April 17, 2011 Sunday
Mom, as always, dragged me with her for grocery shopping and we bumped into the Johns. Now, I’m not talking about the room where we girls go to powder our noses. The Johns are two old men both named John who have lived next to each other for years. If you see one, the other had to be close by. It is plain easier calling them the Johns… But honestly, one normal dull day at the grocery store changed everything on how I viewed the Family Curse. That is, before today, it was a curse. Now, it is the key to the door of discovery.
~ \ ~ \ ~ \ ~
Pamella tapped her pen on the list she held as she stared down the aisle. The Johns were arguing and she needed the chili powder behind one of them. Unfortunately, once they started, they become oblivious from everything else. Shoving them out of the way was the only option to moving them. Pamella refused to do something that rude. Luckily, she had the whole day to herself and liked hearing a bit of gossip. The Johns were a very good source of gossip.
Tucking her pen and list in her back pocket, Pamella approached the two older men to listen in, but stopped when she heard a moan behind her. Turning around, she saw a petite teenage old girl leaning against a grocery cart. A strand of the teenager’s dirty blond hair escaped from her ponytail and trailed down her face, falling into her milk chocolate eyes that were much like her own. The girl was the female version of her David, but her genes won out in the eyes.
Usually, the girl was like a cloud of bubbles bursting in excitement whenever she bumped into something new. Looking at her now though, Pamella could see little of it though. Instead of eagerness, the girl’s eyes expressed the tiresome boredom she felt when grocery shopping with her mother. The teenager’s body screamed to be released to roam free. Because of the exhausting humidity of South Texas, the girl wore blue jean shorts. She had on a tank top that said, “Naughty Angel,” with a print of a cute black kitten with black wings on its back smirking at the onlooker and a red feather lay by its feet. It allowed Pamella to see her skinny, lightly tanned legs and arms impatient with excess energy.
Not feeling guilty at all for dragging her daughter with her, Pamella gave her a big smile, “We can’t just leave them arguing all day long, Cival.”
Cival rolled her eyes and went back to gazing dispassionately at the Johns knowing full well her mother was using that as an excuse to get into their gossip. Neither mother nor daughter knew the Johns in their younger years. They had only moved to town five years ago. Supposedly, when they were younger, people could tell the difference between them. John Quirke used to be lithe, tall, and had bright fiery hair while John Campbell had the stocker build of a construction worker. Time and age removed their differences leaving them as duplicates of the other. Greek wreathes of gray white hair, paunch bellies, and little of muscle mass were only a few similarities. The only way to tell them apart now was their taste. Campbell preferred plaid and dressed up like a woodsman while Quirke loved the tropics, often donning buttoned-up palm leaf print shirts and khaki shorts. He wore this even during the few months of fall or winter the most southern part of the connected forty-eight states of the United States experienced.
Sighing, Cival pulled the cart and herself closer, just catching Quirke’s words, “We should just leave’em alone. People will come.”
“No, they won’t. This isn’t the movie, The Field of Dreams, where, ‘if you build it, they will come.’ This is real life and we might as well live on a deserted island. Only family or idiots driving without a Garman come here. We need to advertise. We can’t afford the loss of the new housing,” Campbell argued.
Cival groaned inwardly. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, but the whole town had been discussing the new empty houses. The long-named company that came to Wolville had given the townspeople an impression that they were going to build a huge factory nearby. They gave their word. For the surge of newcomers, houses were built, but the “sure thing” went somewhere else for cheaper land, leaving Wolville flapping in the wind. Doomed, the local developer filed for bankruptcy but the city council asked him to wait and try to sell the properties. To The Johns, it was personal as if they had taken the loss themselves.
“We could make some into businesses,” said Quirke.
Campbell scoffed, “Sure, who? Someone here? And why when they would want a shop on Main Street where everyone goes for anything? The only option, John, is advertising. We should use city realtors instead of the local ones.”
“Only a realtor from outer space could sell those houses.”
“Damn straight,” agreed Campbell.
“Campbell! Watch your language in front of Cival,” scolded Pamella.
“Beg your pardon, Pam.”
“Did you need to get by? Sorry for blocking the aisle.”
“Nice to see, y’all,” said Quirke and went on bickering with Campbell while they ambled down the aisle. Pamella waved goodbye, “Thanks, Johns. It was nice seeing you two.”
Cival shook her head and snatched the chili and garlic powder that her mom needed. As she threw it in the cart, her mom commented, “I’m sorry to say, but I think you’re right, Cival.”
Having no clue what her mother was talking about, Cival asked, “About what?”
“That only a realtor from space could sell those houses,” said Pamella as she pulled out her list and crossed off the two items they collected. “Cival, could you go and get—”
A high pitch screech echoed throughout the store startling Pamella. She gapped as her daughter jumped up and down smiling like a maniac. “Cival Court! What in the world has gotten into you?”
Cival immediately quieted down but she never gave her mother a reason for her actions. For the rest of the day, Cival smiled nonstop and giggled sporadically without a cause or reason. Her mood did not change for weeks afterwards either. Pamella let her be but her curiosity went unfulfilled. She later regretted not inquiring further.
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
Cival sat at the kitchen table watching her mother cook dinner feeling a bit spaced out. She should have been working on her homework but her mother’s concoction seemed more interesting. She was making a platter full of breakfast foods for dinner. The enticing smells had drawn Cival away from her room. Even without the distraction of her mother’s dinner choice, she still wouldn’t be working on her homework. She had bigger plans. Preparation was needed for the upcoming visit. The notebook before her was strictly for the preparation but the only thing written on it was the words to be written on the greeting banner. “It’s so hard making plans,” grumbled Cival.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Hearing her words, Pamella looked behind her and smiled at Cival, “What is it you’re planning, Sweetie?”
One of the few things Cival shared with her mother was making plans. In fact, they both enjoyed it, but still, they were hard to finish sometimes. Thinking that two heads were better than one, Cival perked up, “Mom, what do you think? Should we have a parade or have a reception or both?”
Laughing, Pamella checked to make sure everything wasn’t burning, “For whom?”
“The aliens of course!” Cival couldn’t believe her mother was acting so casual about it.
“None because there is no reason to.”
There it was. Her mother was acting too strange; making breakfast for dinner and seeing nothing new and exciting coming around the corner. These were blatant warning signs indicating her mother was crazy or one of the aliens already took over her body, “Ugh,” said Cival, “You’re going to be worse with the double pregnancy.”
Cival suddenly became still. Shocked at what she said, she glanced towards the stove to see if her mother believed something wrong. With the casual way her mother went on cooking, Cival took it as something normal and brushed it off.
I don’t recall hearing Mom being pregnant though.
Mentally shaking her head, Cival gazed down at her notes. Rereading them, she recalled how the odd conversation started. Right, the fight was on, “I disagree. They’re aliens. It’s a fundamental event! This would be the first interaction with life forms from outer space. Not counting Area 51, of course.”
A chill ran up her back as her mother’s hand stayed in the air holding a spatula like fly swatter ready to swing for the kill. Holding her breath and waiting for a reply, Cival could only hear the bacon sizzling in the room. Then, she made her move, “This is related to what happened a month ago in the store. Isn’t it?”
There was only one answer for Cival could say, “Of course. A realtor from space—”
Pamella slammed the spatula on the counter and gave her daughter all of her attention. She stalked to the edge across from her flesh and blood and spouted, “Cival Court, if we get new neighbors, they will not be from space.”
“But Mom, it was a saying.”
“Oh, don’t drag the family curse into this, Cival. Just because you said it, doesn’t mean it was a saying.”
“But it was! Aliens are coming to live in Wolville,” Cival said softly with her silky brown eyes wide with excitement and fear that her mother really didn’t believe her.
“Ugh,” groaned Pamella, “Do I have to explain the curse to you again?”
“It was a saying,” Cival repeated hoping stubbornness would get through her mother’s head.
“Cival, the fam—”
“Dinner is burning,” interrupted Cival and ran away as her mom quickly turned to put out the smoldering food.
~ \ ~ \ ~ \ ~
Before she could reach the stove, a man slightly taller than Pamella and leaner zoomed from the living room into the kitchen and took over. Quick hands flipped both bacon and pancakes. They even sliced up a variety of fruits. “Dinner will be ready soon,” said the brown haired man.
Pamella smiled at her husband, “Thanks, Dave.”
With blue eyes twinkling, David smiled at her and waved her away, “I got it. Go talk some sense into the little one.”
Pamela nodded and went back to the kitchen table but found her teenage daughter missing. Sighing, Pamella headed to Cival’s room. It had been a whole month for the child to be acting this way. Finding out that it was because she thought aliens were visiting was too much. She wished she could take her daughter to see a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, a shrink was not possible because of the family’s unique qualities. For once, it was not a saying that was causing trouble for the family. On second thought, it was a saying that was causing trouble, just not a real one, thought Pamella as she approached her daughter’s bedroom door. Knocking, she waited for permission before going in.
She found Cival laying across her bed with her legs dangling over the edge. She could see a frown on the young girl's face. Shaking her head, she went over to the only chair in the room. Positioning herself so she was facing her daughter, Pamela commanded, "Tell me what the difference between talking and saying."
Cival groaned. Not bothering to sit up or look at her mother, she repeated what has always been drilled into her, "Talking is a verbal communication to another person or to myself. Saying, in terms of the family, is proclaiming future events by using side comments that we say casually or insert into conversations. We neither remember nor recall these proclamations to save our sanity," she finished dramatically.
"Good. Now, was your comment just talking or saying?"
Cival grounded her teeth, "I don't remember."
Exasperated, Pamela got up, "Being stubborn is not going to help you, Cival. Just admit that it wasn't a saying. Aliens are not coming to Wolville. Think about it. Why, in the whole entire world, would they come here?"
"If they do come, we can ask them."
"If?"
Silence was the only answer the mother got. "Fine, just lay there and mull over this alien nonsense and then give it up."
Before she left the room, Pamela said, "It's summer now. I made up a list of chores for you to do, and I signed you up to a camp called "Helping Hands Work Camp." It's a volunteer group that helps rebuild houses for the needy. We'll talk more about it later. I have to get to work."
With that said, she left leaving Cival alone in her room. "But I don't remember saying it,” she said to the ceiling.
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
Time flew by and school ended quickly. During the first three weeks of summer, Cival found herself laboring in the hot sun. The chores her mother assigned to her were mostly lawn work, and Helping Hands Work Camp should have been renamed Slave Boot Camp. All of it was outside work. There was no chance for her to enjoy the fine technology of an air conditioner or find signs of alien visitors. This left Cival with nothing to use to convince her skeptical mother.
To keep her mind occupied from the hellish heat, she thought. As her body moved and pound nails into wood, she devised a plan calling it, “Operation Neighbor.” As she scraped old paint off an old house, she mentally examined her options. As she repainted, she reviewed several choices for what would succeed the best. And, as she packed sweat soaked clothes, she decided. To prove their existence and the truth, she would become an amateur private investigator and observe, record, and obtain the crucial evidence. Simple and straightforward was the key. She knew she wasn’t a pro but she had eyes and perseverance. She could also be as stubborn as a lid on a pickle jar.
Cival's stomach growled waking her up to the present. Gazing at the clock, she realized it was an hour past noon. Desiring to be home already, Cival grabbed her belongings and headed outside. Logically, this wouldn't make her parents arrive any sooner, but she was at least a few steps closer to Wolville. Thirty minutes later, her cheerful parents rolled up to the curb. Cival quickly got up and ran towards them.
"About time you got here. I'm starving," complained Cival when her father stepped out of the car.
"Sorry, Honey. We got tied up in traffic and then got off the wrong exit," said David as he hugged Cival, "How are you? You look a little like my current car rehab project."
Cival smiled at her father, "I'm good. I don’t look that bad. I’m only a little sunburned and I have blisters but not too badly because someone lent me their spare gloves. Hey, Mom!"
Pamella walked forward and hugged Cival. "Missed you. Now, let's say our goodbyes so we can get some grub," she said.
Cival grinned at her mother before running back inside. They made their goodbyes to the hosts, packed up her bags, and headed towards salvation, otherwise known as, Olive Garden. Throughout lunch and the two hour drive back home, Cival talked excitedly about her experience and the new friends she made. Eventually, she ran out of words and asked about what she missed while she was gone.