spirit 2007-3-17 16:00
[story] Rescue
**I started this story a long time ago... I fancied the story behind the two poems, When I was One-and-Twenty as well as A Red, Red Rose. I quitted the story pretty soon because I simply didn't know what to go on. But then tonight I just continued the story with a different ending from my original plan. Well, I know I've been writing stuffs about pregnancy these days... Doesn't mean anything though, haha. <br/>- spirit<br/><br/><br/><br/>PART 1<br/>When I was one-and-twenty<br/>I heard a wise man say,<br/>“Give crowns and pounds and guineas<br/>But not your heart away;<br/>Give pearls away and rubies<br/>But keep your fancy free.”<br/>But I was one-and-twenty,<br/>No use to talk to me.<br/><br/>When I was one-and-twenty<br/>I heard him say again,<br/>“The heart out of the bosom<br/>Was never given in vain;<br/>’Tis paid with sighs a plenty<br/>And sold for endless rue.”<br/>And I am two-and-twenty,<br/>And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.<br/><br/>This poem, When I was One-and-Twenty, was written by A.E. Housman in 1896. Yet I seriously don’t think you have to wait until twenty-two to understand such things. I am twenty-one and I could already have sighed, “And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.” Actually, I already understood it when I was seventeen.<br/><br/>At the age of sixteen I thought I had met my prince charming. The next year, I had a baby.<br/><br/>My family had always been an unhappy family. There were six children and I was the eldest. At any time my home would be like a battlefield: the children were fighting, my parents never stopped quarreling.<br/><br/>Until now, I still couldn’t understand why my parents have to stay with each other if they are so unhappy together. And why do they have so many kids if they want to kill each other? Do they think the noise volume could be lowered if they have more people in the family?<br/><br/>PART 2<br/>My family was a mess, but I did not mess up my school life. I always kept my uniform as white as sheet. If I couldn’t control my family, then at least I could control my uniform. My classmates always thought I had the most caring mother in the world who would wash and iron the uniform for me every day, but only I myself knew that I had to wake up at three in the morning to bleach my uniform because at that time everyone would be too tired from fighting and would be all sleeping. <br/><br/>I was a junior in high school when I met him. Just like every puppy love, our story was extremely simple and boring. He was an exchange student from Sweden. I was the class representative. I was attracted to his blond hair and blue eyes, and was fascinated by his stories about different parts of the world. He had traveled a lot. I felt like I could only leave my family and open my eyes in his stories.<br/><br/>Two semesters had passed and he went back to Sweden. I was – no, we were – left alone by the father.<br/><br/>I decided to keep the baby simply because it was our baby. Obviously I still dreamed that one day he would come back and we would have a very happy family ever after. He used to read me the poem A Red, Red Rose:<br/><br/>O My Luve’s like a red, red rose,<br/>That’s newly sprung in June;<br/>O My Luve’s like a melodie<br/>That’s sweetly played in tune.<br/><br/>As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,<br/>So deep in luve am I;<br/>And I will luve thee still, my dear,<br/>Til a’ the seas gang dry.<br/><br/>Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,<br/>And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;<br/>O I will love thee still, my dear,<br/>While the sands o’ life shall run.<br/><br/>And fare thee weel, my only luve,<br/>And fare thee weel awhile!<br/>And I will come again, my luve,<br/>Though it were ten thousand mile.<br/><br/>Oh, how beautifully he used to read! And shouldn’t I trust him? (For God’s sake, I was only sixteen years old!) <br/><br/>PART 3<br/>So I decided that before he came back, I would listen to him and take care of myself (and our baby) well. I didn’t think my family would need any more babies, thus one night I just packed a few clothes and left. I never return.<br/><br/>It was hard to find a place on your own when you were just sixteen, and pregnant. I stayed at my friend’s home for that night. My friend and her family just thought that I had had a fight with my parents. I didn’t say anything. Why should I let my own problem be others’ problem as well? <br/><br/>The next day was the end of the semester. My parents did not come to my school to find me. I guessed they had not even noticed that I was not at home. It was a wise choice to leave.<br/><br/>I found a waitress job in a French restaurant. The five-star restaurant just opened not long ago and they were short of labor. The manager was very glad to get a “pretty, young lady who wanted to earn some pocket money for the summer vacation”. I also found a cashier job in a supermarket. So in the daytime I worked in the supermarket as a cashier while at night I worked in a French restaurant as a waitress. <br/><br/>I knew I had to save a lot of money for our future life. And very soon I would need this sum of money when I could no longer work. <br/><br/>With a little deposit, I moved into a small room in an old building on a busy street. The room was so small that I couldn’t turn around without hitting the table or the bed. But the rent was cheap. And the location was very convenient. <br/><br/>I wrote endless letters to him in Sweden. Sometimes after I finished writing and put down my pen, I would look out of the window and imagined that I was the poor princess who was locked up in a tower by an evil witch. I knew my knight would ride a white horse and come and rescue me someday.<br/><br/>PART 4<br/>But he didn’t. <br/><br/>I never received any letter from him, not even a written word. Well, actually, I did receive some letters from him. When I was lying on bed after giving birth to our, or rather, my child, I received a pack of returned mails from him. On all the envelopes which I had written his address neatly, there was the red print “RETURN”. Cruelly yet clearly, he had shown me that I was on my own from now on. <br/><br/>I didn’t cry. There was no time for me to cry. I was busy changing my baby’s diaper, feeding her, comforting her… I was busy earning more money for both of us. My little baby seemed to pity me a lot, as she cried all the time. I always had to comfort her for the entire night before she finally fell asleep in my arms. Sometimes, I still wondered if there was any princess who was locked up in a tower by an evil witch, and she had her baby with her. <br/><br/>This night, I was serving a table of photographers. One of them, who looked tall and rigid, gave me his card when I was handing out the dessert menu. <br/><br/>“You might not be surprised to hear this because many people may have said it to you already – but you do have a camera face.” He said. <br/><br/>I smiled tiredly, and said shyly, “Thank you very much, sir.”<br/><br/>The photographer did not bother me again. He and his companions left the restaurant at around nine o’ clock. And soon I forgot about the issue and was busy with another table. <br/><br/>I left work at around midnight. Surprisingly, the photographer was waiting for me outside the restaurant. <br/><br/>“I don’t mean any harm,” he said in an apologetic tone, “I sincerely apologize if I’ve frightened you.” <br/><br/>“No, sir, you haven’t frightened me. But I’m just wondering what I could do for you.”<br/><br/>“Could you recognize this person?” he handed me a photo.<br/><br/>PART 5<br/>The photo was a portrait of a young girl. She looked very much like…<br/><br/>The photographer watched my changed expression. He spoke, “Like you?”<br/><br/>“Yes, the girl in the portrait does look very much like me. But I wonder why…”<br/><br/>“Because she is indeed you. Do you remember the poem A Red, Red Rose?” <br/><br/>I was shocked. How could anyone know about the poem unless… But I withdrew this thought immediately – he sent me back all my mails! <br/><br/>He whispered a name in my ear. <br/><br/>Oh no, it was impossible. It couldn’t be happening. How could it be possibly true?<br/><br/>“My lady,” the photographer addressed me, “His lordship was very sorry that he let you and little lady suffer for all this time, but that he will try to make it up to you two.”<br/><br/>I was too shocked to say anything. It couldn’t be possible that he was indeed a knight who came and rescued me from the tower! But it seemed so real, so real that I couldn’t doubt… <br/><br/>Finally I said, “What… what about the letters?”<br/><br/>The photographer seemed to understand what I meant immediately. He replied, “It was his lordship’s mother, Lady Vaugenttain.” Such a simple sentence. Such a simple answer. But it seemed to answer every question in my mind. Of course! There was the evil witch (in this case though, it was Lady Vaugenttain) who tried to do all the bad things! <br/><br/>Before I could say anything, I heard a baby’s crying. Oh my little darling… And then, I found that I was actually in my own small room, my baby crying loudly next to me. <br/><br/>I smiled to myself: perhaps I was still the princess who was locked up in a tower by an evil witch, waiting for her knight to rescue her. Maybe my knight would come tonight, who knows? Maybe my knight had already rescued me, who really knows?<br/><br/>
spirit 2007-3-20 09:48
My god -- I'm NOT writing daily stories!!!! <br/>[em04][em04]<br/>
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Just that I had two stories written almost at the same time... :) But thanks for your support! Kee.
