Lost in class, Susy looked up to the ceiling. Her grade nine Social Studies class was studying Poland, mainly the war and what the Germans had to do with the Poles. Miss Padziora stood up from her chair. She closed her copy of the text book and put it on her desk, as she walked over to Susy’s desk.“Susy, I’m surprised at you. I thought you would interested in this. What’s wrong? I thought that with you being Polish this would interest you. Does it not?”
“What does it look like, Miss? No one is interested in this. Why can’t we just do a project or something and get it over with?” Susy protested. The classed cheered.
“Okay, okay. In addition to your project on any European country, you have to get this signed, by your parents, by tomorrow. If it is not signed by then, the Vice Principal will be calling home. Miss Padziora handed out the papers. The class groaned. A project and a new assignment.
Electricity filled the air as the students read the sheets.
“We’re going to Poland?! My parents aren’t going to let me go there! It’s way too far away from them!” Alicia cried to her teacher from her seat.
“Then get your parents to be volunteers. That way, everything should work out.”
No. No way am I giving this to my dad, Susy thought, if I show this to him, he’ll want to come with us. I’ll just cut that part off before I get home.
After school, Susy's father asked to speak with her.
“Susy, do you have something for me? Your English teacher called. She said that she passed a note around the class and it’s to be signed for tomorrow. If not, you can’t do what ever it is. So may I see it now?”
Susy thought for a minute. “Susy, is there something wrong?”
“No! Yes! Can I go to the bathroom first? I really got to go.” Susy rushed to get upstairs. She dashed past the bathroom and into her room. She pulled out a pair of scissors and the paper. She slowly cut the paper, making sure it was a perfect line. There, she thought, He'll never know about the volunteer part. Susy went to the bathroom, flushed the toilet and turned the water on for twenty seconds. She went back to the tv room with a black pen.
“This cost one hundred and twenty-two dollars. If you really want to go, I will pay for half and you can pay for the other half. Sixty dollars each sound fair. It's for a week and the school is paying for more than of each students’ fee. I think you should go. You mother would be very happy if you went. You know that we met at a shrine there. Beautiful. Just Beautiful. The tree and your mother. You get your looks from her. ”
"Yeah dad, you've told me that." Susy thought about her mother. She had died ten years ago. Susy knew that would make her mother happy if she went, but she hated to be reminded about her mother.
“Yeah, okay, whatever you, um, say. I’ll go, uh, get the cash. Do you want me to get your cheque book?” Susy’s ruff voice cracked. She held it together, as she always did. But there was a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to in Poland.
Later on that night, Susy got a call from Alicia.
“Can you believe that we’re going to Poland? My parents didn’t want to go. I was so happy! What about your dad? Is he going?”
Susy held the piece of paper that she cut. “Nope. He doesn’t even know about the volunteer thing. I cut if off before I showed it to him. I don’t want him to ruin this trip for us. Like, I like him and all, it’s just I’ve never been this far away from home before with out him. I also don’t want to be embarrassed. You know how dads can be like that, right?”
The girls talked into the wee hours of the night. At 11:57, the girls said good-bye and fell asleep with thoughts of a long trip away from everything they knew.
The next morning, everyone handed in their papers. In two days time they would all be in Poland together, discovering what was a new country to them.
After much packing and re-packing, talking about packing, and finally settling on what exactly to pack, the time came to go to the airport.
Alicia and Susy stood side-by-side in line to board the plane. Susy was taking pictures of the things around her with her mother’s old camera. She was able to get a picture of her whole class in front of the airport. She had made a plan that she would take a picture of her whole class each time they went somewhere big and important. Susy was also the photographer for the school newspaper and all the good pictures that she took would be going towards that as well.
Hours passed on the plane. By mid afternoon, the grade nines were in the Polish airport. Things seemed bigger and scarier than before. The teachers and volunteers directed the students to the shuttle area.
Susy sat alone on the bus with her head on the window. Miss Padziora took the seat beside her.
Great, Susy thought, I am such a loner that I have to sit with my teacher. This had better not be like this for the whole week.
“Susy, I haven’t seen your father at all. Is he here? I was sure that my calling would make him come.”
“So you admit to calling my house. Why? Did you not think that I wasn’t going to give the paper to my dad? I wanted to go. But you calling the house was the lamest, most stupid thing any teacher could do. It’s like you don’t trust me. Yeah, I’m not a good kid, but when I want to do something I get it done. Okay? You not my mother.” With those final words, Susy turned her head back to the window.
The bus was silent until the first stop. Half of the shuttle bus would be staying at one hotel and the other half at another. Susy jumped off the bus and faced a tall tree. It had a small picture of Mary on it's trunk with a blue frame. The picture had bright yellow and orange flowers hanging around it. At the foot of the trunk was a small blue fence with a small garden. The grass around it was brightly painted green and clouds seemed to go on forever.
She felt as though she had been here before. Something was very familiar. She recalled her father's heavy accent when telling stories of her mother.
This is the place mom and dad met...Why didn’t I tell my father he could come? God, how could I be so stupid? Susy took a few pictures of the spot and went back on the shuttle bus.
“Susy, what are you doing? Did you forget something? Susy, Susy? What’s wrong?”.
Without any reply to anyone’s question, Susy sat down and said, “Take me home.”
12 comments:
This is the second story in which the mother is dead.
You are starting to scare me.
Muhhhh. Why are you scared? I'm not going to kill you.
Brava Little Puddle! You had me cruising through your story - it's got a great flow. I totally laughed when Susy's in the process of concealing the trip details from her father - I remember that feeling!
I also really like the symbolism with the picture and the twist at the end. Perhaps you could make this more effective if early in the story, maybe when Susy's father mentions her mother, she sees a picture of her mother on the wall (or the shelf, piano, etc.), or of the tree. OR, instead of the picture, her father could just mention the story that Susy remembers (something like "here we go again Dad, you've told me this story like a hundred times!")... something to connect the reader with the special knowledge that Susy has which compels her so intensely to reach out and return to her father.
Still, that's just a suggestion - you're the artist, and it's entirely up to you as to what you want to do! Great job, and thank you for sharing!
Jade
I like Jade's idea.
Perhaps some kind of shrine or memorial to Susy's mother catches her attention before she leave for Poland.
Is her father very religious? Maybe he has a similar shrine in the house that is reminscent of the one on the tree?
That might tie her sudden feeling of the place she is in being familiar.
Great suggestions! Jade gave me a great idea and I'm going to make it happen.
LP,
I was wondering if I was imagining that picture of Mary in the tree. Thank God you saw it too. It's a miracle tree in Poland.
I was just writing another person today how parents wake up one day to find that they are no longer the center of their child's universe but rather distant satellites. It's hard for parents to realise that others become more important as the child learns to find their place in the world.
You've said it well and perhaps revealed more than you intended.
Dear LP,
Based on Marcail's insight you are grounded forthwith!
Love,
Mom
Nice story, LP. So why was the place familiar to Susy? Past life memory?
The packing for the trip seemed familiar to me. Just remember, take half as many clothes and twice as much money.
No! I don't want to be grounded. Again. Marcail, I don't know what to say. You have left me speachless, yet again. :) Southern Writer, when you say half the clothes, double the money, is that so you can by more clothes on the trip? "This place" is familar to Susy because it's where her parents met. You may have read the story ealier today and since the story was posted, I have made some chages due to some thoughtful and helpful comments.
The grass around it was brightly painted green and clouds seemed to go on forever.
Oh wow. Very nice! Your mom knows I'm a softie for scene setting.
I'm impressed by more than the words here. I strive hard for the rhythm and music in words. This sentence feels like a breeze when you read it. It's feel joins perfectly with the vision. It has a sense of closure and reverence.
You build a nice tension here, LP. I like that the father didn't go. The regret she feels is powerful. Life is like that. The should-have-beens.
And seriously, don't shrink from any topic which moves you. Sometimes it may be hard with friends and family reading, but you should be true to your voice and perspective.
Southern Writer, when you say half the clothes, double the money, is that so you can by more clothes on the trip?
LOL! Spoken like a true girl.
I'm curious about something. I'm not from Canada. Do y'all normally put a period after "Miss?"
Sorry Southern Writer. I had made a mistake on putting Ms. and was told that was a mistake also and I went to fix it. But instead of changing the whole word, I just put 'is' in the middle and didn't take notice of the peroid. Sorry. In Canada, only Ms., Mr. and Mrs. have the peroid.
Jason, thank you. When ever you make a comment on my work, you make me want to keep on writing all day just to see what else you and everyone else has to say. Everytime I hear a negative comment or a positive comment from anyone, it makes me want to do better each time. Thank you agian, Mr. Evans.
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