Spring! Spring! Spring!
Don't you just love the sound of birds chirping? It's such a happy, lazy summer day sound. It reminds me of walking past the sunflower house on the way to Butler Park. And the smell of blossoming trees! Everytime I ride past those trees on the way to school I try to take in as much of their scent as I can. They always cheer me up.
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Margaret closed her eyes and sat as still as she could. She heard birds chirping in the lilac bushes and the soft rustle of the wind in the leaves. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. The sweet smell of the blooming lilacs and crab apple trees brought a smile to her face. She stood up from the bench she was sitting on and stretched her arms. "Well, back to the old grind," she mumbled and began the steep descent down the hill. Halfway down she paused and looked backward. The sun was just beginning to set and the sky behind the hill was a bright orange. She gazed at it for quite some time before she noticed a figure silhouetted against the bright sky. "Who could that be?" she thought with apprehension. She turned back around and resumed her descent, a little quicker than earlier. As she neared the bottom of the hill, she turned around to see of the person was following her. No, there was still just a silhouette at the top of the hill.
But it was moving now and Margaret watched as it sat down on the bench she herself had just been sitting on.
She felt a little wave of jealously flow over her. "I wish I could sit there and watch the sunset, but I must be home before dark," she reminded herself and briskly walked the rest of the way to her aunt's house.
Before the door was even all the way open, she heard her aunt call out, "Margaret, is that you? You're late!"
"I'm so sorry, Aunt Louise, I was distracted by the beautiful sunset. Did you see it?" Margaret called in return. She took off her jacket and went to the kitchen.
"I have no need for such things, you know dear," her aunt replied. She was sitting on a stool at the counter, flipping through a recipe book. She glanced up for a moment to look at Margaret. "You're cheeks are red, dear" she commented blandly, "you really shouldn't be out of doors for such long periods of time."
Margaret did not respond, but took the recipe book gently from her aunt's hands. "What are you thinking of making tonight?" She asked. Her aunt pointed to the open page.
"Biscuits and gravy," she replied with satisfaction. "My grandmother used to make them every Sunday night."
"Sounds good," Margaret said and handed the book back. "I'll start mixing the dough for the biscuits."
He hated his job. But isn't that a common enough occurrence. Man hates job, man undergoes some life-changing experience and starts acting like a freak in order to break free of society's shackles. But this was a different kind of hate. It wasn't a hatred born from the monotonous qualities of being a factory worker, it wasn't something that could be cured by simply switching jobs or changing a lifestyle. Braddock's hatred stemmed from something different. He didn't mind the mundane activities he preformed on a regular basis, in fact that is what he thrived upon. It was the mnindset of the workers around him that bothered him. The constant complaining and wishes to break free, made Braddock want to scream. Everyone around him sought that life-altering experience that would make them finally be bold and do something. But Braddock did not want to be bold. He knew he was not a bold person, and he was happy about it. He would never have to be the worker gone crazy. He could continue to work.
Braddock hated his job for the people he had to work with. If he quit and got a job working with different people, it wouldn't solve the problem. Every worker wants something better. Every worker wishes for promotions and praise. Braddock didn't want a promotion. And he only sought praise from one person.
She loved her job. And for a factory worker that was quite uncommon. She loved her job for the people she got to work with. People from all different backgrounds who had hope for a better future. Juniper saw the wishes people held in their eyes. She understood the drive for something better. People often came to Juniper when they felt down. She had a way of showing people their own hope. Reaching inside of them and bringing their dreams back into their eyes. Any brash moves inside the factory could usually be attributed to Juniper sparking someone to follow their own intuitions.
"Sounds good," Margaret said and handed the book back. "I'll start mixing the dough for the biscuits."
That night after the biscuits had been eaten with relish and the dishes done, Margaret lay awake in her bed. She couldn't stop thinking about that mysterious silhouette. Of course, she reminded herself, the silhouette was a person, but even that was strange for she had never seen anyone else on that hill in all the 5 years she had been living with her aunt. She felt a little saddened that it wasn't her secret place anymore, but maybe the person wouldn't come back. This thought did not comfort her, the damage was already done and now she was too curious to meet the person. Maybe tomorrow, she thought and drifted off to sleep.
The next day, Margaret woke up earlier than usual and decided to hike up the hill before she started her day’s work. The sun had just barely risen and birds were making a ruckus in the trees as she passed them. She climbed the hill and stopped at the top. She turned around, breathing heavily, and looked down into the valley. The sun sparkled on the river and shone brightly on the roofs of the houses. Margaret strolled over to the bench and sat down to better admire the view. The bench was still wet with dew, however and Margaret stood back up. She took off her jacket to wipe the bench off, but stopped holding the jacket in midair. Someone had etched something into the bench! “The nerve!” Margaret hissed. But as she bent nearer to read what was written, her annoyance turned to curiosity. It appeared to be written in some foreign script. She studied it for awhile, trying to remember it exactly, before she realized what time it was. “Oh for crying out loud!” She mumbled as she ran down the hill. “I’m gonna be late again!”
She arrived at the house to find her aunt sitting on the front porch eating a bowl of cereal. “Morning, Margaret,” she said complacently.
“Good morning! I’m sorry I didn’t have any breakfast made. Would you like some eggs or something?” Margaret asked.
“No, no dear this cereal is just fine. What should we do today?”
“Well, I was thinking that perhaps we could start cleaning out the basement. I know you’ve been wanting to do that for years,”
“What a fine idea! But it is so nice outside,” Aunt Louisa replied a little sadly.
“You’re right,” Margaret replied, thinking. “How about you sit out here, while I get started?”
“Okay, dear,” Aunt Louisa replied, brightening up. Margaret smiled in return and went indoors. She heaved a sigh of relief. She hated making her aunt feel bad about not helping, but she knew Aunt Louisa wouldn’t be much help. She was almost like a little kid. Margaret’s face fell as she remembered how her aunt used to be, before the accident…But she pushed these thoughts away and gathered her supplies.
She trekked down the steep dusty stairs to the basement, her arms loaded with trash bags, labels, and markers. The room was filled with boxes, old furniture, and who knows what else. Much of the stuff had been down there for decades, left behind by Aunt Louisa’s mother and her mother and so on. Margaret felt a little thrill of excitement at the thought of what all those boxes contained, and she eagerly opened up the one nearest her. It appeared to be old tax stuff.
“This might not be as exciting as I hoped,” she mumbled, as she pushed that box aside. “Maybe I should start deeper. That’s where the older stuff will be.” She pushed her way to the back of the room, and found a very old-looking trunk, covered in dust. “Ah yeah, that’s more like it.” She lifted the latch and peered inside.
alright girl, so here's the deal. I'm going to start a story right now. I'm working the desk and when you are working the desk and you see this, you should add on to the story. Lets try to be a little more successful than the story board. okay? okay.
Love. That's what it was, and she was sure of it. Nothing had ever been made so clear before. The late night talks, long drives in his car, and many hours spent reapplying make-up. She wasn't sure how it happened, or even when. But now she found herself in quite a mess. She lay on her bed looking up into the ceiling, painted the color of watery root beer.
"Not a very pretty color," she commented aloud, trying to distract her thoughts. It did not help. George's smiling face was still there in her mind. She sighed in frustration and sat up. There was no way she was going to sleep tonight, she might as well do something. She got out of bed and made her way downstairs. She pattered barefoot into the kitchen and made some tea and then flipped on the tv.
She sat idly seeing the colors change and hearing the monotonous drone of the newscasters, but not really listening. "You're beautiful Jane, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise," rang George's voice in her head. He had looked so tender and kind when he had said those words, his broad frame sheltering her from the windy night. She had never considered herself a beauty, but she had never considered herself as really anything. She was typically one of those willy-nilly girls who acted how she felt, and didn't care about appearances. But ever since George..
"Uhh, I really must stop," sputtered Jane as she swept her long brown hair into a pony tail. "Perhaps cleaning the kitchen will do the trick."
Cleaning the kitchen turned into cleaning the whole house and before Jane knew it, the sun had risen. She glanced at the clock as she dusted it off and shrieked. "Five-thirty?!" She had to be at work by seven. And since George was going to be there, she needed all the time she could get to beautify herself. She scampered up the stairs and took a quick shower. Then she sat down on her bed to do her nails and soon after fell asleep.
She awoke abruptly to hard pounding on her door. with the sleep still in her eyes and hair flying all over the place, Jane quickly went down to her front door. On her front porch was none other than her boss, Mr. Wallice. "Well Jane I hope you-" he stopped short seeing her appearance. Dressed only in a bathrobe, Jane was looking the opposite of professional. He shook off his surprise and continued. "Jane, I hate to have to do this to you, but this is the fourth day this week that you've been late. Fiona, bless her heart, has been piking up your slack this morning. And I hate to see her stretched passed her limits." Jane coughed to supress a giggle that was about to erupt. It was a sort of inside joke with her and George that Mr. Wallice was in love with Fiona, and he wasn't saying much to disprove this. "I'm sorry Jane, but you're fired."
Jane's urge to giggle dissipated. "Fired?!" she sputtered. "But...I..."
"Excuses will be useless, Jane. I've made up my mind," Mr. Wallice replied. "Now, seeing as how I am not a stone-hearted person, I have already contacted an acquaintance of mine who, fortunately, works later in the day and is in need of a receptionist. Because really Jane, you are an excellent worker, you just have trouble with early mornings...am I right?" Jane shrugged and then straightened up.
"Thank you very much Mr. Wallice," she said. It didn't seem suitable enough, but she was tired and shocked at being fired so abruptly.
"Yes, well..." Mr. Wallice looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps you should come into the office later today to sort out the details and meet Mr. Frankfurt, the acquaintance I spoke of."
"Yes, sir," Jane replied. Mr. Wallice nodded goodbye and left.
Jane spent the rest of her day trying to convince herself that this was a positive contribution to her life. She had only worked for Mr. Wallice a mere 7 months, but surely it was high time for a change. She would have believed this whole heartily, if not for George. He was such a busy man, and now that she would not see him at the office, she feared she would lose him completely.
Around 4 pm, Jane decided to go and meet this Mr. Frankfurt. She was greeted at the receptionist desk by Fiona. "Oh hello Jane. I heard about the dreadful news. But perhaps dental work is not your specialty. Mr. Frankfurt owns a barber shop, so that ought to suit a girl like you much better."
"A girl like me...?" Jane began, but was quickly interrupted by the opening of one of the office doors.
George strolled out.
"Oh hello Jane. I heard the news. Gee it really is too bad," he said. "I hear this Frankfurt fellow is a tyrant. Good luck to you!" he said with a wink and a grin. And he left before Jane could respond.
"Oh my, he's certainly in a hurry tonight," Fiona whispered. "I hear he has a date! Isn't that thrilling? Oh I wish I had a date tonight, don't you?" she finished wistfully.
"Oh, well I suppose," Jane replied, distractedly. Who was George going out with? She didn't have long to ponder this question as the door opened again. This time Mr. Wallice and another man, presumably Mr. Frankfurt, walked out.
"Ah Jane!" Mr. Wallice exclaimed. "Meet my good friend Mr. Frankfurt."
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