeful.
Mr. Caulingsford shook his head no. “Thank you, but you girls have done more than enough already. I can take over from here.” He gave us directions to the front of the theater and almost pushed us out the door. “And be careful, because they may still be in the building,” he warned as we left the office.
Something didn’t seem quite right to me. Sally grinned as we exited into the warm sunlight, relieved that we’d come out of that alive. Amanda looked irritated. “I don’t like this,” she grumbled. “I think that guy was lying.”
I nodded. “Me too. Something stinks like my little brother’s dirty socks.”
Sally caught our drift. “The man wasn’t really tied that tightly. He could have gotten out long before we found him.”
“And he was awful quick to get rid of us,” Amanda added.
I snapped my fingers. “Maybe he wasn’t who he said he was. Maybe he was an Axis spy looking for information, like in the Spy Smasher comic I read last month.”
Amanda snorted. “What would a spy be doing tied up in a small town movie theater? He probably just didn’t want to explain us to his boss.”
“Or maybe he’s a Nazi,” I continued, ignoring Amanda’s sarcasm, “and he’s going to use the movies to play evil messages from the enemy and control our minds and make us do Hitler’s bidding.”
Sally put her hand over my forehead the way Mom does when I have a fever. “Beth, are you feeling ok? You sure you didn’t eat too much rum cake?”
I pushed her hand away. “Sally, I’m fine. I just don’t think...”
I don’t quite know what happened after that. I remember Sally putting her hand on my head and me starting to tell her that I was fine and the next thing I knew I was laying under a man on the ground. The man wore a black trenchcoat and hat and his face was covered with a mask. He quickly got up, but I’d noticed something else. A bag of money had spilled onto the ground. I gasped. “You’re they! I mean, you’re the people who robbed Mr. Caulingsford!”
Amanda was pounding on the back of another man, but he just pushed her aside. “You’re gonna pay for this, you know!” Amanda screamed. “That money was for soldiers and nurses and tanks, not for you!” The men hadn't noticed Sally, who screamed and took off. Rabbits scare her. I hoped she was doing something useful, like getting the theater manager to call the police.
One of the men clamped his hand over her mouth. “Looks like we got a live one here, Louie,” he sneered.
Louie, the guy who fell over me, got up and grabbed his money. “George, they’re just kids. What trouble can kids cause?”
“Plenty,” George snapped. “They know about the dough. They could squeal to the cops.”
“They won’t if they know what’s good for them,” whispered another voice that emerged from the shadows. It was Mr. Caulingsford. He didn’t look like an accountant now. He looked truly evil, like one of the master villains from the serials, the kind who had names like the Crimson Ghost and the Black Tiger. “After all, little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. If they’re smart little girls, they’ll come with us or they won’t talk.”
“We’ll never go with you!” exclaimed Amanda from under George’s huge hand, but I shushed her.
“Amanda, quiet. After all, we’re only little girls. What could we do to big, strong men like you?” I fluttered my eyelashes and looked cute. “Mr. Caulingsford, could you be so kind as to tell us how you did that, seeing as we’re going to spend a lot of time together?”
Mr. Caulingsford was halfway through his explanation when the police arrived on the scene and took them to the station. It seems that he and his buddies had planned this caper for a long time. He’d found out when his boss was going to be gone for the week and then had his friends to arrive dressed like burglars and tie him to make him look innocent. He’d join his friends later, after the last show of the night.
“I went back to the Royal and told an usher what was going on. He didn’t believe me, so I said to go look at the office. He called the police from there,” Sally told us later, after the police officers took Mr. Caulingsford and his goons away.
The Royal’s owner gave us free tickets to the show of our choice and supported our school scrap drive the minute we asked him. Amanda asked me the day of the scrap drive if I wanted to see the new Batman serial with her, but I said no. I’d had enough adventure.
North Star - Original Short Story
Yet another reply to a Helium prompt. I never was much good at climbing trees, or telling where you are by the stars, either. I guess this is a bit of wish fufillment. I was never as brave or strong as Lucy is in this story!
North Star
By Emma Redmer
“We’ve been following this trail forever, Lucy. How much longer do you plan on going?”
I looked at my compass. “From what this says, due north should be...” I pointed to my right “...that way.”
My best friend Brianna made a face. “Didn’t we just come that way?”
“No, we came from the south side, near Carlson’s Ridge.”
“We’re going to die,” Brianna groaned. “They’re going to dig up our bones like dinosaurs a thousand years from now.”
“Stop that. I just need to find the North Star.” I headed to the highest tree I could find and started climbing.
Brianna made a face. “You’re gonna fall out.”
I looked down at her. “No, I’m not. I’ve been climbing trees since I could reach the branches. I know what I’m doing.”
I finally pushed aside two leafy branches and looked around. The stars were out tonight, glowing in force like a thousand tiny light bulbs. I was looking for one in particular...and I finally saw it, right in front of my face. There it was. It seemed so close, I would have reached out to try to touch it if I didn’t need to hang onto the branch.
I almost forgot Brianna was still on the ground. “Well?” an annoyed voice called from bellow.
I scrambled down the tree so fast, I almost fell out. “I knew you would,” Brianna grumbled.
“Bri, calm down.” I dusted off my shorts. “I found the North Star. I know where we’re going.”
Brianna raised her eyebrows. “You did? Really?”
“Yeah. We kept getting turned around. I’ll get us out of here.”
She grinned and took my arm. “Lead the way, oh mighty navigator.”
North Star
By Emma Redmer
“We’ve been following this trail forever, Lucy. How much longer do you plan on going?”
I looked at my compass. “From what this says, due north should be...” I pointed to my right “...that way.”
My best friend Brianna made a face. “Didn’t we just come that way?”
“No, we came from the south side, near Carlson’s Ridge.”
“We’re going to die,” Brianna groaned. “They’re going to dig up our bones like dinosaurs a thousand years from now.”
“Stop that. I just need to find the North Star.” I headed to the highest tree I could find and started climbing.
Brianna made a face. “You’re gonna fall out.”
I looked down at her. “No, I’m not. I’ve been climbing trees since I could reach the branches. I know what I’m doing.”
I finally pushed aside two leafy branches and looked around. The stars were out tonight, glowing in force like a thousand tiny light bulbs. I was looking for one in particular...and I finally saw it, right in front of my face. There it was. It seemed so close, I would have reached out to try to touch it if I didn’t need to hang onto the branch.
I almost forgot Brianna was still on the ground. “Well?” an annoyed voice called from bellow.
I scrambled down the tree so fast, I almost fell out. “I knew you would,” Brianna grumbled.
“Bri, calm down.” I dusted off my shorts. “I found the North Star. I know where we’re going.”
Brianna raised her eyebrows. “You did? Really?”
“Yeah. We kept getting turned around. I’ll get us out of here.”
She grinned and took my arm. “Lead the way, oh mighty navigator.”
Harvest - Original Short Story
Another Helium entry from 2012, this one is a short comic story written around crows in a corn field and a scarecrow. Considering we're currently at the tail end of harvest season, I figured it was appropriate to post now.
Harvest
By Emma Redmer
It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Long, yellow and creamy, glistening in the sun like beautiful bits of stone. We wanted those. We couldn’t live without them. We needed their long, soft tassles for our homes, the green stalks to cover our children and keep them warm. They were the most perfect stalks of corn ever grown, and they would be ours.
There was one small problem. Those lucious corn stalks were under survelliance. An odd-looking man with long, straight hair and old clothes was standing right in the path of the best stalks. He had a peculiar face, with a fat beak that looked like someone drew it on. We just had to get around him, and we’d be home free, with all the corn we could ever want.
I looked left, around a corn stalk. I looked right, around a rock. Nothing. No humans. No cats or dogs ready to pounce. I turned to the others and nodded. “Come on, fellas. This is our chance.”
With a caw, we flew straight at the farmer. Two of our group actually picked up his hat and flung it on the ground. Another pulled the hair out of his arm. I thought it was a little strange that the only sign he gave of us was to list slightly to the right. He didn’t yell, or try to shoot at us or hit us with a broom. I finally ducked down and took a look at his legs.
“Fellas, come and see this!” The guy didn’t have legs at all! He had two long stumps stuffed with hay. “He ain’t real!”
Well, we all had a good laugh at that. Imagine, us thinkin’ some guy made of hay was a real farmer! We flew past him and headed for the corn, cawing joyfully the whole way.
We landed on the tallest stalk. I grabbed a corn cob and grinned. “Hey Cora, look at this! This is going to be the best harvest we ever had!”
Cora nodded. “Right you are, Willy! I don’t think I’m mincing words when I say that us crows will never again have such a feast!”
Harvest
By Emma Redmer
It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Long, yellow and creamy, glistening in the sun like beautiful bits of stone. We wanted those. We couldn’t live without them. We needed their long, soft tassles for our homes, the green stalks to cover our children and keep them warm. They were the most perfect stalks of corn ever grown, and they would be ours.
There was one small problem. Those lucious corn stalks were under survelliance. An odd-looking man with long, straight hair and old clothes was standing right in the path of the best stalks. He had a peculiar face, with a fat beak that looked like someone drew it on. We just had to get around him, and we’d be home free, with all the corn we could ever want.
I looked left, around a corn stalk. I looked right, around a rock. Nothing. No humans. No cats or dogs ready to pounce. I turned to the others and nodded. “Come on, fellas. This is our chance.”
With a caw, we flew straight at the farmer. Two of our group actually picked up his hat and flung it on the ground. Another pulled the hair out of his arm. I thought it was a little strange that the only sign he gave of us was to list slightly to the right. He didn’t yell, or try to shoot at us or hit us with a broom. I finally ducked down and took a look at his legs.
“Fellas, come and see this!” The guy didn’t have legs at all! He had two long stumps stuffed with hay. “He ain’t real!”
Well, we all had a good laugh at that. Imagine, us thinkin’ some guy made of hay was a real farmer! We flew past him and headed for the corn, cawing joyfully the whole way.
We landed on the tallest stalk. I grabbed a corn cob and grinned. “Hey Cora, look at this! This is going to be the best harvest we ever had!”
Cora nodded. “Right you are, Willy! I don’t think I’m mincing words when I say that us crows will never again have such a feast!”
Big Girls - Original Short Story
I wrote this short story for the Helium Network when I was at home with an injured ankle in 2012. I've been a "big girl" for most of my life. If there's one thing I'm grateful for, it's that being overweight, or at least larger, is at least somewhat more acceptable now than it was when I was the ages of the teenagers in this story. For all of you out there who are also "big girls," remember that it's what inside that counts, and that being big means there's plenty of love to go around.
Big Girls
By Emma Redmer
I picked up the teen magazine on the newsstand. “Why can’t we look like those girls? I’ll bet they have sixteen guys who are begging for their cell phone number. They can actually fit into all the really cool new clothes. I bet they never heard a joke about their rears or their boobs in their entire lives.”
My best friend Laura rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you really think that’s real. First of all, most of those pictures are probably Photoshopped or airbrushed or whatever. Second, we can eat whatever we like. If we wanna have a slice of chocolate cake, we can have a slice of chocolate cake. Those girls can’t eat anything they haven’t been told to eat. They have to go on weird diets all the time to lose weight for the photo shoots. And how’d you like to be teased ‘cause you’re too skinny?”
“I’d rather hear skinny jokes than fat jokes.”
Laura ignored me. “Besides, not every guy goes for skinny models. You know Sharlinda Morrison? She’s dating Brad Hewitt now. She’s big like the girl in Hairspray. Really big. But Brad has said he doesn’t care. He’s even going to nominate her for Homecoming Queen.”
I grinned. “Sharlinda is great! She’ll be an awesome homecoming queen. We have a child care class together, and the little kids love her. She never turns them down for a game or a story. And everyone knows she’s a lock for Dolly in this year’s spring musical.”
Laura just grinned at me. “See? You don’t have to be some Ashley Tisdale look-a-like to get a guy.”
“I guess you’re right.” I dropped the magazine back in the rack. “How about we celebrate us big girls and see if Sharlinda is home?”
Laura put an arm around me. “You’re on.”
Big Girls
By Emma Redmer
I picked up the teen magazine on the newsstand. “Why can’t we look like those girls? I’ll bet they have sixteen guys who are begging for their cell phone number. They can actually fit into all the really cool new clothes. I bet they never heard a joke about their rears or their boobs in their entire lives.”
My best friend Laura rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you really think that’s real. First of all, most of those pictures are probably Photoshopped or airbrushed or whatever. Second, we can eat whatever we like. If we wanna have a slice of chocolate cake, we can have a slice of chocolate cake. Those girls can’t eat anything they haven’t been told to eat. They have to go on weird diets all the time to lose weight for the photo shoots. And how’d you like to be teased ‘cause you’re too skinny?”
“I’d rather hear skinny jokes than fat jokes.”
Laura ignored me. “Besides, not every guy goes for skinny models. You know Sharlinda Morrison? She’s dating Brad Hewitt now. She’s big like the girl in Hairspray. Really big. But Brad has said he doesn’t care. He’s even going to nominate her for Homecoming Queen.”
I grinned. “Sharlinda is great! She’ll be an awesome homecoming queen. We have a child care class together, and the little kids love her. She never turns them down for a game or a story. And everyone knows she’s a lock for Dolly in this year’s spring musical.”
Laura just grinned at me. “See? You don’t have to be some Ashley Tisdale look-a-like to get a guy.”
“I guess you’re right.” I dropped the magazine back in the rack. “How about we celebrate us big girls and see if Sharlinda is home?”
Laura put an arm around me. “You’re on.”
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