LAVENDER TOWN: Chapter 3

On Thanksgiving, most people think of what makes them happy and give thanks.  Hence the name.  It’s a time of togetherness with one’s family, where everyone eats to just shy of the point of exploding.  To the best of my knowledge, no one’s actually exploded yet.  Is it wrong of me to think it would be kind of cool to see it happen though?  Whatever; I digress.
Anyway, I hate Thanksgiving.  I promise I don’t actively try to hate things that other people love; I’m not emo just for the sake of being so.  I mean, I do enjoy the feast (maybe I’ll explode someday) but I have nothing to really be thankful for.  I mean, I don’t terribly care for my family.  On these “family get-together” holidays, I typically try to remain as far from everyone else as I can.  Yes, I’d opt for reading or listening to music all day over sitting with the people I live with for dinner for about half an hour.  It should come to no surprise that this was why being suspended would have been such a problem for me.
So, I guess I do have one thing to be thankful for: without Lavie’s help I’d be spending this entire weekend and then some with these people I can’t stand.  I couldn’t ask for more.  Unless maybe I could get away from my family for the weekend too.


Chapter 3 – Amanda’s Sanctuary

   By mid-afternoon, one can still find me in my own company in my room.  I flip through channels on TV to find a near endless supply of nothing to watch.  I can’t help but be troubled by the idea that “A Christmas Carol” can be found on three different channels in three different versions.  Could they find nothing else to air?  At least wait until after Thanksgiving ends!  That said, it’s still the most interesting thing on.  I stop on the version with the Muppets.
There is suddenly a knock on my bedroom door.  This probably means there’s a large dead bird on our dining room table.  At least, that better be what it means.  I slowly open the door and peek through.  “Kermit speaks.” I say.  “This had better be good.”
My step-brother, Calvin, stands on the other side, raising a brow.  “Mom thought maybe you’d like to join us for dinner.” He responds.  Although I bear little loyalty to the woman, it irritates me to hear him call her “mom”.  I may be a bitch, but he’s an outright scumbag, and I’d rather not even consider the thought of him sharing a parent with me.
“She’s funny like that.” I tell him.  “Just send the food in here.  At the next commercial.  I can’t afford to miss what the Ghost of Christmas Present reveals next.”  I can tell my sarcastic comments are driving him nuts.  He looks aggravated, but he has no comeback.  I smirk.
“I’m sure it’ll be on again.”
“I can’t wait three hours.”
Calvin hesitates for a while.  He’s getting red in the face.  Without saying a word, he takes a step back and turns down the stairs.  When he reaches the bottom, I hear him say, “I don’t know what her problem is this time, but she’s not coming down.”  
I decide this is as good a time as any to come down.  “What part of “I’ll be right down” didn’t you understand, Calvin.  Geez, louise.”   My mother sends a look in my direction.  She apparently isn’t amused.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs, my mother wastes no time scoffing.  “Are you seriously going to wear that on Thanksgiving?  You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
My getup, (which does not look like something one would wear to funeral) happens to be all black.  Most of my clothes, in fact, are black.  I can’t help it if that’s what I look good in.  Today in particular, since I have nowhere to be, I’m opting for a basic black tee and this long, flowy and equally black, but very comfortable skirt.  Perfect for just being a load around the house.
And although no one asked, I’ll add that I have nothing on my feet and my hair is hanging down.  If I leave the house, I usually put my hair up in one fashion or another, but there’s no reason for me to feel any need to impress the people I live with.
“Don’t you have anything nice you can wear?” she pleads.  I would argue that this is nice.  
“Give it up, mom.  Nothing will make her look nice.” Calvin delightfully chimes in.  She’s a miserable person, and I think she just wants to let the world know.”  At that moment, my eyes meet Calvin’s, and he grins like the son of a bitch he is.
“At least, I’m honest.” I whisper as my head sinks a little.  
“Both of you; knock it off.” My mother snaps with decidedly little authority.  “I am not interested in putting up with the two of you acting like a couple of idiots today.  I just want to have a nice quiet dinner with the whole family.”  
She returns her focus to setting the table but continues to subject us to her generic lecture in the meantime.  I stop listening because it’s positively not worth hearing.  
All the while, Dwayne (AKA my step-father) sits at the table, not uttering a word.  He does not even lift his head at any point in the conversation.  He does however let off this cold, unapproachable presence that seems to agree with the words of my mother, though he voices nothing to show it.  Ah, classic Dwayne.
Calvin and I are equally silent.  My mother may be as threatening as a mouse caught in a trap, but I don’t think either of us really want to risk the possibility that she might deny us dinner if we speak again.  It’s a real shame too, because I just hate not being able to get the last word.

Dinner decorates the table.  Besides the turkey itself, there’re other staples such as mashed potatoes, corn, cranberry sauce and well, that’s it.   It’s not particularly grand-looking, but considering there are only four of us, it’s still quite a bit of food.
It wasn’t always like this though.  In past Thanksgivings, we have gotten together with more extended family.  However, since last year, my mother has more or less distanced herself (and us) with the rest of the family on account of her devotion to Dwayne.  I’m not too upset about having fewer people around to try and impress but the three people I’m stuck with are the three worst of all.
We gather and sit at the table.  This is immediately followed by what I believe may actually be a full minute of awkward silence.  My mother finally opens communication with the most regretful statement I’ve heard all day, “Mandy, why don’t you say Grace?”  And yes, even my own mother subjects me to my unfortunate nickname.
She probably assumes that because she put me in a Catholic school, I must be really good at praying.  It actually hurts a little to know how little my own mother knows about me.  Anyway, I’d like to fight it; to tell her what I think of her Grace.  Alas, my need to eat impairs my will to oppress.
"Bless us oh lord and for these thy gifts which we are about to receive.  May the lord make us truly thankful.  Amen."  I bet you didn’t even know I could talk like that.  I didn’t become the top of my class by not knowing my stuff though, whether it be math problems or religious recitations.
“Thank you, Mandy.” My mother says in an indefinable tone that seems to border sincerity and sarcasm.  “Was that so hard?”  That last statement tips it over onto the side of the latter.  I choose to keep my mouth shut though.  I can be as much of a bitch as I want after dinner.  
And with that charming sentiment, dinner begins.  Thankfully, all of us seem to share the common feeling of hunger, so nobody uses their mouths for anything other than filling it.  Unfortunately, the food isn’t necessarily that great.  It’s enough to satisfy me for now, but not enough to really enjoy.  Incidentally, it was my blood father who used to do the cooking, and he was damn good at it.  My mother, on the other hand, not so much.
Dwayne suddenly speaks, “So how is class going for you, Calvin?”  He doesn’t speak often, but when he does, it always manages to startle me.  I’m not sure why that is though, since he’s never actually talking to me.  It’s true, he talks to his son and my mom, but he’s maybe said three words directly to me in the five years I’ve known him.
“College is pretty tough, but I like it so far.”  Calvin returns with a generic answer.  I happen to know for a fact he’s having a hell of a time and is already on the verge of flunking at least two classes, if not more.  He’s actually such a lousy student, I could probably tutor him.
I presume Dwayne’s question inspired my mother to do the same for me, as she shortly afterwards inquires to my recent class experience.  Of course I’m not up for discussing my recent drama with Miss Marshall.  It’s just not worth the big deal my mom would inevitably make of it.  Instead, I choose to focus on what she’d like to hear and won’t make a fuss out of.  
“I’m doing great in class.” I tell her pleasantly.  The smile I wear might be fake if not for the look of frustration visible on Calvin’s face.  “If things keep going like this, which I’ll make certain they will, I should graduate valedictorian.”   
And without missing a beat, I hear, “Mandy, stop being a pest.”  It was Dwayne of all people, not even looking in my direction.  Immediately after saying it, he fills his mouth with a fork full of corn.  
“What?” is the only response I can muster.
“You’re just bragging.  It’s unnecessary and it’s annoying.”
Even if it is true, his words bother me.  I can’t even believe he said that.  My head surveys the rest of the table to reveal that nobody else has anything to add either.  Both Calvin and my mom continue to stuff their faces.  It especially bothers me on account of my mother who insisted that I should not start trouble earlier; yet now, here she is allowing this person to flat out offend me.  You know, maybe I do deserve it, but surely there is a more mature way of getting his message across.  I’m not going to argue that I’m a bitch, but at least I don’t directly insult anyone!
“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” I feel terribly uncomfortable apologizing.  Perhaps I am a little out of line, but I feel like I’m apologizing for something I didn’t do.
“You’re not sorry.” Dwayne manages to find exactly the only statement that could outdo his previous remark in shock value.  And he does it with an even louder and more intimidating voice.   “You’re always looking for ways to belittle my son, and frankly, I’m getting tired of hearing it.”
Dwayne continues to face his food the entire time.  His eyes never meet mine even once at any point during his little monologue.  Meanwhile, my mother remains quiet like the subservient wench she is.  Then there’s Calvin, the victim himself, who flashes me a smirk that the devil couldn’t replicate.
I stand up.  “Thanks for nothing.”  And with that I storm away from the table.  No one stops me.
I head for the closet and pull from it my jacket.  I slide my sockless feet into a pair of black sneakers.  I open the front door and exit.
Still, no one stops me.

It’s cold outside.  Cold enough that I should be wearing more than this.  It’s also very dark.  Though only a little after five o’clock, the sun is already completely gone.  Also, I’m hungry.  I didn’t have much opportunity to eat before being branded the enemy of the whole family.  But no matter what, I have to get away from these idiots.
Despite everything, it’s very quiet out tonight.  No cars can be found on the road and I’m the only one walking the sidewalk.  Normally, I’d find it to be wholly favorable, but for some reason, it’s unsettling to me out right now.
After less than ten minutes of walking, I arrive at a place I know quite well called Ben’s Deli.  Obviously it’s closed, but I don’t really care about that.  Actually, as many times as I’ve been over here, I’ve never entered Ben’s Deli.  However, across the street from it, there’s a small playground.  It’s not much, actually: just a slide and a couple of swings to be honest.  But I love this place.  It’s my sanctuary.
I seat myself on one of the swings, but don’t actually swing.  My arms wrap around the chains and into my coat pockets.  And it’s at that point that I find something in them.  From my right pocket, I retrieve a folded piece of paper.  With the only light coming from the other side of the street, I can’t actually read the paper here, but I remember putting it into my jacket pocket yesterday.  And I know what it is.  It has Lavie’s phone number written on it.  
Truthfully, I didn’t think I was ever going to use it.  Yet, I continue to sit there, staring at this small strip of paper as though it might do a trick if I don’t stop.  I feel compelled to call it.  I, for seemingly the first time ever feel compelled to tell someone how I feel.  
She did say to call if I ever needed anything.  This probably isn’t what she meant though.
I stand up to return to the other side of the street.  My movement is stiff and mechanical.  My eyes remain set on the ever-important paper.  I only once look up to observe the street before crossing.  Nobody is coming, as I expected, which actually makes me feel a little stupid.
In front of Ben’s Deli is a pay phone.  My face peels away from the piece of paper, to stick itself to the phone, which is equally lacking in tricks.  My other jacket pocket contains a single quarter.  I don’t even know how long that’s been there.  Is it some kind of fate?
I insert the money and dial the number.  There is silence for a long time.  I swear that for every second I hear quiet come out of this phone, my heart beats harder.  It almost hurts.  It’s maddening.  I’m freaking out for some reason.  I’m going to hang up.
It rings, so I stay on the line.  I’m not freaking out any less though.  Honestly, I feel like I want to cry.  What if I’m bothering her?  What if she never meant for me to call at all?  What if she wrote the wrong number by accident?  Or on purpose?  Or…
“Hello?”
I’m completely messed up right now.  I can’t for the words to answer.  It’s definitely Lavie on the other end, but I’m suddenly regretting calling.  What did I think she was going to do?  I mean if I tell her or anyone what just happened, they’ll probably say, “Yeah, you ARE a pest and a braggart.  You want a cookie?”
“Um, hello?”
Agh!  What the hell is wrong with me?  Why did I call if I’m not going to say anything?  How is this supposed to help me?
And with that, I begin to feel completely weak and hopeless.  I feel insulted and outcast by my family, which is a far harsher feeling than I thought it would be.  Then I find a potential solution and I’m too scared to follow through.  What am I afraid of?  I suddenly start sobbing.  
It’s totally audible too.
“Oh my god.  Hello.  Who is this?  Is everything okay?” Lavie’s voice holds a lot of concern.  I guess I would be concerned too if I picked up the phone and someone just cried at me.  I try to stop crying long enough to form coherent words.  It’s difficult, but I have to.  Lavie remains ever patient on the other line, occasionally repeating one of the previous things she’d said.  
After a particularly deep breath, I decide it’s time to try to speak.  Again, I just hope I can make something out.  Anything.  “Hi… Lavie…” Well, I guess it’s a start.  There’s a long pause on the other end.  She’s probably cycling through everyone she knows.  A couple seconds pass and I add, “It’s Amanda… Kertigan.”
The pause continues for a moment.  And then, “Amanda!?  Um, hi.  Is… is everything all right?  What’s going on?”
“I… I’m sorry.” I have better control over my voice, but my breathing is still heavy,  and I’m still sniffling.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t even know why I called.  I… I just needed to talk to someone I guess.”
It’s quiet on the other line.  No doubt she’s rolling her eyes in having her time wasted.
“Amanda.  Why are you crying?  And where are you?  I can hear the wind blowing on the phone.”
“What?”
“I said where are you?  I’ll come pick you up.”
“Pick me up!?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re crying and you’re outside.  Tell me where you are and I’ll drive over and pick you up.  You can’t stay out there tonight.”
I’m speechless.  That’s so generous of her, but why?  She speaks with much conviction for someone who’s only known me for a day.  For someone who doesn’t know me.  For someone I don’t know.
“I’m at Ben’s Deli.” I say weakly.
“Okay, I know where that is.  Don’t go anywhere!  I’ll be right there!” Lavie tells me.  “Just give me like ten minutes.”
And with that, she hangs up.  Honestly, it all happened so fast, I’m not totally sure I understand what happened.  Did she just selflessly do (without being suggested, I might add), more or less exactly what I wanted?  No.  She one-upped my plans.  I just wanted to talk.  But she’s coming here.  I never would have asked that.
Why is she doing this?  I ponder as I wander back over to my sanctuary.  I take my place back upon my swinging throne and face the street.  Rocking gently back and forth, I return my gaze to the piece of paper in my hand.  I’ve calmed down a lot now, but one last stray tear manages run its way down my cheek.  
The paper finds its way back to my pocket.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but I’m positive it hasn’t been ten minutes.  Despite this, a dim light comes from the distance, and progressively gets brighter.  With it, the clanking of a weary motor that’s seen it’s better day can be heard.  A car follows behind this light and makes a sharp turn into the parking lot of Ben’s Deli.  
She really did come.
I stand happily, yet continue to observe with caution just in case that’s someone else who just happens to have a crappy car of their own.  Then Lavie climbs out of the driver’s seat and looks around.  I wave and call to her.  She sees and starts running over… just not very quickly.  She’s still limping a little, the poor thing.  I walk toward her to meet halfway.
“Sorry that took so long.”  Lavie apologized unnecessarily.  She seemed a little out of breath herself as she rested her hands on knees.
“It’s okay.  It didn’t take long at all.”  God, I’m getting all choked up again.  I’m not going to cry in front of her though.  I don’t like having people see me cry.  “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“Sure, I did.  I told you I would.”  And there I go: the floodgates are open again.  I quickly turn around and try to be quiet about it.  “So, why are you…”
“I just needed to get out.  You know: fresh air, quiet atmosphere.  Sometimes you just have to get away.” I say in a tone that more than a whisper, but not quite normal speaking voice.  It’s the only way I can do it without giving away the fact that I’m crying.
“Not many people try to get away from their family on Thanksgiving though.”
“Then I guess not many people hate their family like I do.”
Since I’m not facing her, I don’t know what sort of expression Lavie wears on her face.  She’s quiet though.  As Valerie said, she’s a rich girl.  She’s probably only saying what she’s saying because she has some perfect little family life where no one fights and no one judges.
And no one is cast out.
“So why here?” Lavie inquires suddenly changing the subject.  “I see this place every day on my way to school but I never see anyone here.  Ever.”
“It’s a pretty sorry excuse for a playground.  If any little kids want to play, there are plenty of other better ones in town they can go to.”  I add.  I drag my feet back to my swing and sit down.  Lavie follows quietly behind to hear what I have to say.  “But this is where I used to come when I was little.  And in all this time, it’s never changed.  It looks exactly the same as it ever did.  And that’s what I like best about this place.  No matter how much I change, or the world around me changes, I can return here to escape it again.  I can come here and remember a better, simpler time in my life.  It’s trapped in time, like a place of eternal innocence.”
Lavie stands, listening thoughtfully to my every word.  I only know this because I can vaguely see her shadow on the ground casting over me.  Finally, I wipe my sleeve across my eyes to clear my face so I can look up at her.  As my head rises, I find her looking at me, waiting for our eyes to lock.  
“It’s not really my place to ask what’s bothering you so much right now, but if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“I just don’t want to go home.  Can you stay here with me for a little while?”
Lavie nods.  I watch blankly as she moves to the swing next to mine.  At once my eyes widen.  I’m about to warn her, but it’s too late.  She sits on the swing and chain on one side disconnects, sending her right through onto the ground.  I rise from my swing, then fall to my knees before her.
“Ow.”
“Oh my god, Lavie!  Are you okay?  I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.  That swing has been broken for years.”
She actually laughs a little as I help her up.  “Didn’t hurt that much.  Don’t worry about it.  Besides stuff like this seems to happen to me all the time.” All that I’ve been through today, and I feel like I’m at fault for not warning her sooner.  And yet she smiles at me.  Why isn’t she furious?
“You’re not hurt?”
After being return to her feet she once again locks eyes with me and smiles.  Then she says the strangest thing: “We’re not here to talk about me, Amanda.  I’m here to help you out.”  I am left positively speechless.  And just when I think she couldn’t do anything to make me feel better, she wraps her arms around my body and says softly, “I’m sorry you’ve had a rough day, Amanda.  I will stay with you for as long as you like.”
“I don’t understand.  Why are you doing this for me?”
“Because you’re lonely…” she starts.  “And so am I.”
Her embrace becomes tighter, but my arms continue to hang weakly at my sides.  I’m so conflicted, and so confused.
I thought she was unpopular because she was some spoiled rich girl, but she’s now completely selflessly helped me three times.  And she’s asked for nothing in return… except for my attention.  But why would anyone want my attention?  Is there anything, I can say?  Anything I can do?
And then it came to me.
“Thank you, Lavie.” I lifted my arms to hug her back.
We’ve been going to school together for four years, Lavie and I.  Why have I never noticed her sooner?  I could’ve really used someone like her in my life since about four years ago.  Maybe I wouldn’t be quite as weak as I am today if she’d been there then.
Her grip on me loosened.  “Amanda, are you hungry?  We’ve still got plenty of food back at my place, and my grandma is like, the best cook in the world.”
“That sounds really good.”
“Come on, hon.” Lavie smiles which forces me to do the same.  She grabs my hand and runs back to her car, dangling me behind her.  

As we seat ourselves in her car, I can’t help but feel something is off.  I thought all people were the same.  I thought I could predict how people would respond to anything  at all times.  There was a routine, and everyone followed it.  But not Lavie.  I can’t read her.  I have no idea what she’s thinking.  Just about everything she does surprises me; from her generous nature to her peppy attitude to…
…to yesterday, when she kissed me.

But she makes me happy like no one ever has.  When she held me just now, I felt safe, I felt warm.  I forgot my troubles in an instant.  And I think I traded in my old sanctuary for a new one.