I don't even know who this teen actress is, but she has the perfect look for Dee in Fall of Knight.
Chapter 3
My dad is sitting on my bed when I get to my room. Well, my cubicle. Mom and Dee get the bigger room. Dee’s pissed about sharing a room. No more sneaking out for her. Hell, where would she go anyway? If God were going to give the world an enema, he would stick the syringe right where we live.
"You know that's not true," Dad says.
"Go away, Dad," I say. I know he is just a figment of my imagination, some extension of my brain. I know that because he always knows what I'm thinking. It's hard to explain, but he’s like the voice of my conscience except I see him. I think I have created him – that's what writers do – in an image of the father I would have liked for him to be had he lived.
"And don't sell your pills," he says.
"Leave me alone," I say, and I watch him fade away. He always leaves when I insist. That proves I'm not crazy, doesn't it?
I glance at my iPad 2 sitting on my desk. I earned the money one summer to buy it. I did all the shit that people don't want to do for themselves. I didn't quite raise enough to get a fancy one with 3G and a data plan, but I have always lived somewhere with Wi-Fi, so it wasn't an issue – until now
One thing I do have is lots of music. When my head hurts and my demon is pounding on my forehead from behind my eyes, the one thing that usually calms me is music. Tonight is going to be an Enya or Blackmore’s Night kind of night. My headphones go on and later – a long time after my mom and Dee come back in – I go out. Amazingly, once I fall asleep I sleep like one dead the first night in my new home, and I silence the demons.
It's after 11 when I awaken to Dee shaking my bed. There aren’t many days left before school starts, so I resent her intrusion on my basic right to laziness.
"Hurry, we're going swimming."
"I don’t want to," I mumble and roll over.
This does not have the effect I wish for as Dee simply shakes me again, harder this time.
"You have to go! I can't go if you don't. Roger can't go if both of us don't go, and Ella can't go if Roger doesn't. Roger is so cute! OMG!"
I sit up finally because I know it will do no good to argue. Dee’s hyper manic as evidenced by the words tumbling out of her mouth and her vigorous attempts to awaken me. If I ignore her much longer, she will dump the bed over with me in it. While manic, she thinks she can do most anything and will one day likely die trying.
"Roger? Ella?" I asked, trying to get her to calm.
"The boy last night. Man, would I like to see him naked. He's hot."
I'm not quite comprehending yet.
"He jogs." Dee says. "He stopped by. We're going swimming, all of us. And Ella is going to bring a picnic lunch."
"Ella?"
"His sister, dumbass."
"Now, is it Ella or dumbass?"
She pauses finally – and then understands my really bad play on words and thumps me on the head.
"Is Ella hot?" I ask.
"Roger says she's very pretty."
"All brothers think their sisters are pretty." It slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. Dammit, I think.
"Thanks, Dean." She kisses me on the cheek and then yanks the covers off me. It's a good thing I'm not sleeping the way I sometimes do. "Get up, dumbass. Mom has coffee waiting." She darts out of the room and leaves me feeling as if I just survived a hurricane. At least there's coffee. Mom always made my dad coffee every day, and she continued after he died. I picked up the habit.
I walk into the kitchen and head straight for the coffee pot. Mom watches me carefully and the look on her face reveals that she wants to "discuss" something.
I tried to divert her, "Where's hurricane Dee?"
"Upstairs. Trying on bikinis. Some of them make her look like a tramp."
If mom only knew. "You kids need to take the lifejackets," she says.
This is it, I think. "No, mom, we are not taking the lifejackets. People already think I am a geek."
"But–"
"No, mom. We all swim just fine."
"I should go to. "
"No, mom. That is the ultimate geekiness. My mom has to watch us while we swim."
"I don't like this," she says.
"You moved us in the middle of bum fuck Egypt," I snap. "At least let us enjoy what we can." I don't want to get mad, and I certainly don't like to curse my mother, but there're times nothing else works. Sadly, mom’s a little afraid of me, and I use that to my advantage. I take a deep breath to calm myself. "I'm sorry, mom. You always say we need to make friends. This is our chance, so please, just let us go swimming."
"All right," she says. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"Count on it," Dee says as she comes into the room. "Is this all right?" She says with exasperation.
"It's fine if you want to be a hooker," I say and laugh
"It's fine," Mom says.
"So tell me about this Ella." I say. "What is she, 12?"
"No, she's our age. She and Roger are twins too, just a few months older than we are."
My dad is sitting on my bed when I get to my room. Well, my cubicle. Mom and Dee get the bigger room. Dee’s pissed about sharing a room. No more sneaking out for her. Hell, where would she go anyway? If God were going to give the world an enema, he would stick the syringe right where we live.
"You know that's not true," Dad says.
"Go away, Dad," I say. I know he is just a figment of my imagination, some extension of my brain. I know that because he always knows what I'm thinking. It's hard to explain, but he’s like the voice of my conscience except I see him. I think I have created him – that's what writers do – in an image of the father I would have liked for him to be had he lived.
"And don't sell your pills," he says.
"Leave me alone," I say, and I watch him fade away. He always leaves when I insist. That proves I'm not crazy, doesn't it?
I glance at my iPad 2 sitting on my desk. I earned the money one summer to buy it. I did all the shit that people don't want to do for themselves. I didn't quite raise enough to get a fancy one with 3G and a data plan, but I have always lived somewhere with Wi-Fi, so it wasn't an issue – until now
One thing I do have is lots of music. When my head hurts and my demon is pounding on my forehead from behind my eyes, the one thing that usually calms me is music. Tonight is going to be an Enya or Blackmore’s Night kind of night. My headphones go on and later – a long time after my mom and Dee come back in – I go out. Amazingly, once I fall asleep I sleep like one dead the first night in my new home, and I silence the demons.
It's after 11 when I awaken to Dee shaking my bed. There aren’t many days left before school starts, so I resent her intrusion on my basic right to laziness.
"Hurry, we're going swimming."
"I don’t want to," I mumble and roll over.
This does not have the effect I wish for as Dee simply shakes me again, harder this time.
"You have to go! I can't go if you don't. Roger can't go if both of us don't go, and Ella can't go if Roger doesn't. Roger is so cute! OMG!"
I sit up finally because I know it will do no good to argue. Dee’s hyper manic as evidenced by the words tumbling out of her mouth and her vigorous attempts to awaken me. If I ignore her much longer, she will dump the bed over with me in it. While manic, she thinks she can do most anything and will one day likely die trying.
"Roger? Ella?" I asked, trying to get her to calm.
"The boy last night. Man, would I like to see him naked. He's hot."
I'm not quite comprehending yet.
"He jogs." Dee says. "He stopped by. We're going swimming, all of us. And Ella is going to bring a picnic lunch."
"Ella?"
"His sister, dumbass."
"Now, is it Ella or dumbass?"
She pauses finally – and then understands my really bad play on words and thumps me on the head.
"Is Ella hot?" I ask.
"Roger says she's very pretty."
"All brothers think their sisters are pretty." It slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. Dammit, I think.
"Thanks, Dean." She kisses me on the cheek and then yanks the covers off me. It's a good thing I'm not sleeping the way I sometimes do. "Get up, dumbass. Mom has coffee waiting." She darts out of the room and leaves me feeling as if I just survived a hurricane. At least there's coffee. Mom always made my dad coffee every day, and she continued after he died. I picked up the habit.
I walk into the kitchen and head straight for the coffee pot. Mom watches me carefully and the look on her face reveals that she wants to "discuss" something.
I tried to divert her, "Where's hurricane Dee?"
"Upstairs. Trying on bikinis. Some of them make her look like a tramp."
If mom only knew. "You kids need to take the lifejackets," she says.
This is it, I think. "No, mom, we are not taking the lifejackets. People already think I am a geek."
"But–"
"No, mom. We all swim just fine."
"I should go to. "
"No, mom. That is the ultimate geekiness. My mom has to watch us while we swim."
"I don't like this," she says.
"You moved us in the middle of bum fuck Egypt," I snap. "At least let us enjoy what we can." I don't want to get mad, and I certainly don't like to curse my mother, but there're times nothing else works. Sadly, mom’s a little afraid of me, and I use that to my advantage. I take a deep breath to calm myself. "I'm sorry, mom. You always say we need to make friends. This is our chance, so please, just let us go swimming."
"All right," she says. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"Count on it," Dee says as she comes into the room. "Is this all right?" She says with exasperation.
"It's fine if you want to be a hooker," I say and laugh
"It's fine," Mom says.
"So tell me about this Ella." I say. "What is she, 12?"
"No, she's our age. She and Roger are twins too, just a few months older than we are."
“What are the odds of two sets of fraternal twins living next to each
other?” I ask.
Mom, considerably calmer now, says, “I wonder if twins run in their
family too.”
Dee
says, “What’s even weirder is that their dad is dead too.”
“It’s almost like we’re destined to meet and be friends,” I say. I know my eyes are tilted upward because
whenever the first stirrings of a story begin, it’s like I’m looking to the
heavens trying to contact my muse. Psychologists
will say that I’m getting in touch with that part of my brain where imagination
rests. Unfortunately, I think my demon
rests there too.
“Don’t make up some perverted story about us,” Dee says.
I
don’t like the way we can read each other, especially when she’s reading
me. She excels in making me feel guilty
or stupid. What I say to her slides off
her like eggs in a no-stick pan.
“If
I write something perverted about you, it won’t be fiction. It’ll be biography,” I say just as the
doorbell rings. Temporarily diverted,
Dee doesn’t take the time to smack me.
“They’re here,” she giggles like a vapid southern belle expecting
company. She’s off to the door.
“Be
careful,” Mom says, “and don’t get too hot.”
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