wordwhacker

If I was Anne Rice, I'd say that this story "poured out of me". But I'm not. So instead I'll say that the first line popped into my head, and the rest of the story sort of, uh, happened to follow suit. It was fun to write, which was the most important thing at the time, though it wasn't for any challenge in particular. I'll get right on those, honest.

Mother Knows Best (vignette, 1,000 words, first draft)

When I was seven years old, I was in love with my second grade teacher. Everybody says that, but I mean it - I wrote her love letters that I'd keep in my desk, and one day I announced my plans to marry her to my mother.

"Of course, dear," she said. I took this as her consent and started planning my proposal.

It was one of those memories that sticks, the way the odd dream will. I don't remember everything perfectly but I know it was sunny and a little cold. I'd insisted on wearing a skirt that day, in spite of Mama's protestations - it was my favourite skirt, the red one with the hound's tooth check around the hem. I'd wanted to look my best, after all.

All through Math and Spelling I couldn't keep still. I watched the wall clock like a hawk, though I wasn't great at telling time. Finally the bell rang and we were herded off to lunch where the real wait began - I'd have the perfect chance to corner her if I was back early
from the playground.

"Whatcha dressed like that for?" Jeremy asked after we'd scarfed down our lunches and ran outside.

"Like what?"

"Like that," he said, gesturing to my pretty skirt. I hadn't worn it since "Meet the Teacher" day.

I was so wound up I couldn't help myself. "I'm gonna ask Miz Kensington to marry me."

His eyes went so wide I thought they'd fall out of his head. "You can't do that!"

"Shh!" Obviously I regretted my candor. I couldn't have the whole schoolyard know what I was planning - someone might spill the beans or worse yet, beat me to her.

"Miz Kensington's a girl!"

I thought that was obvious. "So?"

"So you're a girl! You can't marry a girl!"

"Can too!" I countered, but he was too busy getting the attention of his friends.

"Hey guys! 'Lissa says -"

Then I punched him in the mouth. I felt bad about it afterward, but he'd scared me and made me mad. For a second I thought he might hit me back, but instead he just sat down on the pavement and wailed. That was worse; before I knew it I was surrounded by excited classmates, and then I was being scooped away from them by a pair of strong, grown-up arms - the principal.

A lot of people yelled at me, but at least they didn't ask me why I was wearing my pretty skirt that day.

My mother was so mad that she didn't say a word to me as she walked me home. Somehow that was even worse than all the yelling. I slunk up to my room and yanked off my pretty skirt. It had ruined everything. I wanted to tear it, cut it, break every little fiber of it and make it pay for what it did, but I knew better than to leave my room until Mama came up to talk with me. I was stuck with it, alone - just it and me.

Then I had an idea.

I shoved open my bedroom window. It only opened an inch or two, but that was enough. I wadded up my skirt and pushed it out the opening, then closed my window again. Then I sat down on my bed with Isabelle, my teddy bear, and hugged her until I started feeling a little better.

"Melissa?"

Mama had come up sooner than I thought she would. She had inched the door open a little and was peeking in at me. I waved, not very enthusiastically.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

She sat down next to me, looking at me curiously. "Where's your skirt, panty girl?"

I giggled a little in spite of myself. Mama didn't sound as mad as I'd thought. "I don't know."

"You don't know? Isn't that your favourite skirt?"

I shook my head emphatically. Mama clicked her tongue in her cheek, then leaned down close to my ear.

"I found it outside, under the window."

I went red. "Oops."

"Oops is right. How did it get down there, I wonder?"

"Threw it out," I said in a tiny voice that was mostly muffled by Isabelle.

"What was that? I don't think I heard you."

"I threw it out."

Mama nodded. "How come?"

"It's a stupid skirt."

"Hey now, Miss Dancey Prance," she said, tickling me under my armpits. I giggled and squirmed. "Quit your tap-dancing. Why is it a stupid skirt?"

"Because..." I started slowly, suddenly very intent on Isabelle's left eye. "Jeremy asked why I was wearin' it, and... when I told him he started yellin' and I had to hit him."

Mama was quiet for a minute. "I talked to Jeremy's parents. He's okay, but you could've knocked one of his teeth out, you know."

Suddenly I felt like I'd swallowed an apple core. My stomach felt raw and prickly. "I'm sorry," I squeaked.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to, honey. So long as you don't punch me in the mouth, okay?"

I giggled a little, but I still felt mortified.

“You’re going to apologize to Jeremy tomorrow, though, right?”

I nodded solemnly.

"Good. So... why did you wear that skirt today?"

I sighed. "I was gonna ask Miz Kensington to marry me."

Mama's eyes lit up, and I could see that she was trying to hide a smile. "And what did Jeremy say, hon?"

"He said that I couldn't marry her, 'cause I'm a girl. But that's not true, isn't it, Mama?"

She didn’t say anything for a second, and I thought that maybe I’d been wrong. But then she ruffled my hair a little. "That's right, kiddo. You can marry anyone you want to, as long as they want to marry you back."

I smiled. "So... can I?"

Mama broke into a grin. "I dunno, kiddo. Why don't you go ask your mother?"

---

What's with me and first person narratives lately?