A tentative next step in Meet The Frantiks!, a novel I may eventually get around to writing. All things are possible in this world of wonder. You can read Chapter 1 here. Now, we learn our heroine's name (Valerie), and more....
MEET THE FRANTIKS!
CHAPTER 2
Don't you worry about me, baby
Music began to play. Weird. The clock radio? I never set an alarm; why bother when you wake up with a start every morning at 3:30? And weirder still that this unexpected ditty happened to start playing with that too-familiar phrase. "Don't you worry about..."
Wait. What the actual...WHAT...?!
It was the Frantiks. I knew those voices, that sound. And it was the song they'd just been singing in my dream.
Don't you worry about me, baby
I mean no harm
I'm just taken by your charm
(That's no surpriiiiise!)
With just one glance
(Yeah Yeah!)
I see romance
(Yeah Yeah!)
I've fallen in love, baby
(Right before your eyes!)
Right before my eyes? I rubbed my eyes, and...yeah, there they were. Simon, Wally, Tristan, and (of course) Moishe. In my bedroom, duly armed with guitars, bass, and tambourine. Singing to me.
I blinked. The room was silent. The Frantiks were gone.
Don't you worry about me, baby. I'll do the worrying for both of us.
I have no history of hallucination. I've never dropped acid, and my active imagination doesn't prevent me from seeing things as they are.
Usually.
There was that one time when I was little, right after Aunt Ellis died. Daddy had driven me, Mom, my older brother Steve, and a few of my cousins into the city to visit with other mourning relatives. I was playing in the backyard, as far as I could get from the dismal fog of sorrow, anger, and cigarette smoke that held court inside the house. I heard a car engine start. I knew--knew--I was about to get left behind.
I looked to the sky, frightened, and whispered, Mommy, Daddy, please don't leave me! And, I swear, an angel appeared before me. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. I couldn't tell if the angel was Aunt Ellis, or maybe it was Angel, from Bobby's Angel. The vision spurred me to run from the yard, and race to the driveway as our family car was backing out. I remember the shock on Daddy's face as he realized I wasn't already in the car, could see his lips forming my name. Valerie...! He stopped the car with a jolt, and jumped out and up to grab me and hug me. He was crying. Mommy joined him. We held each other forever.
A week later, Dad moved out.
I'd love to say I hadn't thought about that near-abandonment in decades. 'Tain't so. Ask my therapist. I never blamed my parents; Daddy was all but overcome with grief, Mom wasn't faring much better, and they felt terrible, awful, for not realizing I wasn't already in the car with them. But the sting of the memory lingered. It lingered still, sixty years later at 3:30 in the morning, as all evidence pointed to the inescapable conclusion that I was going nuts.
Don't you worry about me, baby. I hated that phrase, and I hated how it had nonetheless become such a regular part of my own speech. Dennis used to say it all the goddamned time. Val, my love, he'd insist, Don't you worry about me, baby. Don't worry if a bill gets paid late. Don't worry if I miss an appointment. Don't worry about that lipstick stain on my collar, that scent of perfume on my neck. Don't worry about when I get home at night, or morning. Don't worry about my health. Don't worry about my mood. Don't worry...
And I started to cry.
Why was I crying? It had been almost a year, it's...it...
...It had been exactly a year. The anniversary had snuck up on me. Don't worry about me, baby. Just didn't see it coming. I didn't see it coming a year ago either.
By now, the clock said 3:36. Go back to sleep? That would be a fantasy. A hallucination. I got up to make a nice hot cup of coffee. Don't you worry about me, baby. I don't worry.
Why should you?
TO BE CONTINUED...?
No comments:
Post a Comment