So far so good... I thought as I soundlessly tiptoed into the foyer. Anya's shoes were in my hand preventing me from making more noise than was necessary. Suddenly, I felt the tingling urge to sneeze. And it felt like a loud doozy of a sneeze too. Uh-oh. Ahhh, ahhhhhh, *breathe* *sniff* *sigh* Phew. I kept it in and continued my tiny steps.
"Natalie? Is that you?" called a squeaky female voice.
Busted. "Yes, Mum, it's me."
"Oh good, would you mind helping me with the dishes?"
Dishes? At... I glanced around for a clock, 10:18? What was with this woman? Two days ago she would have chopped off my legs for returning home at this hour, and now she was pleasantly recruiting my aid in doing chores. Maybe this non-symbiotic relationship was for the better. Discarding the sandals in the hall, I circumspectly made my way to the kitchen sink where my nearly jovial mother handed me a rag and scooted over so I could have the space to be drying things. No words exchanged beyond that point and no level of respect or disrespect was reached. Just two empty souls side by side, generations apart, nothing in common besides blood. When family ties are broken, so are every bond that has ever been made.
And the dangling conversation, and the superficial sighs...
But the mother and child reunion is only a motion away...
---***---
August 14th, 1960. A run of the mill, garden variety type of morning. After almost being able to open my eyes, I kicked and rolled my way out of the mass of sheets, groomed and choked down brekkie. Dressing acierta errando, I paid no mind to what I was wearing. Well, perhaps not literally, but I was doing things in a blind whirlwind all the same. Leaving the facial scar alone for once was a challenge, but I did. With favorable chance on my side, it was starting to heal, but I knew that I would continue to be imbued black and blue for much longer.
While working on one of my more recent paintings, I received a phone call from Ariyan. She and her family were back from Ireland with a "million things to tell me." I withstood the earbashing that she delivered and attempted to sound wildly fascinated, although I was not. In order to shoo her off the line faster, I swore that I would come to her party the following weekend. What did I have to lose sacrificing it? George would be gone, although I did shudder to think of that, and Mum gave me free rein, so I saw no downside of it. Subsequently following the end of our frivolous tripotage, I eased back into artist mode. What was already squiggled and spattered onto the canvas was a bit of organic art, if you will. Evolutionary, almost. I wasn't one to think or illustrate "outside the box" but today I just felt original, bouncy, and tingly. Strange way to feel, but a gear way to paint. I lost myself in my art; slid down the curves, walked under the arches, drowned in the whirlpools and got a mental high off the colors. Even after frivoling two hours on my work, I wasn't satisfied. My mind wanted more vivacious intellectual time to bond with myself and let the dust in my emotions settle. However, I was torn from my project out of my own accord. Although the fine arts were sine qua non, so was my college education. For the rest of the morning, and the majority of the afternoon, I researched and passed time at the Institute's library. Mostly, I was trying to decide whether to skip first semester or not and if I could even do that. While sifting through the mountain of pamphlets and school records, I was interrupted by a pretty girl who must have been a year or two older than me. Somehow, I could almost recognize her even though my sense of reason was telling me otherwise. When she approached me, I must have looked like something of a bookworm with all of my materials spread everywhere like that. Wonderful first impression that makes.
"Don't I remember you from something?" was her opening line. In the act of turning a page, I glanced up at her and ran a hand through my hair.
"I wouldn't know with my memory, but I seem to be feeling the same about you."
"Well, if it helps any, I'm Gillian Hunt."
Gillian, hmm, yes, now I could place her. One of the girls at John and Stu's. Oh boy.
"I remember now; you were at the guys' flat that one afternoon. I'm Natalie Riley."
"Little George's girlfriend, right?"
Licking my dry lips slightly, I nodded and wished that I had lip balm.
"I know a lot of girls that are absolutely mad on him. Lucky girl, luv. He's pretty attractive for his age."
For his age? What was that supposed to mean? It's not like he was a little boy, was it?
"I'm certainly glad to have him," I replied stupidly, being at a loss for words. For some reason, I wasn't comfortable talking to this girl.
"I would be too. Young flesh and blood is always the best to play around with." Then she laughed.
Whoa, play around with? Something is very, very wrong with this lady. I tried to smile somewhat, but probably ended up looking more frightened than anything else. Quickly and nervously, I began gathering my belongings and notes and attempted to make it appear that I needed to leave. Thank God, she realized it and said a fast goodbye before making her exit. Now I had to be worried for George's safety from these demon women. Oh my, it was all entailed with the trials and tribulations of being a girlfriend.
Wasting no time in coming home after my work was finished, I walked back with the cheerful sun just beginning to duck under the horizon line. Even the evening star, Mercury, was visible to the west, so I knew that my day was coming to a close. Upon slipping through the ingress of my house once again, I was greeted by Dad in the dining room and casually informed that George was waiting for me somewhere. Ah, here it comes, I calmly thought to myself. Now was the time for him to try to ameliorate what he had done, not knowing that I truly would love him no matter what he did. But special treatment was always positive, most definitely when you have an excuse to demand it. Stumbling upon him on the way to my room, I had to contain the grin that was trying to escape me. Being unhappy is not possible when you are around George.
"Hi, Ella," he greeted very timidly.
"Why hello, George. What are you doing here?"
"I came to warn you that I am coming to kidnap you tomorrow morning at 9."
"Maybe it's just me, but I don't think it's customary for you to tell your victim that beforehand."
"Fuck customary. I wanted you to know."
"Hmm, sure then. I was talking to someone about you at the library. That Gillian girl."
"Plotting against me?"
"Not quite. She was telling me, um, what an angel you are. Actually, that's not the terminology she used. Something like, 'young flesh and blood is always more fun to play around with.'"
"Oh. (gulp) Really?" George looked deeply disturbed. I wouldn't blame him.
"Yeah, it sounded like she was quite keen on you," I teased.
"Oh God, no," he said, sticking his tongue out and pretending to gag. It evoked a true giggle from me. "I'm sorry, Ella, but I have to go now. Too much to be done tonight."
Without questioning what, since that would make it sound like I didn't trust him, I accepted what he said with a nod. "All right then, I'll be waiting for you tomorrow morning, luv."
George pulled me closer by my hands and clinically kissed me on the unharmed cheek, then went to the other and repeated the act, only this time his tongue flicked out at my skin. I nearly gasped as the warm sensation hit me, but he pretended like he hadn't done anything and pulled away.
"I'll see you tomorrow, angel."
Much like I had the other night, George led himself away and left me alone. It was my turn to feel like the dominated one. In a daze, I gave an exiguous wave farewell and then blinked and shook my head. Wow. Is it healthy to be so infatuated with someone?
Sleep. Ha. Who wants sleep when you know you're going out the whole next day? With your boyfriend. For possibly the last time in four months. Instead of doing the reasonable and at least trying to achieve some form of rest, I sat in bed all night continually listening to the A-side of a Tchaikovsky record. Unfortunately, that meant I had to hop up every so often to move the needle. Nevertheless, it kept me awake, while I read countless books. During my trip to the library, I realized that I had developed an interest in biochemistry, evolution, and some of the law practice journals as well. To harbor that interest, I checked out several of them figuring that I might want something to study while George was away. My final decision on the school issue was to wait. I could skip several semesters and still attend Bristol.
There went not wanting to sleep. At eight-fifty, I shifted position and a heavy medical book crashed to the ground, which startled me. Stretching and wearily rubbing my eyes, I glanced to my alarm clock.
"Shit!" I whispered harshly to myself, throwing covers off. Jumping to my dresser, I coached myself through the steps of getting ready. "Dress... dress..." The sounds of clothes being violently pushed around. "No, wait, first wash! Gah..." So I hurried to the sink in the loo and cleaned my face and hands. Jumping back into my bedroom and whipping the door shut, I wrecklessly pulled off my nightgown and without putting clean anything on, stepped into a short, leg-flashing halter dress. Arranging my body ingratiatorily in the garment was difficult. However, once I felt that I appeared somewhat piquant, I fossicked for a ribbon and strangled a bit of my hair in it using a brush. 8:57. "Shoes..." It'd have to be sandals because nothing else seemed appropriate. Dressed, somewhat groomed and awake, there came the knock I'd been waiting for. Hurricane Ella made her way to the front hall and greeted George on the outside.
"What've you been doing all morning? Y'look tired," George noted, putting a hand to my forehead and giving me the once over.
"Getting ready for you. I woke late."
"Hmm. All right. Shall we leave?" he inquired, offering a hand.
"Where are we going, anyhow?" I realized I'd never even bothered to ask.
"Dunno. That's up to you. You've probably already seen all there is to see in this two-bit town," George mused, poking me lightly in the ribs.
"Wanna go to the docks?"
"And stink like fish and ocean grime?"
"You get used to it."
"Maybe you do, you lower-class scruff, but this is Princess Ella you're speaking to, young man," I scoffed in jest.
"Come off it, Ella. Around here, if you don't wanna smell like fish, you bathe in the harbor. Naked." George yanked me forward, and I just laughed and followed.
The air was a jot muggier than I would have enjoyed. George's Vaseline-assisted coiffure sagged and fell apart and my own ribbon-bound hair gained its own natural volume from the humidity. It was Monday, a busy day in the Liverpool port. There were mysterious, fog-shrouded sea vessels and mountains of industrial rubble. I was quite right about the smell, though. Rubber, smoke, salt and dead animal flesh mingled with the sounds of birds, horns and mild waves lashing the shore. Masculine voices, which immediately called to mind rugged, sun-worn sea farers, boomed over all other noises. Because of the veil of mist, one could not make out their sources. Who knows if we were visible to them. Our lengthy stroll traversed most all of the waterfront until we'd reached a dilapidated end of the wharf. I skipped slightly ahead of George and walked toward what appeared to be a quay in a former life. Now it was decrepit and deteriorated.
"Uh, Ella, be careful," George cautioned, putting a hand up in warning reflex.
Disregardfully, I put one foot forward onto the boards of the quay and stepped, which was countered by another admonishment by George.
"Natalie, what the fuck are you doing?"
"George, no wonder you never got a job as a sailor's apprentice. These things are reinforced all to hell." I ambled further onto the platform so that I was a ways from the shore. Hiking my dress up slightly, I knelt and dangled my hand into the murky waters.
George carefully followed behind me. Squatting at my side, he looked into the impenetrable brine. "That's what you think. Until you fall in," he remarked ominously.
And with that, he pushed me into the algid depths, having no idea whether or not I could swim. I'm sure I made quite a literal splash with the ungainly way I entered the water. Reaching the surface again was a struggle, due to a combination of the temperature, weight of my soggy dress, and disgusting, turbid seawater. Lucky for George, I was a proficient swimmer. Only barely surfacing for air, I tread water and realized that I was under the quay. Meaning there was room for me to stay here above the surface and give George a scare. Both of my no longer foot-restrained sandals floated to the top of the water, which really set the poor boy off. I heard him collapse to the boards in a trice, desperately searching the illusive waters while positively screaming my name. Pushing the water-plastered hair away from my face and ears, I watched and listened as George removed the sandals from the water and cursed to himself.
"Fuck, Ella, if I had bloody known you were gonna bloody drown..."
With a dive to beat the devil, George joined me in the water. I ducked back under, equally as quickly and raced as far down as I could go without losing all breath. Not a second after I'd made my repositioning, I was being scooped up and brought up to surface again. On the way there, I made an executive decision to keep the little act up a bit longer. George carried a limp and seemingly unconscious me to the bank where I was laid flat and straddled. I had to keep from smirking when he took up my arm and checked for signs of life. I suppose he felt a pulse because the next thing I knew, I was being gathered into his arms and pulled into his lap. Now this was comfortable as well as compromosing. Moaning his name softly, I meekly lifted my hand and reached for him.
"George, god, what happened?" Hearing me speak, very much alive and whiny, must have been a gift from the heavens for George at this point. He firmly grasped the hand I'd raised and spoke in a faltering but relieved voice.
"I'm sorry, Ella, I really am, forgive me, please?"
"What?"
"I almost drowned you. I'm sorry, I really am, forgive me, please?"
Continuing to feign weakness, I sat up. "Calm down, George. I'm sure I forgive you. But drown me?"
"I pushed you in."
"Prick," I muttered, having quite a lark.
"I won't do it again, I promise." Sad. The poor dear actually sounded repentful.
"So much for the docks, then. I'm sopping wet."
"Yeah. So'm I, y'know." Oh yeah. I'd never given him credit for his chivalrous rescue. He continued, though. "We should probably get changed. There's a lot of shit going on tonight."
There went all the cheer from my little game. I remembered that George was leaving the following day. Damn.
"What kind of shit?"
"I told you I was kidnapping you. What kind of kidnapper would I be if I didn't have plans for us? Come on, we really ought to get moving. I promised Paulie we'd be down at Stu's flat before noon and twenty." George gently pushed me off of him and stood up, brushing himself off. I didn't yet stand with him.
"Wha's wrong, Ella?" I was offered a hand.
Shooing it away, I sighed and explained my concern. How I didn't want him to leave after we'd just started our relationship, how worried I was over these apparent German blondes Anya was so hysterical over, how I was anxious to know how we would communicate, if at all, and foremost, how I was having serious misgivings about the actual safety of a drunken German town. By the time I'd finished, George must have nodded 28 times, said "I see" enough times to rival a psychiatrist, and thrown enough rocks to clear the entire space around us. Also at the end of my distraught monologue, I'd also slowly eased into a rhythmic snivel.
"So you're worried," he condensed anticlimactically.
"I'd say so."
"I can tell you this, luv. No German girls for me. I don't speak their language, y'know. I promise I'll try to write or something, I really do. I dunno that anyone is going to want to beat up a little guy like me. I don't know that it would give them much pride." After a short break, he carried on. "Was that it?"
"You forgot the part about leaving me so soon."
Bowing his head sheepishly, he assured me that it wouldn't be a problem. "Are we ready to go now, Ella? I told you we have a lot to do, luv."
"I suppose I am," I sighed, hopping up from the dirty ground. "But we'd both best change... Right?"
"That's why I wanted to get moving."
