“And you’re an expert on this because …”
“Because,” Kit replied with an air of misplaced superiority, “I just happen to be the poster-child for the embarrassed masses.”
“Really?” he said dubiously, sitting up a little and noticeably glad for the distraction. “Just what makes you such an expert?”
Kit turned introspective and a little less glib. “Have you ever been invisible, Mr. Jones?”
“I can’t say that I have” he replied kindly. “And, call me J.J.”
“Well then J.J., have you ever felt that you were just some insignificant little spec on this giant orb, that’s presence would never even be missed or noticed if it were to disappear?”
J.J. didn’t respond so she guessed not. “I’ve felt like that all my life. But when I’ve least expected it, without rhyme or reason, something always seems to happen at the most inopportune moment and all eyes turn on me like a viral video on YouTube. And, mind you, not in a good way. It’s not like I’m saving the whales or helping the elderly or anything.” Kit waved her hands around for dramatic effect. “It feels like the only time my existence is even substantiated is when I’m caught out doing something really embarrassing. I’m the girl whose skirt blows up walking over a subway grate, or goes to a job interview with the price tag still attached to her clothes, or …” Kit looked away. Baring her soul to anyone, especially someone as clueless to mere mortal frailty as Jeffrey Jones, was redundant.
“Or…,” he enquired touching her on the arm. “Go on. I really want to know.” Kit looked down to where his fingers lay on her sleeve and he immediately removed them.
“Case and point” she began again, soldiering on with determination. “High School. Huge crush on Jeremy Atwell, and of course he didn’t know I existed. But did that deter me and my adolescent fantasy? Hell no.”
Kit got up and started pacing the cabin. “Do you mind sitting down, I’m starting to get dizzy again watching you.” J.J. asked with a crooked grin.
“Sure.” She dropped to his side and calmed down a little.
“You were saying …?” he prodded.
“Well, when prom came around I knew exactly the type of dress I wanted; very mature and revealing.” she imparted, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the memory. “My mother said I was “lamb dressing like mutton” instead of the usual “mutton like lamb”; but did I listen?”
“I take it –no.”
“You got that right. Well, the big night came. I went with Barnaby Calder. He was a science geek with big glasses, high IQ and a cowlick that needed industrial strength super-glue to keep it from sticking up” Smiling somewhat sadly at the recollection, Kit uttered, “When he asked me to the dance, I guess I thought it was better than going alone. Poor Barnaby. For some odd reason, he really liked me. I guess in retrospect I wasn’t very nice to him. I ignored him most of the evening. But I was so sure that Jeremy would take one look at me and fate would play its hand.”
Jeff held her gaze. Evidently, her tale of teenage angst was fascinating to him.
“So you want to know what happened?”
He nodded mutely.
“So, first of all, I see old Mrs. Blake wearing the very same dress as me.”
“That’s not good.”
“You’re telling me. It was pretty rough to learn I had the same fashion sense as a sixty year old Librarian.”
Jeff chuckled softly and she had to admit, it was rather funny. “What else happened?” he asked.
She looked at him with a frown. “Barnaby pulled me outside and decided it was the perfect time to declare his undying love for me. I was stunned and gave him the “I don’t think of you that way” and “we’ll always be friends” speech. I really hurt him, and ..., I lost the one true friend I had in high school. I’ve felt bad about that for a real long time.”
“I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it.”
“Yeah?” Kit replied with attitude. Why did it bother her so much that Jeffrey Jones thought her so forgettable and easy to get over? Why should she care what he thinks?
Kit stood up and leaned against the back wall. “Now for the real kicker; the piece de resistance” Clearing her throat she continued her story. “So…, I’m walking down the school corridor, having just passed Jeremy and his footballer friends, and I hear “Hey, wait a minute” and footsteps chasing after me. I turn around and there he is; looking incredible in a white tux and baby blue tie. And just when I’m positive he’s going to open his mouth and say “Where have you been all my life?” or some such mundane but oh so wonderful endearment, you know what he says?”
“What?” J.J. said in anticipation, eager to hear the outcome.
“He says …, he says …, you have toilet paper stuck to your shoe.”
“No.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear, right” she smirked sarcastically. “So, I look down at my shoe, I look back at him, smile, and very politely say “thanks”. Meanwhile, his friends are laughing their asses off at me. I never looked his way again. I was known as “Toilet paper girl” for the rest of my high school days. Some kids even inscribed my yearbook “To TPG”.”
Kit swallowed the huge lump that had formed in her throat at the memory. It still hurt after all these years. Yeah, she made jokes about it and laughed it off, but it was an incident that marked her. Taking her place on the floor beside him again, her head dipped forlornly.
“Hey. It could happen to anyone” he responded, bumping her shoulder with his own.
“Yeah, but it happened to me. And that one single moment has defined almost my entire life. That, and having the wackiest mother in Brandon Bay.” Kit widened her eyes at him. “Of course, there have been many more instances of complete humiliation in my twenty-seven years, but I won’t bore you with them. So, to make a long story short Mr. Jeffrey Jones, the next time you think you’ve done something really embarrassing, think again, and think of yours truly.”
“I will, if you tell me your name” he grinned. “I don’t particularly want to have to call you TPG.”
Kit punched him in the arm playfully. “It’s Kit” she said relaxing and smiling back at him.
“Is that short for something?”
“Ha! Once again, embarrassment reigns!” she replied with a giggle. “I was named after a chocolate bar, as in “Kit Kat”.”
Jeff looked at her in disbelief. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. I told you my mother was a little whacked. Apparently she had a penchant for them while she was pregnant.”
Kit noticed the incredulous look on his face and went for the funny bone. “Hey, I’m only glad she wasn’t addicted to Twinkies or Tootsie rolls” she laughed.
“Or Goobers?” Jeff laughed back.
“Heaven forbid.” Kit sighed.
Was this really happening? Was she and Mr. Jones, or rather J.J., actually having a moment? All Kit knew was, she was enjoying her time trapped in the company of this gorgeous, kind and claustrophobic man. He’d listened intently to every stupid thing she’d said, and he actually seemed to be interested.
Could his interest extend to further than that of forcibly imprisoned companion? Her gut told her yes, and to go with her instincts, but her head told her that she’d been wrong about men before. This was no rom-com, and she was not Sandra Bullock, not even close. And although J.J. was perfectly cast as the rich guy with the heart of gold, she was woefully miscast.
As Kit wondered how much longer they would be stuck together in confined quarters and if there was some way to prolong the inevitable, the elevator made an enormous clanging sound and the emergency lights flickered, changing back to their normal hue. The elevator began descending immediately and Kit almost let out an audible “Damn”.
Her brush with romance, adventure and the movie-star-like Jeffrey Jones was over. Nothing left but to thank the Academy, make a short speech and hope she didn’t get the dreaded music swell; a sure sign she’d overstayed her welcome.
<
br /> Jeff stretched and got up off the floor, reaching for Kits hand to help her to her feet. “Guess we’re on our way again” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Yeah.” was all she could say.
They descended the remainder of the floors in companionable silence.
When the doors at last opened, Jeff jumped out with a sigh of relief. “Wow. Am I glad that’s over”
Kit looked at him in horror and he immediately picked up on his social faux pas.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” he tried to placate, cringing in discomfort. “I mean, it was great talking to you. You got my mind off throwing up completely”
Narrowing her eyes at him, Kit said nothing.
Squirming uncomfortably under her glare, J.J. tried again, “I mean, I would have been sick for sure if I was alone. You were great, just great.”
“Well that’s me I guess.” she retorted caustically, her eyebrows hitting the ceiling. “When you’re looking for an alternative to vomiting, I’m your girl; the human Pepto-Bismol. Just don’t ask me to wear pink. I look horrible in pink.”
Jeff frowned at her.
“Well, Mr. Jones, it’s been real …,” Kit grinned, nodding her head at him. “Well …, bye”
Before he could say another word, she turned on her heel and quickly headed off towards the glass revolving door. At least she’d made a dignified exit. No stammering goodbyes or pratfalls. Whew! TPG had almost reappeared with a vengeance; in all her embarrassing glory. Thank goodness she’d high-tailed it out of there, before it was too late.
CHAPTER 3 - Actions speak louder than words
All the way home on the cable car Kit replayed the afternoon in her head. She’d been so sure they’d had a real moment in the elevator. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Had she actually thought that Jeffrey Jones could be interested in her as more than a distraction from vomiting? Once again, trusting and believing her gut had been a huge mistake, and had made her momentarily hope for things that just couldn’t be. Just like high school and Jeremy Atwell!
By the time Kit had crossed the threshold of her apartment she’d calmed down considerably and convinced herself that no harm had really been done. She hadn’t made a fool of herself in front of him and she’d never see Jeffrey Jones again. So what if they’d exchanged a few confidences, it really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She was just grateful she hadn’t done anything remotely bordering on the foolish, and had managed to walk away unscathed and with what little poise she possessed intact.
By ten o’clock, Kit was happily ensconced on her couch wearing a tank top and shorts with her two favourite fellows –Ben and Jerry. Those two guys really knew how to make a girl happy. Satisfaction didn’t come in any better form than a tub of Chunky Monkey and an overly large spoon.
As she flicked the TV channels, “Casablanca” came on and she watched the last ten minutes. Kit couldn’t help thinking that if Humphrey and Ingrid’s “hill of beans” didn’t amount to much (and they had Nazis, a husband and World War II to contend with), then maybe she should rethink just how bad she had it. She could always find a new job. Sure, it wouldn’t be easy in these times, but it wasn’t impossible. Come to think of it, even Bambi could be replaced by a bigger and better version. Maybe a guy? Yeah. A male version of Bambi; possibly a Chippendale.
While she mulled over that idea and took another mouthful of Chunky Monkey, Kit knew deep down that replacing her job and roommate was not what was really bothering her. It was her life in general. She was stuck in a rut the size of the Grand Canyon, without a mule to guide her out.
Flicking the channels once again, she stopped on an old Tony Roberts infomercial and paused. If anyone could help her, he could. She thought about “Calling now”, but just couldn’t do it. Thanks, but no thanks Tony, she thought to herself wryly. His form of motivational self-improvement was way too conventional for someone like her. What she needed was someone she identified with to give her advice.
Sighing, she pressed the remote again and came upon an episode of Seinfeld. Oh, this was a good one; the one where George does everything opposite to what his gut tells him, and things start going his way. Kit giggled; If only that could really work. Yeah right.
Looking over at the phone, she bit her lip. She still had to call her mother, but had been putting it off. Her gut told her to avoid it as long as possible; that it wasn’t worth the aggravation. But then again, maybe it was a good time to test George’s theory. Go against the gut and see what happens.
Plucking up the courage, Kit dialled her mother.
When the call connected, the voice on the other end immediately cut in. “Kit! I’m so glad you called!” Her mother was clearly happy to hear from her, and Kit relaxed a little at the thought.
“How did you know it was me?” Was her mother now adding “psychic” to her repertoire of wackiness?
“Caller ID of course.” she said simply.
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong Kit?” her mother asked in a concerned manner. The utterance of those few words, had her eyes brimming in moments.
“Oh Mom.” she tearfully replied. “You have no idea. Everything! Just everything!”
By the time Kit hung up the phone forty-five minutes later, she had revealed to her mother just how unhappy she was. The words came like verbal diarrhea. And once it was out of her, she felt much better; cleansed and ready to tentatively take a bite out of life again; much like actual diarrhea.
She’d managed to quell the eye-rolls and critical comments through her mother mentioning “crying over spilt milk” and that it took time to “find your feet”, and by the end of the conversation, she’d agreed to come to stay until she worked out exactly what she wanted to do with her life.
Her first reaction to her mothers’ suggestion of returning to Brandon Bay was an internal “Not on your Nellie” (whatever that means). But before voicing her response, she decided to once again follow George’s advice, and go against her instincts. Maybe by returning to Brandon Bay, she could work out all the past nuisances and frustrations that had plagued her relationship with her mother, and she could in some way heal whatever ailed her.
My God, she was getting deep and reflective in her old age, Kit thought with a chuckle. Either that, or Ben and Jerry’s was laced with something she didn’t know about.
With her new resolve still fresh in her mind, Kit grabbed her suitcase and started packing right there and then, before sense and her AWOL intellect caught up with her.
CHAPTER 4 - Home is where the heart is
Six years? Had it really been that long?
As Kit drove through the main street of Brandon Bay, she noticed that not much had changed. The hardware store slash tackle shop was still there; the faded sign blowing in the breeze, threatening to come right off with a stiff wind from the ocean. Of course, it had been threatening for thirty years to break away from its hinges and hit some self-respecting Brandon Bay resident in the head. But did that encourage old Mr. Falridge to fix it? Hell, no.
As a teenager, Kit was sure the reason Mr. Falridge spent so much time looking out his store window, was to catch the moment the sign fell. In fact, she was positive he lived for the event (he had to be well over ninety); and would probably leave this earth the instant it dropped. The Brandon Bay Times would then publish an obituary for Mr. Falridge and another for said sign; the sign’s loss likely being mourned more than the cantankerous and nosy Mr. Falridge.
No, the place hadn’t changed much at all; apart from a few boutique shops that had moved in to take advantage of weekend visitors. Kit could see there was a candy store; a jewellery shop; and a rather odd establishment that apparently sold life size versions of Betty Boop and other characters made of resin. Just who bought things like that, and what they did with a life size Betty Boop, Kit didn’t want to know.
As she turned into her mother’s drive, Kit was apprehensive. Coming home with her tail between her legs was disheartening. Her mother ha
d said on the phone that she could stay as long as she wanted to. But Kit knew better. In no time at all, her mother would be “driving her up the wall” and she’d want to flee Brandon Bay as desperately as she had all those years ago. No. She would stay for two weeks or so, get her act together and move on. To what and where, she had no idea at this particular moment, but it would come to her.
Gladys Davidson came out of her gingerbread house waving the moment Kit turned off the engine. Her mother had aged some in six years, Kit noticed, but she still held the air of perpetual youth. Her hair was long and showed some signs of grey, but for the most part she was exactly the same as Kit remembered. The other kids at school had called her Mom a hippie, but she wasn’t. She was much too conventional to be called that. No, her Mom was more of a free spirit. She loved life, and life loved her back by letting her look a good ten years younger than her forty-six years.
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