Princess of Disaster
A force summoned me that I cannot explain. Maybe a bout of insanity? Maybe a reluctance to accept defeat? Love? It was likely a combination of the above that lured me out one stormy evening to stand before an old, empty window holding my mother’s old dilapidated ukulele. The weather was unbearably cold. Goosebumps crawled up my arms to team up with shaggy monsooned hair, giving what I’m sure was a lovely—not crazed—appearance. I couldn’t believe that I was there and even less what I was doing, but I still could not stop. After a few hours of listening to the choked cacophonous sounds that were uncontrollably emanating from my lips, I became aware that the skies were trying to put me out of my misery or at least thwart my intentions. First the rain, then the hail. Then the snow. I laugh about it now, remembering the circling track that danced through my thoughts that day. Ha! Hadn’t the gods learned that nothing can triumph over true love!
I glared at the skies and I shouted, well, maybe more like croaked, “Bring on the precipitation!” shaking my instrument widely in the air. It had been several hours. I was bone chillingly cold. I had begun wheezing and was still staring at an empty window. It was possible that he was not here—which in fact was the case—though I couldn’t accept it to be true after hours of miserable suffering. I continued to strum worn-down strings with bleeding icicles, hoping my pitiful existence would conjure even the slightest noise, a light, and hopefully even the face of the boy I still loved.
But I received nothing. Maybe he was not in his room, or maybe he was hiding from me, which seemed to be the reality of previous weeks. I sighed, he was probably hiding. I felt tears freezing on my cheeks as they struggled to reach my chin before being enveloped by the cold. I stopped strumming. It was useless; I had already broke three strings anyways. I kneeled down, grabbing my knees in a futile attempt to cling onto the warmth that was readily escaping my body. What should I do? I absolutely needed to speak with him, tell him that I had grown up, that I wasn’t just an immature high school kid anymore. I had also absolutely determined that he was undoubtedly hiding, but the big question was where? I bet that if he saw me, he would whirl me around in a big hug, falling utterly in love with me again. Maybe I was insane, or at least weird, obsessive, and a bit desperate. I sat deep in thought, oblivious to my now freezing eyelashes. If were trying to hide from a crazed ex girlfriend, where would I hide? Not in my own room because that’s just obvious. Maybe not even in my house, because that is also just silly. Hmm, I would hide, I would hide. I gasped.... dropping my ukulele in the snow. An enlightening force swiveled me upon my heels, my head and torso following suit. My eyes rolled upward to stare at the third story windows of the neighbor’s house. That would be such an ingenious place to hide! Not at his own house, but someone else’s!
My course was redirected, he was most certainly at the house next door.
I quickly reevaluated supplies for the journey. The ukulele would make traveling more difficult and was broken and therefore had to go. The package of chocolates were also bulky, and thus could hamper agility, and therefore had to be disposed of. Jacket must stay for protection. After quickly cramming a dozen chocolates in my mouth, I stashed the wooden instrument in the bushes and stumbled off—nauseous from the 16 ounces of caramel I had just consumed. I blindly fought whatever precipitation it was now, feeling for the wooden fence that separated the two yards. My body screamed for me to stop/vomit. I couldn’t see, couldn’t even tell if I was still wearing shoes or not my feet were so cold, but I continued. I faintly distinguished the outline of a fence in the distance. I stumbled and pushed harder, falling every few steps. With mud in my hair, gritty snow in my teeth, I finally reached the fence, the castle wall in my sick little psychodrama. I leaned against the wall for the first time feeling the warmth seep through my veins, unclenching my fingertips. I laughed and leaned against the damp wood. As I prepared for my success, I noticed for the first time just how high that wall really was. I felt the warmth—previously elating warmth—quickly shrink to a pea-sized lump in my throat. How could I get over it?
I ran my fingers against the wood, hoping for some brilliant insight. I was still a good three feet short of the top so could not simply jump over. Somehow, I had to climb up the slippery fence with only being able to see barley three feet in front of me. I felt my way across its length, fierce winds beating against my back. Shivers once again shimmied down my spine. Would I make it out of this quest alive and with somehow my limbs intact? After I had paced the length of the fence two times over, I kicked it and jabbed a frustrated fist right into one of the planks. Tears again welled up in corners of my eyes and began to burn my cheeks as I clutched my possibly broken hand. God, brilliance really was not one of my strong points. There were no breaks in the wood and no foot holes. Man that fence was sturdy. Whoever made it definitely did not want people getting or out for that matter. If I had been logical and not on the verge of freezing to death, I probably would have realized that I could have just left out the gate I came through and walked right over to the neighbor’s yard. But that would have been all too easy and anticlimactic.
I sat down on the ground. I needed a plan. I could barely feel anything. All I could see was him, and all I could hear were the last words he said to me, “I don’t feel that way about you anymore. I don’t want to be with you.”. My mind began to spiral into depression when “THWAP!” Startled out of my fantasy, I looke up and shivered. What was that? “WHAM!” I leaped up on my feet, wide eyes searching everywhere. Where had that come from? I clutched my arms to my chest feeling both cold and fear for the first time. I couldn’t tell where exactly I was in the yard, but from what I could see—which wasn’t much—the yard looked whole and untainted. I squinted my eyes vainly hoping that I would learn something useful. Nothing. I fought against my quickly paralyzing limbs, forcing my feet to move one inch at a time. Pulled by curiosity, I shuffled a bit closer to the fence. My right foot collided with something hard and before I could react further, I heard my own scream and felt my head collide with something hard and woody. My eyes became hazy and the sky began to dance.
I lay stunned on the ground, for how long I don’t know. Instinctively I reached my hand up to my face, fingertips brushing against something hot and wet. I pulled my fingers away and almost as quickly as I realized what it was, the rain swept the blood away. Maybe I actually would not survive this quest. I had barely approached the yard, and I was already bleeding, my ankle teeming with pain, and my lungs battling with the cold. I pulled my chest up and immediately slumped back to the ground as pain shot through my back. I knew if I lay there I could die. Part of me would have gladly accepted that fate, but a larger part of me shuddered at the thought of him, or even worse his parents, finding me possibly not dead by his fence. I reached around feeling for what had tripped me. I gripped something hard, long, and leafy. Ah, I knew it now, the oak tree! How could I forget the oak tree—the infamous tree under which I had lain so many summer days. The beautiful tree, whose branches now loomed over the wretched fence.
I realized that the tree was the key to circumvent my current dilemma. Determined, I gritted my teeth and pulled myself up off my knees. “Argh”, I groaned as I a slightly stumbled. Though I was bruised and damaged, I could do this. The sleet had begun to let up, and I saw the tree clearly. It couldn’t be more than a few feet away. I walked Frankenstein style with my arms in front of me until I ran into the tree. The smell of oak inflamed my nostrils, and I wrapped my arms around the tree, hugging as tightly as my remaining strength would allow. Happiness flowed washed over me as confidence exploded. I knew it, the tree was on my side!
I found the big rock at the base to use as my first foot hole, then the odd shaped knob that I used to joke looked like a old man with a bulbous nose as my second. I placed my hands and feet and then pushed, the fingertips on my right hard just barely scraping a branch. As my arm swung back down, I teetered, almost losing my balance. I re-placed my hands and feet and pushed again, this time my right hand colliding solidly with the branch. I placed my left foot a little higher this time, my toes barely getting a decent foot hole within the crevices of the bark and pushed, my left hang now colliding with a branch. I clutched on for dear life and swung my legs. As I pulled my feet to my chest, I saw the fence below me, but not that far below me. My knees nailed the fence as I tried to swing over. Rather then, swinging backwards and trying again, I panicked, letting go of the tree branch, flipping headfirst over the fence.
I did not know what I would fall on, nor did I care care.
Thud!
“Meow!”
That would be the neighbor’s cat.
“Hiss.” “Meow!”
“OWWW!”
A fat Garfield squeezed out beneath my legs, sinking his teeth into my already swollen ankle. I thrashed, leaves fluttering everywhere. Fatty McFatty sauntered off with a sly grin, I imagined. Rubbing my ankle, I almost wished I had accidentally killed the neighbor’s cat. I looked down at feline infected skin. Droplets of blood formed, outlining the bite. Sigh, strike two. I needed to be more careful. I rolled off the pile of leaves, brushed myself off and looked around. I hadn’t thought about what I would actually do once I’d gotten into the yard and even if I would try to somehow get into the house. I looked for inspiration, and what do you know, there it was like a halo in the sky—a light in one of the windows. Someone was there. I had to see who it was, maybe it was him. There had to be some way to make it up three stories…
After a few minutes of frantically searching for a way to scale the house and further questioning my sanity, my gusto began to wear off. I had checked to see if the garage was open. It wasn’t. I then tried to forcibly open it with a shovel I found in a snowy leaf pile but could not. I would have to try this again later. I spied in the basement window, which I may or may have not accidently broken during the process. I tried to pry open the bathroom window—and successfully did so—however when I tried to squeeze through, I couldn’t get much further than one thigh. I was stumped. I fantasized about a gust of wind gently sweeping me up in the air, caringly drying my hair, clothes, and redoing my makeup as it gently placed me inside the warm cozy house, though I knew the likelihood of this actually happening was rather slim.
I wish this fantasy had stayed a fantasy and my actions had ended there. Unfortunately this is not the case, as I later found myself sliding down the third story roof, hysterically ripping off shingles as I attempted to avoid plummeting to my impending doom. I had once been told that for every action there is a reaction and luckily this reaction was not my death but rather a gutter sailing through the air as I halted at the edge of the roof. Panic-stricken, I scooted on my behind towards the window. How could I put myself in this danger? Was it even worth it? Would I really sacrifice my life in an attempt get him back? Up until this point I had been absolutely sure that my actions—though misguided—were intended for the best. But after almost falling off a house—a freakin’ house for God’s sake—I felt little embarrassed. I began frantically looking for a way down. I shouldn’t have been there. I was so close to maybe seeing him, but all I could think of was getting far, far away and forgetting everything. My knees knocked together as my thighs trembled. I heard a faint tap behind me and burst into tears for the third time that day. I didn’t know if I would turn to see him or some creeped out family. I didn’t care, I didn’t want anyone to see me and so buried my head in my knees and pretended I was invisible.
“You know, I could call the police on you.”
I let out a nervous squeal and seriously contemplated just jumped off the roof right then and there. This couldn’t be happening.
Shuffle. Shuffle.
I felt the roof give a little bit and I paused, even more seriously contemplating launching myself into the air. I knew someone was behind me. I felt a towel and strong arms wrap around me. Though scared and internally panicking, I put up no resistance as mystery man dragged me back towards the window. I did not struggle as I let my limp body be pulled inside. God I hoped he wasn’t a serial killer. I did not stare into my capturer’s face the entire way he carried me down the stairs. I was sure I would be thrown out, arrested, or maybe institutionalized in a crazy house. We were moving towards the door, I was defeated. I stiffened my body, waiting for the questions, the accusations. I waited, clenching my teeth and holding my breath.
I was lowered onto something soft. Not something cold—not snow—something soft. Though slightly relieved, I still tightly held my lids together, afraid to open my eyes.
“So how did you get on the roof anyways? I must say that is quite an accomplishment”
I wasn’t being yelled at. He wasn’t asking me to repay the damages to the roof, window, and yard yet. Who was this guy? Should I tell him, or should I lie and say that I don’t know how I got there?
“I sawed off a vine in your woods from a saw I found in your garage. Then I looped it over one of your trees, climbed onto the first story, scaled your wooden vine wall thing to the roof.
There was quite a long pause.
“How did you get into my garage?”
Oh no, do I seriously have to answer this question? I nervously cleared my throat a few times and squeaked, “I pried open the door with a shovel.”
“A little strange, but I’d say that is quite the accomplishment.”
He laughed and so I followed suit with an awkward giggle. I dared a glance above my knees to see an attractive boy with soft brown curly hair, dark brown eyes, and kind a smile. Feeling a bit braver, I stuttered, “D-D-Do you live round here? I’ve n-never seen you before.”
“Lived here for ten years.”
I dipped my head back into my knees, my face flushing red. Damn it. I had never noticed him before. Given the years that I spent at the house next door, I felt ashamed at being so oblivious “I’m sorry, I just—“
“I understand. You were just distracted by that boy next door. I must say though, I think you could have found a better looker, at least when you’re not all bloodied, if your hair looked a little nicer, and maybe if you put on a little makeup. Jesus, what happened to your ankle? You might need to fix that and put some heels on too.” I registered a wink through the small slit in my knees. He stood up and moved towards a doorway leading into a side room.
The wink didn’t do much to put off my rising temper, though I truly probably did look quite ghoulish with my tangled hair, bloody face, swollen ankle, and torn pants. I covertly licked the palm of my hand and futilely tried to tame my wild hair.
“I don’t think that’s going to do very much.”
Damn it, he noticed. I lifted my head up and snapped, “I did not only notice him and my hair looks fine!” There was a pause and then he laughed, which only served to aggravate me even more. “I bet you didn’t even notice me—“
“What? Until you destroyed my house?”
I had nothing to say to left, but was left with my jaw hanging wide open.
“You look like a clown fish with that face”.
I just wanted to slap him now and in fact did try to do just that, but as I rolled off the couch and tried to stand, pain shot through my right leg and I stumbled. As I saw the coffee table nearing my face I groaned and closed my eyes, waiting for impact. Before I knew it, I was swiftly caught mid-fall and back on the couch before I could blink an eye.
“Not the wisest move”.
I accepted that I was doomed to be harassed by this boy all night for I realized that I was not about to be going anywhere anytime soon. I sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a rough day and I’m so sorry I destroyed your house. I was looking—“
“For the boy next door.”
“Yeah.”
“You can do better. You should be treated better. Growing up, I always thought you were a princess”.
I snorted, “yeah, princess of disaster”.
“That may be true.”
We both couldn’t help but smile at that. I looked up, wiped away a chunk of hair that obscuring my face.
He looked at me, eyes wide and grinning. “Maybe you don’t need that makeup after all. Would you like a cup of coffee? And maybe a comb too?”
I laughed, our eyes locking as he turned away.
“Yes, yes I would.”
