Chapter Five- Rhiannon (Part Three)A Chapter by Rachel Hanne This chapter is kinda sorta filler, I might add more to it. All of what you are going to read is based off of true events that have occurred in my life and someone else's (anonymous). Rhiannon
A familiar liquid filled my eyes, blurring my
vision. I walked at a fast pace, and my
legs proved to me how out of shape I was as they tightened in anguish from my
thighs to my calves. People passed me and I glanced away in the direction
opposite of their gaze. I kicked small pebbles in my path, with a small smile
accompanied by a curt nod in acknowledgement. No one saw me cry. I was any other person. I was a stranger to
them, just as they were strangers to me. I was insignificant-only a quick image
of their day. No one cared, or bothered to question my distress. I thought at
least one to a few of them had to see. Someone had to notice I was upset. In
reality people don't care about anyone's problems but their own, I thought. Why
bother with it? Everyone judges everyone else on how they react to their
current situation. They are either always overemotional, or not emotional
enough to their troubles . They think automatically, that the person they are
judging is always a certain way. People are too busy doing that sort of
thing, instead of helping. Don't they know that someone else is most likely
judging them too? Talking about what their flaws are, and picking out their
good points and bad? I never did that. I couldn't understand why anybody else
would. Or maybe no one means anything when they talk about others in such a
way. Maybe their just talking to talk. I continued kicking the small rocks on the sidewalk
before me in a rather careless manner. They unevenly rolled into the cracks
bouncing this way and that, stopping abruptly where the sidewalk faulted. They
wouldn't move until someone else kicked them. I always liked doing those sorts
of small things. If I returned a week later, the small rock would be right
where I left it. Nothing would make it change unless it was defiled by a force.
Before me was a crossing between a remote street, and an old parking lot behind
a white brick building that read on the side, 'Cantrell & Sons', an old car
mechanic shop. The font's paint was fading due to the weathering, and it
reflected to me, the past. Nothing really made it change. The font was still
the same as it was thirty years prior. It was probably a brighter blue color,
with no shrubs overgrowing next to the building, but nothing of it turned out
to be dramatically different. I stood there silently, hair blowing across my
now expressionless face, listening to my mind as it whispered questions. I
wonder what people think, when they pass this old place. Maybe someone had
their first kiss there, or perhaps their first job. Do they remember the now
vacant lots around it, full of business when this area was in its heyday? Do
they remember passing it everyday to work, seeing the damaged cars go inside in
the morning, and outside and ready when they returned home? Do people get
sudden reminders in no relation to what is before them? The blue font had
reminded me of Bobby's eyes. They were always so energetic, and excited. Now
I'd never see his eyes again. I could remember them, but I could never see them. Sooner or later
the memory of them would fade. Just like the paint. Much to my surprise, and an interruption to my
thoughts, a skinny, almost twig shaped
man was sitting below the blue font in the trunk of his Pontiac El Camino. The
weight of the trash and clutter along with all the clothes he had, shifted the back of the car downwards, to
about the middle portion of the tire. He was eating a bag of chips, bending
downward, giving some to the birds that were begging with their loud voices. I
saw a cluster of clothes and food through the passenger window of the car. I
recalled several times when I was little, we walked down the old street, and
we'd sometimes see the overflowing car in the same parking lot. "Mommy!" I'd shout, "Look at that! See
that car? It's so messy. Why would someone put that much in their car
mommy?" She'd cover my mouth and walk me along to wherever we were going,
with a firm scolding afterwards about what to say out loud, and what not to
say. Since then I had learned more of the strenuous life of being so poor. Especially
when I had met Claire, who slept on an unstable bed crammed into the walk-in closet
of her mom and dad's room, and living off of food stamps. Some people I knew at
school didn't even know what food stamps were. Claire always broke out in one
of her rants when people couldn't understand, and were ignorant to the
conditions in living such disarray. I jumped when the
homeless man looked up towards me. My mom had a friend that tried helping a
homeless man find a job, and when her friend drove him around to look at hiring
businesses, he almost killed her. He took her money, and ran. Ever since I had
heard of that story, I had been extremely apprehensive to the homeless, but
nonetheless felt resonating pangs of guilt, even days after
ignoring their pleas. The skinny man waved to me. I felt my blood race, but I
saw no harm in this man from his kind greeting.
I can't judge him, I thought. Who
wants to be a hypocrite? I rummaged through my purse, searching for my wallet
that contained ten dollars. Doing this as I walked, my fear began to fade away.
The man smiled at me. "Good afternoon...do you need something?" He
asked with a raised eye brow of befuddle. I didn't say anything in response. I
felt the paper of the money, and held it out for him to take from me. I felt my
anxiety slowly returning to me, shaking my outstretched arm. "Is...is that for me?" I nodded to him quickly,
sticking it into his palm. Words escaped my mouth. "Get something to eat with that. It's for you.
Living off of chips is bad for you." I saw tears start to form in his
eyes, and he tried blinking them away. "I...I don't know what to say... Thank you." He
looked left and right, and started to dig into his pile of miscellany.
"Wait..." He paused. "Do you like trains at all kid?"
Unsure of what to say, and obliged to answer, I stood quiet for a second. "Yes...sure.
Trains are neat." "Then I have a something for you." The man got out of his
cluttered truck, and went into his car that had a similar scenario of
appearance. I saw him toss things out of
the car, and it shook as he dug through all the litter and clothing. He came
out of the car, holding a small child's toy. It was a train noise maker. I
wanted to laugh, but I kept it in, containing my composure. He handed it to
me. Tears were running down his cheeks,
stumbling in his middle age wrinkles and scratchy beard, and fell onto his tattered
brown shirt; shading it to black where the they landed. "There ya go. That's something you can annoy your
parents with." "I think I do that enough, but more wouldn't
hurt." He laughed. "Don't be too mean to them! They've raised a fine
young lady. I wish my kids were like you. They're all living it up in "Well...You are going to get some for
yourself...Right?" "Yes of course I am. But these guys are hungry too.
They don't have a home. They always hang around me, and they never leave. I
just can't let them starve." "Oh." I looked at my feet again, shaking my leg
back and forth. "Well, before I go, what's your name sir?" "Me? My name is Barry. How about you?" "I'm Rhiannon." "Rhiannon, huh? Like that new song by Fleetwood Mac
or something! What a nice name." "Yes, and thank you." "Oh, you're a shy one. I won't keep you. Go along to
whatever you were doing. You made my week you know. Heck, maybe even my
month!" "I'm glad to hear that." I smiled. It felt good
to smile. "I will see you around I guess. Nice meeting you." I waved
as I began walking back to the side walk. "God bless!" He shouted back with a wave, tears
still streaming down his face. I stuffed the new item he dispensed to me into
my bag, and readjusted the strap to hang more comfortably on my shoulder. I
wanted to give my acquaintance more, and I had the urge to go get some of our
food and bring it back to him. Barry was so skinny. He was tall too. I bet he
even weighed about as much as me. I decided I wouldn't tell my mom about him.
She would be so scared and mad at me. She'd scold me like I was five years old
again. I couldn't understand why Barry's
own children could leave him, and let him live a life like that. There is no
reason why he has to live that way, I thought. I would be so thankful to have
such a nice dad as him, if I were his kids. I'd let him have half of my money.
I envied his children. I assumed they were at least young adults, but they
deserved the title of "children". On a New Year's Eve when I was four years old, and when
Bobby was nine, my mom and dad dragged
us along to a New Years party at a friends house. They stayed in the living room
with all their friends, and Bobby and me sat at the avocado green kitchen table
by ourselves drawing multiple pictures for mom and dad. Laughs and voices bounced off the walls and into
our ears. I eavesdropped on their conversations, but I wasn't always sure of
what they were talking about. Nonetheless, I was content. I had my own
comfortable silence of the room, with my big brother and background noise. I
was scared someone was going to come in and check on us. I was afraid I'd get
scolded for an unknown reason by our dad. I did not want to be disturbed. The
Mickey Mouse clock on the wall hit '"Happy New Year!" 'People shouted, drunk and
obnoxious. I predicted that my parents were going to come in and tell both of
us it was time to leave. I dropped my crayons, and pretended to be asleep. I
recognized my moms soft footsteps coming towards me, and I was glad it was her.
She lifted me up over her shoulder, and grabbed the car keys that were sitting
on the sink. I heard dad's heavy walk enter the kitchen. '"Wait, we're not leaving are we?"' "Yes, we are." "What is wrong with you? It's a party. We're
supposed to stay late." '"Yeah well you always overstay your welcome. It's
so rude. Rhiannon needs sleep, I still regret bringing her."' '"What the hell is going with you Christine?"
His voice was raising, and his speech was becoming sloppy. '"You never
want to go to parties or do anything we used to do. You used to be fun to hang around,
and now you're like an old maid.'" '"Well, hate to break it to you, but I grew up. And apparently, you still seem to
be having trouble with that. It's time you do your part as a parent and think
about your kid instead of your stupid parties."' '"You can't tell me what to do! Take care of her by
yourself for all I care."' '"We'll talk about this in the car. '" Mom's
voice spoke disappointment, and extreme hurt. I felt the up and down movement
as my mom descended down a flight of stairs. My dad's anger was radiating off
towards her, as he followed closely behind, and I heard Bobby scrambling to
catch up. The cold wind instantly made
my cheeks rosy, and my entire body cold. I didn't get a winter coat yet. We
didn't even really have a Christmas. Mom set me in the back seat of the car,
and turned on the heater for me. Bobby came in and sat next to me, and I felt
the weight of a quilted blanket covering my body to make me warm. Mom slammed
the door shut. I could hear the muffled shouts of my parents through the
fogging glass, and I peeked to see my dad's threatening motions and comments he
was throwing at her. '"Don't look outside."' Bobby whispered. Mom
demanded that we'd go to the store to get a winter coat for me. Dad continued
shouting, but finally gave in. I felt the closing of car doors, and the car
start up. I felt the motion of driving for about ten minutes, and we came to a
long halt. I opened my eyes slightly to see the bright Wal-Mart sign, and my
mom running in. Dad grunted, cursing to himself, and talking about what a
burden we were to him. I hoped he didn't mean it. He always called me his best
friend. I thought that was what I was to him. I felt the car start, and I felt
it move backwards. '"Dad, what are you doing?"' Bobby asked,
frightened. '"Shut up. I'm going to freak your mom out a
bit."' Bobby slouched down next to me, and whispered again, '"Don't look no matter what."' After about ten
or so more minutes, I felt the car lurch forward at a fast speed. I heard a
high shrill scream, that I recognized was my mommy's. The car stopped fast, and
I nearly fell onto the floor of the car. The passenger door opened again, and
my dad was laughing. '"You should have seen your face."' '"You a*****e! Oh my God you're freaking
insane!" Mom screamed at him, cursing and shrieking at the top of her
lungs. She got in, closing the door, and she gently tossed my brand new coat
back to Bobby. The whole way home they were yelling and screaming at each
other. My dad won the award for
the most apathetic. He was gone from our lives three days after that. I never
wanted to see him again. I was happy with the bracelet he gave me. I wanted to
remember him for what I thought he was, instead of what he really was. © 2012 Rachel HanneAuthor's Note
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Rachel HanneSomewhere in, MOAboutI obviously enjoy writing, and I am a band geek. That should tell you enough :) more..Writing
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