Post by imaginarytoon1 on Feb 8, 2014 18:31:30 GMT -5
Hello! This is my first story that I've posted on this website. And I just joined this website and I'm not sure if I'm doing this right.
Anyway, like I said before, this is my first story and I hope you enjoy it.
If you have questions about my OC's or anything about the story, you're welcome to ask. Just post your questions in the comments.
I own my OC's but I don't own Who Framed Roger Rabbit or the characters of the movie.
Summary:
Two teenagers, Beatrice and Tommy Birchwood, unintentionally drive into the world of Who Framed Roger Rabbit and they get dragged into an investigation. Throughout the investigation, the Twins experience crazy mis-adventures, make mind-blowing discoveries, and learn some things that have never been taught to them. Will the Twins find the conclusion to the investigation and find their way back home or will they be stuck in a loop-hole of madness?
Chapter One
Beatrice:
My tomboy nature makes me feel invincible at times. Even in times of trouble, I can still get myself out. Right now, I am a little out of breath, blowing some stray hair strands out of my face, and I am ready to walk off the tennis courts with a well-deserved victory. I don’t have time for any silly girly stuff or messing around. I have my eye…on the ball. Not a baseball…a tennis ball.
When I finally hit the tennis ball with full force, it flew up in the air and landed really close to the other side of the net, where my opponent was standing. She, my opponent, missed the ball and I won the final point for my final match. My opponent played well but I’ve beaten her pretty good.
“Good game.” My opponent said.
I just replied with a silent half-smile that she took as a “Good match”.
“BEATRICE, eight! REBBIE, three!” My coach called out.
I knew that he, my coach, was watching.
My twin brother, Thomas, or Tommy, as I would call him, walked down from the bleachers and patted me on the back.
“Nice job!” Tommy said to me.
“Thanks, Tommy.” I replied.
Now that I’m done with my tennis match, I can go home, take a shower, and draw some pictures. But before I do that, I had to check myself out of the courts with my coach.
“I already checked you out, Beatrice. Excellent job on the serves and the volleys. I’ll see you at our next practice in two weeks.” Coach said.
“Thanks, Coach. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” I replied without trying to stutter.
Then, Tommy and I left the courts and began to walk home, which wasn’t too far away from the courts.
“You did really well, Beatrice. Your volleys have really improved and your serves are really consistent.” Tommy said to me.
“And my speaking skills?” I asked.
“Improving very, very slowly. I’m sorry, Beatrice. I had to be honest.”
“It’s okay, Tommy. I understand.”
If you’re wondering why I mentioned about my speaking skills, giving a half smile to Rebbie, and trying not to stutter while talking to my coach, it is because I have a selective mutism and. It’s when a person who is usually capable of speech but they’re unable to speak to certain people or in a given situation. In my case, however, I can talk freely whenever I’m with my family at home (sometimes with others, other times with Tommy) but in public places, I don’t talk to anyone. The main cause of my mutism is a couple of shocking events that took my speech away. My mutism will probably be permanent unless some miracle can make me talk again.
Tommy is the complete opposite of me, not by the obvious appearance, but he doesn’t have selective mutism and he can talk…a lot. He even claims that he can speak the language of “Silent Sister” and does most of the talking for me when we’re out somewhere. In return for talking for me, I’ll do most of the action for Tommy.
“So,” Tommy said. “What are you planning to do once we get home?”
“Probably settle down by the tree in our backyard, take a shower and draw.” I replied.
“That’s really all you ever do after a tennis match.”
“What can I say, literally, Tommy? I don’t have any other choice.”
“You forgot TV. You can always watch TV after a game, you know.”
“Mom won’t allow me to watch TV because I was caught watching Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I was admiring the title of the movie on the TV and BOOM…that’s when Mom walked in the living room and grounded me for two hours. Now she won’t allow me to watch any movie until I give her the rating and the title. Also, she’s one of those reasons why I have a hard time talking to people.”
I wasn’t sure if that last sentence was a good excuse but I really had to say what I’ve been keeping in my mind.
“I keep forgetting why Mom won’t allow us to watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Why does she not allow us to watch that?” Tommy asked.
“It was because she went out on a date with Dad, as teenagers, and after dinner, they went out to the movies to see Who Framed Roger Rabbit. After watching that movie, Mom started to have nightmares about…hmmm…some guy with red eyes and how he killed a shoe by dipping it in acid.” I explained.
“‘Killed a shoe’?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t think shoes have lives and I don’t see how a crazy guy can ‘kill’ a shoe because, obviously, it’s inanimate.” I said.
Yeah, I know. This is a pretty interesting but crazy conversation. That’s the thing with me and Tommy. We have pretty weird conversations most of the time.
“But if Mom hated the movie so much, then why did Dad give it to her for Christmas one year?” Tommy asked.
“Maybe he wanted her to conquer her fear. ‘If your mother conquered her fear, then she’ll allow you to watch it,’ Dad said to me one time.” I replied.
Our conversation ended there.
When Tommy and I opened the doors to our house, just a simple white-bricked two floor house, I began to smell lasagna. That meant Dad was home, which is usually a…pretty rare thing because he’s always out doing some activity that’s like being a part of a mafia, except he doesn’t go around and kill people.
“Hey, how are you guys doing?” Dad asked.
“We’ve been all right. We just came back from a tennis tournament.” Tommy said for both of us.
“Who won?”
“Beatrice did.”
I nodded my head in agreement.
“How are you feeling today, Beatrice?” Dad asked me.
“F-fine, I guess. I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Dad.” I replied. “How’s work?”
“Really busy.”
That’s what he always says.
Then, the oven beeps, indicating that the lasagna was ready. The smell made my mouth water. Mom walks in kitchen just as soon as I get my slice of lasagna and sat down at the table.
“How was your tennis tournament, Beatrice?” Mom asked.
“I played well but I lost two matches and won one match.” I replied.
I hoped that I answered Mom’s question correctly. If I didn’t answer quickly, then Mom will begin to act like some dictator from television. She’s been controlling my life for me since I attempted to watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Mom will go nuts and be demanding most of the time but when she tries to settle down; she still continues to show her bad and controlling side.
“You can do better than that. You could’ve won all three of those matches if you listened to your coach.” Mom said.
Yeah, Mom doesn’t support me at all. No sympathy, no ‘if, at first, you don’t succeed, try, try again’, or anything.
I would’ve said, “I’m going to let that slide, Mom. Right now, I’m trying to make a good impression with Dad eating with us and you’re not making this any good. Can’t you think before you speak for a change?” But I couldn’t. I was too worked up to say anything.
And when Mom doesn’t support me or give me any good advice, that’s when I act like the mother…in my mind. I can’t speak out when she’s being so rude to me.
“Sweetheart.” Dad said to Mom. “Please be nice to Beatrice. She isn’t always perfect but she tries.”
Thank you, Dad. I thought.
I tried to ignore Mom’s comment but stabbing my fork into my lasagna. Tommy noticed my behavior. Ignoring turned to the point of recalling the bad things that Mom said previously and then, break down into tears when I set my fork down.
“May I be excused to my room?” I asked.
Dad looked at me funny. Not funny ‘ha, ha’, funny ‘Excuse me’.
Then, without anyone responding, I pushed myself out of my chair and walked to my room.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Tommy:
After I saw Beatrice walk to her room, I glared at Mom.
“You and I…” I said. “…are going to have a little discussion after dinner.”
“Whatever.” Mom mumbled with a mouth full of lasagna.
Dinner ended quickly after Mom’s mumbling. When Dad was done, he walked to Beatrice’s room and I began to talk to Mom. Since I’ve been Beatrice’s voice for a really long, I’ll be sticking up for her with her missing talk-like-a-mother/voice-of-reason kind of voice.
“Why do you have to act like that, Mom?” I asked, sounding like a parent. “Dad’s visits are really special to Beatrice. Since he works as a police officer, a writer, and a detective, he doesn’t always spend much time with us. You don’t know how hard Beatrice tries to make a good impression when Dad’s around.”
“Beatrice has just been a pain in the neck since she watched that wretched movie. She needs to be disciplined!” Mom said.
“She’s been disciplined hard enough at school! Beatrice makes good grades, goes to church every Sunday, does her homework, and even obeys many people. She even tried to impress you and when she does, you lack any appreciation. I don’t know why you act like this to Beatrice but this is has got to STOP!” I said.
At first, Mom gave me her leery look that she usually gives me when we’re having a conversation, but she didn’t say anything after leaving the table.
I feel really terrible for my sister. Beatrice can’t even talk when she really wants to and she’s tried so many times but fails almost every time. Let me explain it this way. Usually, Beatrice’s speaking limit is three sentences and a small conversation but the only times that Beatrice can say more than any of those two is when she’s really angry or, very, very, very,
very rarely, when she has a brief moment of speaking out.
But anyway, back to the story.
I walked to Beatrice’s room and before I walked in, I had to knock the door.
“Come in.” Dad called.
When I walked in the room, Beatrice’s eyes were red from crying and Dad had a familiar look on his face that shows me that he’s concerned.
“Tommy, I’m glad that you spend time helping Beatrice but you do realize that you won’t be Beatrice’s voice forever.” Dad said.
“Yes, sir.” I replied.
“I’m sorry that your mother acts like that but it’s very hard for me to control because I’m gone most of the time.”
Beatrice and I nodded our heads.
“You’re both going to be seventeen in three or four days and I want you to try to change your habits both before and after that. Just try.” Dad said.
“What if I can’t speak up when I want to?” Beatrice asked.
“You will, Beatrice. It doesn’t take a snap from the fingers to make a miracle happen. You often have to find a miracle or a situation that’ll make you speak out. It doesn’t happen overnight but it does take time.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.” I said. “I’ll try my very best to speak out.”
Tommy nodded.
“I have to go now. I’ll probably come back for your birthday but it all depends on the boss.” Dad said.
“Thanks for coming to visit us, Dad. It’s been a pleasure.” I said.
When Dad left the room, I turned to Beatrice. I was going to have a short conversation with her.
“You alright?” I asked.
“I guess so. I thought I had the courage to speak up and make Mom hush up and think for a change…but my courage faded when I was about to say ‘You know what, Mom? I just had it with you! I’m trying to make a good impression but you’re making me look stupid.’ I really want to find my miracle to speak out again.” Beatrice replied.
“Remember what Dad said?”
“Yeah.”
“C’mon, Beatrice. You just got back from a tennis tournament. Why don’t you relax for a little bit and think about what Dad said?”
After I said that, Beatrice stared out into space for a second and then, she took one of her sketchbooks off her book shelf and began to draw.
It seemed that Beatrice took my suggestion really well. I could tell by the way she stares out and then, she occupies herself with something.
I really like the way Beatrice draws. Most of the time, she will draw something that she saw on TV but some other times, Beatrice will try to create her own cartoons. When Beatrice draws, in my opinion, time seems to fly by fast.
As soon as Beatrice stops drawing a picture of…John Lennon, I think, an hour has already passed.
“Is that John Lennon?” I asked.
“Yep.” Beatrice replied.
“I really got to hand it to you, Beatrice. You’re really good at drawing these cartoons and people. Maybe you should be an artist.”
“As long as I get to write books, too, I’ll draw the characters.”
Oh my gosh! My sister wants to be a writer! I didn’t know that!
“What kind of books do you want to write?” I asked.
“I would most likely write books with adventure, comedy, and drama.” Beatrice replied.
“What about romance?”
“Nah, romance is mushy.”
That’s another thing that I like about Beatrice being my sister. She isn’t into the romance. Romeo and Juliet is an exception but others, like Gone With The Wind, not so much.
“I do, however, whenever I’m upset or have the time, write stories during my free time. Most of them are stories that inspired me from life and aren’t even closed to being finished.” Beatrice told me.
“Yeah, I noticed.” I said.
“Whenever I’m writing or drawing in my room, Tommy, I feel free.”
“I get the same feeling sometimes when I’m listening to some of my CDs.”
Then, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in!” I called.
Mom walks in and I can tell that things are going to be bad. I know that Beatrice needs to have me around for support and I decided to stick around.
“Thomas J. Birchwood, I want you out of the room.” Mom snapped.
I looked at Beatrice. She gives me a look that looks like she’s having a severe case of stage fright.
“Don’t worry, Beatrice. I’ll stick around ‘later.’” I said and winked.
To Beatrice, my wink means that I’ll be standing outside of her room and I’ll come to the rescue if she’s in really big trouble.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Beatrice:
I was devastated when I saw Tommy walk out of my room but I hope that his signature wink won’t let me down.
“Beatrice Elaine Birchwood, I don’t understand why you don’t understand what I’m saying when I’m giving you advice.” Mom said to me.
“I do understand what you’re saying but I don’t understand why you act so mean to me.” I replied.
That really set Mom off. I hate it when she acts like a fast-acting time bomb.
“Why did you fail to win all of those tennis games from this evening’s tennis tournament? Did you fail to listen to your coach?” Mom snapped at me.
NO! I thought. It’s one of those times when I can’t always play perfectly! I can’t always be perfect.
“Well? Did you?” Mom asked again.
I didn’t answer.
“I can’t believe it! I am your mother and you don’t show any respect to me at all and pay more attention to your daddy!” Mom shouted.
Mom, I swear, if you talk to me like that again, I’m going to show you what it’s like to be yelled at! I thought.
“You know what, Beatrice? I am going to tell you this: If you don’t learn to give me the answers that you’ve locked up in your head by your birthday, then I won’t let you go anywhere with anyone but ME!” Mom exclaimed.
Are you serious, Mom?! You don’t know what kind of pain that I had to go through for a while! You don’t know anything about what happened to Kaitlin three years ago and how much it affected me! I shouted in my head.
When I saw Mom’s face turn red, she said this to me in a low voice,
“I want you to get ready for bed right now and that bedroom door of yours better be closed after an hour and a half.”
Then, Mom left the room and Tommy walked in.
“How did you do?” Tommy asked. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t talk to her anymore! I only said one sentence and…after that, I couldn’t say anything else. I’ll probably never find that miracle that Dad was talking about earlier.” I said.
“You will but just…not today, but someday.”
After that sentence, I had to tell Tommy that I had get ready for my shower. I told him that he should meet me in my room around eleven-fifty and we’ll talk about some things.
While taking a shower, I cried silently. I really want to tell Mom about how I really feel but I still didn’t have the courage. But pain turned to suspicion when I had the feeling that Mom was listening to me on the other side of the bathroom door. I quickly finished my shower…with a little shampoo in my hair but I didn’t really care.
Then, a few minutes later, after brushing my teeth and my hair, I walked to my room and closed my door. Since I was planning to stay up late with Tommy, I took out this roll of pitch black fabric and covered my door with it to make it look like my bedroom lights are off.
Right now, it’s ten-thirty. Tommy will come to my room in a few minutes. He’ll let me know that it’s him by knocking on the door twice.
Anyway, like I said before, this is my first story and I hope you enjoy it.
If you have questions about my OC's or anything about the story, you're welcome to ask. Just post your questions in the comments.
I own my OC's but I don't own Who Framed Roger Rabbit or the characters of the movie.
Summary:
Two teenagers, Beatrice and Tommy Birchwood, unintentionally drive into the world of Who Framed Roger Rabbit and they get dragged into an investigation. Throughout the investigation, the Twins experience crazy mis-adventures, make mind-blowing discoveries, and learn some things that have never been taught to them. Will the Twins find the conclusion to the investigation and find their way back home or will they be stuck in a loop-hole of madness?
Chapter One
Beatrice:
My tomboy nature makes me feel invincible at times. Even in times of trouble, I can still get myself out. Right now, I am a little out of breath, blowing some stray hair strands out of my face, and I am ready to walk off the tennis courts with a well-deserved victory. I don’t have time for any silly girly stuff or messing around. I have my eye…on the ball. Not a baseball…a tennis ball.
When I finally hit the tennis ball with full force, it flew up in the air and landed really close to the other side of the net, where my opponent was standing. She, my opponent, missed the ball and I won the final point for my final match. My opponent played well but I’ve beaten her pretty good.
“Good game.” My opponent said.
I just replied with a silent half-smile that she took as a “Good match”.
“BEATRICE, eight! REBBIE, three!” My coach called out.
I knew that he, my coach, was watching.
My twin brother, Thomas, or Tommy, as I would call him, walked down from the bleachers and patted me on the back.
“Nice job!” Tommy said to me.
“Thanks, Tommy.” I replied.
Now that I’m done with my tennis match, I can go home, take a shower, and draw some pictures. But before I do that, I had to check myself out of the courts with my coach.
“I already checked you out, Beatrice. Excellent job on the serves and the volleys. I’ll see you at our next practice in two weeks.” Coach said.
“Thanks, Coach. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” I replied without trying to stutter.
Then, Tommy and I left the courts and began to walk home, which wasn’t too far away from the courts.
“You did really well, Beatrice. Your volleys have really improved and your serves are really consistent.” Tommy said to me.
“And my speaking skills?” I asked.
“Improving very, very slowly. I’m sorry, Beatrice. I had to be honest.”
“It’s okay, Tommy. I understand.”
If you’re wondering why I mentioned about my speaking skills, giving a half smile to Rebbie, and trying not to stutter while talking to my coach, it is because I have a selective mutism and. It’s when a person who is usually capable of speech but they’re unable to speak to certain people or in a given situation. In my case, however, I can talk freely whenever I’m with my family at home (sometimes with others, other times with Tommy) but in public places, I don’t talk to anyone. The main cause of my mutism is a couple of shocking events that took my speech away. My mutism will probably be permanent unless some miracle can make me talk again.
Tommy is the complete opposite of me, not by the obvious appearance, but he doesn’t have selective mutism and he can talk…a lot. He even claims that he can speak the language of “Silent Sister” and does most of the talking for me when we’re out somewhere. In return for talking for me, I’ll do most of the action for Tommy.
“So,” Tommy said. “What are you planning to do once we get home?”
“Probably settle down by the tree in our backyard, take a shower and draw.” I replied.
“That’s really all you ever do after a tennis match.”
“What can I say, literally, Tommy? I don’t have any other choice.”
“You forgot TV. You can always watch TV after a game, you know.”
“Mom won’t allow me to watch TV because I was caught watching Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I was admiring the title of the movie on the TV and BOOM…that’s when Mom walked in the living room and grounded me for two hours. Now she won’t allow me to watch any movie until I give her the rating and the title. Also, she’s one of those reasons why I have a hard time talking to people.”
I wasn’t sure if that last sentence was a good excuse but I really had to say what I’ve been keeping in my mind.
“I keep forgetting why Mom won’t allow us to watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Why does she not allow us to watch that?” Tommy asked.
“It was because she went out on a date with Dad, as teenagers, and after dinner, they went out to the movies to see Who Framed Roger Rabbit. After watching that movie, Mom started to have nightmares about…hmmm…some guy with red eyes and how he killed a shoe by dipping it in acid.” I explained.
“‘Killed a shoe’?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t think shoes have lives and I don’t see how a crazy guy can ‘kill’ a shoe because, obviously, it’s inanimate.” I said.
Yeah, I know. This is a pretty interesting but crazy conversation. That’s the thing with me and Tommy. We have pretty weird conversations most of the time.
“But if Mom hated the movie so much, then why did Dad give it to her for Christmas one year?” Tommy asked.
“Maybe he wanted her to conquer her fear. ‘If your mother conquered her fear, then she’ll allow you to watch it,’ Dad said to me one time.” I replied.
Our conversation ended there.
When Tommy and I opened the doors to our house, just a simple white-bricked two floor house, I began to smell lasagna. That meant Dad was home, which is usually a…pretty rare thing because he’s always out doing some activity that’s like being a part of a mafia, except he doesn’t go around and kill people.
“Hey, how are you guys doing?” Dad asked.
“We’ve been all right. We just came back from a tennis tournament.” Tommy said for both of us.
“Who won?”
“Beatrice did.”
I nodded my head in agreement.
“How are you feeling today, Beatrice?” Dad asked me.
“F-fine, I guess. I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Dad.” I replied. “How’s work?”
“Really busy.”
That’s what he always says.
Then, the oven beeps, indicating that the lasagna was ready. The smell made my mouth water. Mom walks in kitchen just as soon as I get my slice of lasagna and sat down at the table.
“How was your tennis tournament, Beatrice?” Mom asked.
“I played well but I lost two matches and won one match.” I replied.
I hoped that I answered Mom’s question correctly. If I didn’t answer quickly, then Mom will begin to act like some dictator from television. She’s been controlling my life for me since I attempted to watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Mom will go nuts and be demanding most of the time but when she tries to settle down; she still continues to show her bad and controlling side.
“You can do better than that. You could’ve won all three of those matches if you listened to your coach.” Mom said.
Yeah, Mom doesn’t support me at all. No sympathy, no ‘if, at first, you don’t succeed, try, try again’, or anything.
I would’ve said, “I’m going to let that slide, Mom. Right now, I’m trying to make a good impression with Dad eating with us and you’re not making this any good. Can’t you think before you speak for a change?” But I couldn’t. I was too worked up to say anything.
And when Mom doesn’t support me or give me any good advice, that’s when I act like the mother…in my mind. I can’t speak out when she’s being so rude to me.
“Sweetheart.” Dad said to Mom. “Please be nice to Beatrice. She isn’t always perfect but she tries.”
Thank you, Dad. I thought.
I tried to ignore Mom’s comment but stabbing my fork into my lasagna. Tommy noticed my behavior. Ignoring turned to the point of recalling the bad things that Mom said previously and then, break down into tears when I set my fork down.
“May I be excused to my room?” I asked.
Dad looked at me funny. Not funny ‘ha, ha’, funny ‘Excuse me’.
Then, without anyone responding, I pushed myself out of my chair and walked to my room.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Tommy:
After I saw Beatrice walk to her room, I glared at Mom.
“You and I…” I said. “…are going to have a little discussion after dinner.”
“Whatever.” Mom mumbled with a mouth full of lasagna.
Dinner ended quickly after Mom’s mumbling. When Dad was done, he walked to Beatrice’s room and I began to talk to Mom. Since I’ve been Beatrice’s voice for a really long, I’ll be sticking up for her with her missing talk-like-a-mother/voice-of-reason kind of voice.
“Why do you have to act like that, Mom?” I asked, sounding like a parent. “Dad’s visits are really special to Beatrice. Since he works as a police officer, a writer, and a detective, he doesn’t always spend much time with us. You don’t know how hard Beatrice tries to make a good impression when Dad’s around.”
“Beatrice has just been a pain in the neck since she watched that wretched movie. She needs to be disciplined!” Mom said.
“She’s been disciplined hard enough at school! Beatrice makes good grades, goes to church every Sunday, does her homework, and even obeys many people. She even tried to impress you and when she does, you lack any appreciation. I don’t know why you act like this to Beatrice but this is has got to STOP!” I said.
At first, Mom gave me her leery look that she usually gives me when we’re having a conversation, but she didn’t say anything after leaving the table.
I feel really terrible for my sister. Beatrice can’t even talk when she really wants to and she’s tried so many times but fails almost every time. Let me explain it this way. Usually, Beatrice’s speaking limit is three sentences and a small conversation but the only times that Beatrice can say more than any of those two is when she’s really angry or, very, very, very,
very rarely, when she has a brief moment of speaking out.
But anyway, back to the story.
I walked to Beatrice’s room and before I walked in, I had to knock the door.
“Come in.” Dad called.
When I walked in the room, Beatrice’s eyes were red from crying and Dad had a familiar look on his face that shows me that he’s concerned.
“Tommy, I’m glad that you spend time helping Beatrice but you do realize that you won’t be Beatrice’s voice forever.” Dad said.
“Yes, sir.” I replied.
“I’m sorry that your mother acts like that but it’s very hard for me to control because I’m gone most of the time.”
Beatrice and I nodded our heads.
“You’re both going to be seventeen in three or four days and I want you to try to change your habits both before and after that. Just try.” Dad said.
“What if I can’t speak up when I want to?” Beatrice asked.
“You will, Beatrice. It doesn’t take a snap from the fingers to make a miracle happen. You often have to find a miracle or a situation that’ll make you speak out. It doesn’t happen overnight but it does take time.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.” I said. “I’ll try my very best to speak out.”
Tommy nodded.
“I have to go now. I’ll probably come back for your birthday but it all depends on the boss.” Dad said.
“Thanks for coming to visit us, Dad. It’s been a pleasure.” I said.
When Dad left the room, I turned to Beatrice. I was going to have a short conversation with her.
“You alright?” I asked.
“I guess so. I thought I had the courage to speak up and make Mom hush up and think for a change…but my courage faded when I was about to say ‘You know what, Mom? I just had it with you! I’m trying to make a good impression but you’re making me look stupid.’ I really want to find my miracle to speak out again.” Beatrice replied.
“Remember what Dad said?”
“Yeah.”
“C’mon, Beatrice. You just got back from a tennis tournament. Why don’t you relax for a little bit and think about what Dad said?”
After I said that, Beatrice stared out into space for a second and then, she took one of her sketchbooks off her book shelf and began to draw.
It seemed that Beatrice took my suggestion really well. I could tell by the way she stares out and then, she occupies herself with something.
I really like the way Beatrice draws. Most of the time, she will draw something that she saw on TV but some other times, Beatrice will try to create her own cartoons. When Beatrice draws, in my opinion, time seems to fly by fast.
As soon as Beatrice stops drawing a picture of…John Lennon, I think, an hour has already passed.
“Is that John Lennon?” I asked.
“Yep.” Beatrice replied.
“I really got to hand it to you, Beatrice. You’re really good at drawing these cartoons and people. Maybe you should be an artist.”
“As long as I get to write books, too, I’ll draw the characters.”
Oh my gosh! My sister wants to be a writer! I didn’t know that!
“What kind of books do you want to write?” I asked.
“I would most likely write books with adventure, comedy, and drama.” Beatrice replied.
“What about romance?”
“Nah, romance is mushy.”
That’s another thing that I like about Beatrice being my sister. She isn’t into the romance. Romeo and Juliet is an exception but others, like Gone With The Wind, not so much.
“I do, however, whenever I’m upset or have the time, write stories during my free time. Most of them are stories that inspired me from life and aren’t even closed to being finished.” Beatrice told me.
“Yeah, I noticed.” I said.
“Whenever I’m writing or drawing in my room, Tommy, I feel free.”
“I get the same feeling sometimes when I’m listening to some of my CDs.”
Then, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in!” I called.
Mom walks in and I can tell that things are going to be bad. I know that Beatrice needs to have me around for support and I decided to stick around.
“Thomas J. Birchwood, I want you out of the room.” Mom snapped.
I looked at Beatrice. She gives me a look that looks like she’s having a severe case of stage fright.
“Don’t worry, Beatrice. I’ll stick around ‘later.’” I said and winked.
To Beatrice, my wink means that I’ll be standing outside of her room and I’ll come to the rescue if she’s in really big trouble.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Beatrice:
I was devastated when I saw Tommy walk out of my room but I hope that his signature wink won’t let me down.
“Beatrice Elaine Birchwood, I don’t understand why you don’t understand what I’m saying when I’m giving you advice.” Mom said to me.
“I do understand what you’re saying but I don’t understand why you act so mean to me.” I replied.
That really set Mom off. I hate it when she acts like a fast-acting time bomb.
“Why did you fail to win all of those tennis games from this evening’s tennis tournament? Did you fail to listen to your coach?” Mom snapped at me.
NO! I thought. It’s one of those times when I can’t always play perfectly! I can’t always be perfect.
“Well? Did you?” Mom asked again.
I didn’t answer.
“I can’t believe it! I am your mother and you don’t show any respect to me at all and pay more attention to your daddy!” Mom shouted.
Mom, I swear, if you talk to me like that again, I’m going to show you what it’s like to be yelled at! I thought.
“You know what, Beatrice? I am going to tell you this: If you don’t learn to give me the answers that you’ve locked up in your head by your birthday, then I won’t let you go anywhere with anyone but ME!” Mom exclaimed.
Are you serious, Mom?! You don’t know what kind of pain that I had to go through for a while! You don’t know anything about what happened to Kaitlin three years ago and how much it affected me! I shouted in my head.
When I saw Mom’s face turn red, she said this to me in a low voice,
“I want you to get ready for bed right now and that bedroom door of yours better be closed after an hour and a half.”
Then, Mom left the room and Tommy walked in.
“How did you do?” Tommy asked. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t talk to her anymore! I only said one sentence and…after that, I couldn’t say anything else. I’ll probably never find that miracle that Dad was talking about earlier.” I said.
“You will but just…not today, but someday.”
After that sentence, I had to tell Tommy that I had get ready for my shower. I told him that he should meet me in my room around eleven-fifty and we’ll talk about some things.
While taking a shower, I cried silently. I really want to tell Mom about how I really feel but I still didn’t have the courage. But pain turned to suspicion when I had the feeling that Mom was listening to me on the other side of the bathroom door. I quickly finished my shower…with a little shampoo in my hair but I didn’t really care.
Then, a few minutes later, after brushing my teeth and my hair, I walked to my room and closed my door. Since I was planning to stay up late with Tommy, I took out this roll of pitch black fabric and covered my door with it to make it look like my bedroom lights are off.
Right now, it’s ten-thirty. Tommy will come to my room in a few minutes. He’ll let me know that it’s him by knocking on the door twice.
(Btw, it's me, Stacey.)