CapriciousA Story by Lola MThe two friends are changing for their Cirque du Soleil trip, when they hear an explosion coming from inside the house. This story is narrated by Muni, and tells us more about her quirky family.The loud crash came about two hours into my doll-up session with Sylvie, and it almost made my heart stop. After exchanging worried glances with my bespectacled best friend, we rushed out of my room and down the stairs, just in time to witness my mother emerging from her foggy underground lair. Her short salt-and-pepper hair was dirty and disheveled, strands of it sticking to the sides of her face. Her white coat wasn’t as pristine as it had been two days ago, when I’d last seen her in it, and her pants were ripped and stained. Beside me, Sylvia muttered a Hungarian curse her grandma had taught us, which made Mum finally take note of our gaping faces. “Muriel, Sylvia,” she rasped out conversationally, then cleared her throat. “Have you made your dress choice for tonight’s show?” She started to have a coughing fit. I worked through the hackles that started rising at the sound of my name and went over to help her clean up. “Um, Mrs O’Neil,” Sylvie started. “Capri, darling,” mum corrected. She loved using her name. Probably because she wasn’t named after her late ancestor. “Capri... You’re smoking,” Sylvia said, and hurriedly helped me pat the fire out. “That’s what your father says,” she giggled at me, puffing up her hair. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he was, would you?” Before I could disappoint her, my elder brother made an appearance to enlighten her. Mum named him Rudolph after some famous chef that she was into way back when she was pregnant. And because he was perpetually flushed. For obvious reasons, he prefers being called Rudi. How both of our parents managed to so thoroughly fail in the name-giving department is beyond me. “Dad’s been on a business trip for three days; said he’s be back later today,” he said. “Purple,” he added to me, and I realized I was still grasping the dresses I’d pulled from my closet: one in black, one in purple and a yellow one. He promptly disappeared in search of food. God, he was always eating, that one. “Like you’re one to talk,” Sylvie mused, alarming me to the fact I’d accidentally broadcast my thoughts. “Oh,” Mum said somberly, and it made me want to comfort her. “Okay, then, I’ll just tell him when he returns... See girls, I finally figured out what I was missing! God, and I couldn’t believe how long I’ve struggled with this, when I should’ve only checked the basics. If I make the dish with olive oil instead the regular one, it really has a shot in this year’s competition,” she ended the tirade on an enthusiastic note, so I figured she was fine. “The same dish that just blew up,” Rudi quipped from the kitchen, and I choked down a giggle, seeing the humour of the situation now that the fire was out. Literally. Phew. “It did not blow up,” mum huffed haughtily, straightening her back. “I just checked the cake in the oven and forgot to lower the stove temperature.” She started to turn then zeroed in on the dress choices in my right hand. “Definitely the purple one, darling,” she said with a smile. “I think I have a matching shawl here somewhere...” she went up the stairs, mumbling to herself. I shrugged. Scenes like these weren’t exactly uncommon in my house. I held up the dresses and looked at Sylvia hopefully, thinking of the Cirque. “Oh,” she said, staring at them meticulously. “Yeah, go with the purple.” And so I went.
© 2013 Lola MAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on March 9, 2013 Last Updated on March 9, 2013 Tags: best friends, high school, cirque du soleil, unpredictable, parents, scientist, teen, friendship, whimsical AuthorLola MSerbiaAboutOkay, so I'm from Serbia (not as bad as it sounds). I'm a forth year of the Fine Arts department of a Design High School. I'll hopefully be studying to become an Anthropologist by this time next ye.. more..Writing
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