Teej

Kalakali

Kalakali

New member
I tried posting this a couple of weeks ago...actually it was back in June. Not many people read it, and I don't blame them! It wasn't a very good story at the time; it was a year or something old, so it was outdated. I've redone it, so it's better now. Lost Dreamer (I keep wanting to call her Adelyna) has read this first bit and thinks it's worth posting again. So, here we go again. ;) Hope you like it!

There’s just something about a swing that makes you fly.
The harder you pump, the higher you go, and if you close your eyes, you can be as high as you like. And when you’re up in the clouds and look down, your problems can seem like a speck of sand far, far below you.
I was flying.
Higher, higher. I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was not on a swing in a park anymore. Not held down to earth by two chains and a piece of rubber. Not bogged down with what lay heavily on my mind today.
Which was Tabitha.
Because today, in a short while, we would become a foster family; Mom, Dad, Blake and I. Her name, the girl we would be inviting into our home, was Tabitha Joanne Smith. She was 15, a year older than I, and her mother was a druggie in another treatment facility, leaving nowhere for Tabitha to go. Apparently she was a love child- her dad could be any of 100 or more guys out in the world. But I wasn’t thinking about this right now. I didn’t want to think about it. Because I was in the clouds, soaring, and my face tilted up. Always facing up.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I pried my eyes open; the sun was blinding. There were the trees, my hands clutching the two heavy chains, the ground. My thoughts.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Still trying to pull myself out of the clouds. Focus, Jen. What was that noise? It was so familiar…
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My cell phone! I quickly reached down to my cargo pocket and pulled out the phone. My alarm was what was making the noise. ‘1 hour to go- go home,’ is what the screen told me; just what I had programmed it to say.
I slowed my momentum- I was close to going over the top bar- and finally stopped. I slipped on my flip flops and grabbed my military-style cap from the ground not far away. I started jogging and slowed to a walk when I got to the street. After a few blocks, I turned into our driveway. Mom was slicing vegetables as I came in from the side door.
“Hey, Jen,” she said without turning around.
“Hey, Mom.” I came up and hugged her neck from behind.
“Ugh,” she said, craning her neck to look at me. “You smell. Where have you been, anyway?”
I shrugged. “Swinging.”
“Well, go get in the shower. You need it! Then come down and help me get ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said teasingly. I started out of the kitchen, waiting for it. I was halfway through the living room when I heard Mom call,
“And when you come down, I don’t want you wearing that hat!”
I smiled. I wondered when she would say that.
 
More; hope you like it

Half an hour to go. I slid down the banister and hopped off at the bottom, showered and clean.
“Jenny, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Dad asked absently as the walked past me toward the office.
“Yes, sir,” I smiled as I walked through the living room and back to the kitchen. “I’m back, Mom,” I said as I hugged her from behind again. She was standing in front of the fridge this time.
“Ooh, at least you smell better,” Mom teased.
“Hey, watch it!” I playfully punched her arm. She turned around from where she was arranging things in the refrigerator and studied me. “You look nice.”
I looked down at my outfit. To me it just looked like shorts and a t-shirt, my wet hair pulled up in a pony tail. Nice shorts and a button-down short sleeved shirt, but still… “Um, thanks,” I said as Mom turned back to the fridge and, seemingly satisfied, closed it. “So what did you need my help for? It looks like it’s all done.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you took so much time in the shower that I finished it by myself.”
“Where’s Blake?”
“He’s supposed to be cleaning his room,” Mom told me. “And now that everything in here is done” she motioned to the kitchen “I am going to go get in the shower.” She kissed the side of my head as she brushed past me.
After Mom left, I ambled my way once again through the living room and up the stairs. Just as I was about to enter my room, though, I stopped. Rather, I kept walking a few steps farther down the hall and opened that door.
Landon’s door.
The door revealed an open aired room; nothing in it but a dresser, a desk, and a made bed. It revealed the olive green walls and the long, large window overlooking the backyard. It revealed the place above the bed where Landon’s shelf used to be. It revealed an empty room; with no Landon.
I quietly entered and closed the door behind me. I wandered over to Landon’s old bed and sat down. The room still smelled like him. As I lay back on the bed, I let my mind wander. Back to Landon.
Landon had been my older brother. He was older than me by three years; he would’ve been 17 then. Landon was awesome. He wasn’t like the usual mean big brother; he was a very kind person, and best of all, he loved God with all his heart. His faith was the strongest of anyone I knew, like a rock. He used to have a shelf above his bed with his most prized possessions; his Bible, and his paintball gun and mask. That was his other passion. He loved paintball, and when I was seven he taught me how to shoot the painful, paint-filled little balls out of a gun while wearing the masks that made you look like Darth Vader. When I was nine, he convinced my parents to let him open a paintball course in our spacious backyard. “After all,” he told them in his closing argument, “it’s not like we don’t have the room. We live on the end of a cul-de-sac at the edge of town.”
They let him.
Man, he loved that course. It wasn’t too big; it was a small high-fenced in area with some obstacles. He had a rental system and he ran it and the course himself. It was open every Friday night and Saturday. Then something went terribly wrong.
The summer after Landon’s sophomore year, he and his friend Cameron had gone out of town for a paintball tournament. On the way there, they got overlooked in Landon’s tiny car by a semi. The car rolled several times. Cameron made it out barely alive, but Landon didn’t make it. He died at the scene before the paramedics even got there. It was devastating. Our family was crushed, and suddenly my whole foundation in faith was shaken badly. How could God let this happen? To us, of all people?
After Cameron got out of the hospital, he spent a lot of time with our family. He especially spent time with me. Once, we were on a walk and Cameron told me something that I will never forget. He told me that the last thing he heard over the hideous crunch of Landon’s car was the word ‘Jen.’
My name was the last thing my brother said.
I closed my eyes, squeezing the tears back. It was so hard to remember Landon without the pain coming back. This time was even harder, because this room would not be Landon’s any longer after today.
It would be Tabitha’s.
 
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You guys really think it's that good? :eek: Wow!
Alright, here's more, since you're begging. ;)

As I walked in my room, something out the window caught my eye. I hurried over and looked out. A black sedan was slowly turning into the cul-de-sac. A lump formed in my throat. That had to be them. I glanced at my watch; it was the right time for “them” to be here.
Before I got too worked up, I heard:
“Jenny! Blake! Come down here, please!!” It was Mom. I took a deep breath and slowly opened my door. There was no sign of 8-year-old Blake as I descended the stairs to the foyer, where Mom and Dad were standing.
“BLAAAAAAAAAKE!” Dad bellowed. Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, we heard footsteps running down the hall.
“Do I have to come down, Dad?” Blake whined. He was at the top of the stairs now, arms crossed. “I’m almost done with my Lego castle!”
“Yes,” Dad said firmly. “Now.”
With a heavy sigh, Blake clomped down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, Mom grabbed my hand and took a hold of Blake’s. I reached for Dad’s hand and he took Blake’s other hand.
“Dear Father,” Dad began. “We thank You for this opportunity to help another one of Your children. Lord, we don’t know what this girl is like, but just allow Your light to shine through us. Be with us as we receive Tabitha into our home. In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.”
As Dad finished the prayer, the doorbell rang. We released each other’s hands and Mom reached for the door. I held my breath.
Our front door has been opened numerous occasions. It has revealed relatives at Christmastime, trick-or-treaters at Halloween, and even a few May baskets.
This was not going to be a May basket.
As Mom opened the door, we got our first look at Tabitha Joanne Smith. She was tall and lanky, dressed completely in black, and her pencil-straight dark blonde hair covered most of her face. One of her hands was in the pocket of her black hoodie and the other holding a black duffel slung over her shoulder. Beside her stood Linda Miller, the social worker which Mom and Dad had been talking to a lot lately.
Once again I looked down at my own wardrobe and thought how hot she must be with her baggy black pants and hoodie. It was late June and temperatures were high.
“Welcome! Please, come in.” Mom’s all-too-cheerful voice made me wince.
“This is Tabitha,” Mrs. Miller said with a warm smile.
“Hi, Tabitha! I’m Susan,” Mom introduced kindly.
I came forward, feeling brave. “Jen.” I smiled and held out my hand. Tabitha eyed it, looked back at me and for a moment, our eyes met; my chocolate brown with her crystal clear blue. It was like a reflecting pool to her soul. She quickly looked away and muttered,
“Hi.”
As I withdrew my hand awkwardly, Dad stepped in. “Nice to meet you, Tabitha. My name’s Peter.” Tabitha managed a small smile and nodded to him.
“And this is Blake,” Mom said, putting her hand on Blake’s shoulder. Blake’s eyes were wide and eyeing Tabitha.
“Hi,” he squeaked out. Recovering quickly, he asked, “Anybody wanna popsicle?”
We all laughed. There were a few “no, thank yous” from the adults, but, to our surprise, Tabitha said,
“Sure.”
Blake turned to me. “Will you help me? The popsicles are on the top.”
“Sure,” I said and shrugged to Mom as I followed Blake through the living room and to the kitchen.
As soon as we were in the kitchen, Blake turned to me. “SHE’S Tabitha Joanne?”
“You didn’t want me in here for the popsicles,” I opened the freezer side of the side-by-side freezer/fridge and bent down to retrieve the popsicles. “Did you?” I asked, handing the box to Blake.
“Jen!”
“Yes, Blake, okay? Use your head! Would they bring her here and say ‘this is Tabitha’ if it wasn’t her?” I hissed as the voices moved from the foyer to the living room. I glanced at the swinging door separating the two rooms. “Now, be nice. That means don’t gawk. C’mon,” I told Blake and pushed the door open.
In the living room, Mom was playing tour guide. “Just feel free to come down and watch T.V. or whatever,” she was saying.
Blake walked up to Tabitha and held out an orange frozen confection. “Popsicle?” he asked innocently.
Tabitha carefully unfolded her arms, and I saw the duffel in the foyer. She gingerly took the wrapper around the popsicle from Blake with her fingertips and gave him a slight, awkward smile.
Mom finished talking and led the caravan into the kitchen. She continued presenting each room like Vanna White until we finally made it upstairs and showed Tabitha her room. As Tabitha surveyed it, Mrs. Miller looked at her watch.
“Oh, my! Time has certainly gotten away from us. I need to be at a meeting in half an hour. We’d best start bringing in Tabitha’s suitcases.”
“TJ.” Tabitha’s interruption was quiet, but determined.
All heads turned to Tabitha. “What was that, dear?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“TJ,” she stated again. “Call me TJ.” Everyone exchanged glances.
“Well, all right then. We’d best start bringing in ‘TJ’s’ suitcases,” Mrs. Miller corrected herself, and led us all out to the car.
 
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Cool. Now I get your story name, lol. (Sorry, I'm a bit slow sometimes. I got the "T" part, but now I get the "Teej". :D) And yes, it really is that good. You're a good writer Kalakali. Thanks for putting up with our beggings and posting more. :D Now...post more. ;)
 
This post if JUST for Hester- she's the only one who "really commented." ;)

7:30 A.M. Saturday. All was quiet, except for Dad’s snoring down the hall. I was sleeping well; dead to the world.
Until the radio came on.
“AAAHHHH!” I bolted up straight in bed, caught very much by surprise upon my alarm going off. Realizing it was just the radio, I took a deep breath and reached over to turn it off. I lay back down, wondering why I hadn’t turned it off before.
After a run-through of the day’s upcoming events, my mind wandered to TJ. The things I remember most about that first week that TJ was with us was that she didn’t talk. She barely said five words to anyone, and she stayed primarily in her room with the door locked. We learned quickly that if you were to have a conversation with her, she was to be the initiator; she had to come to you.
My mind wandered some more, and after about an hour of laying in bed thinking, I heard water running. That meant Dad was up for the day and taking a shower. I decided to get up, too; Shay would be here in a few hours to pick me up for practice.
I threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. In a few minutes, I was downstairs and heading to the kitchen.
Mom was there, standing at the stove on the island and cooking eggs. “Good morning!” she smiled.
“Morning, Mom,” I said. “Looks like you have more energy then I do right now.”
Again she smiled. “I didn’t stay up last night watching movies until midnight, either.”
“Not my idea! It was all Blake. I blame him,” I said as I stood in front of the fridge with the door open. “Whatcha making?” I asked, remembering Mom’s position at the stove.
“What does it look like? I’m making scrambled eggs!” Mom gave me a strange look. “If you’re going to be this out of it all day, I feel sorry for your friends!”
I glanced at her sideways. “Thanks, Mom,” I said rather sarcastically.
“What time is Shay coming?” she asked.
I looked back in the fridge, and finding nothing, closed the door. “Same as always. 10.”
“Jenny, can I ask you something?” she said suddenly.
“Sure…” It was my turn to look at her strangely.
“How do you think it’s going with TJ?”
I relaxed. “I don’t know what to think. She doesn’t talk, she holes up in her room; there isn’t much to say. I don’t think she’s shunning us, though. I wouldn’t want to be too social if I was her age- which I almost am- and in a foster home like she is! But I don’t know. Why do you ask?” I finished as I slid onto a stool opposite the stove on the island.
“Why don’t you take TJ with you today?”
“What?” I looked at her, stunned.
She stared into the eggs. “You heard me,” she said softly, then looked up. “Please, Jen? She needs to get out She’s been holed in the house since she got here.”
“Mom…” I was at a loss for words.
“Where am I going?” TJ stepped into the room, her voice quiet as usual. Seeing the surprised looks on our faces, she quickly added, “I just heard the part about taking me with Jen. Nothing before that.” Today she was wearing a black t-shirt and black overalls, and her hair was in a half-pony.
“Don’t worry about it, dear. You just surprised us, that’s all. Uh, well, Jen has a band with her friends, and they practice on Saturdays,” Mom told her. “That’s what we were talking about.”
I hesitated. “Do you want to come?” I finally asked. “That’s cool if you do.”
“Eggs are ready,” Mom announced, and just then, Blake came barreling into the room with a Lego airplane in his hand.
“Bbsshhzoom! Kkkk, Sergeant, this is Fighter Plane 3! Experiencing difficulties, over! KKK. KKK. Sergeant, Fighter Plane 3! We’re gonna CRASH!! KKKK! ‘AAAHHHH! WE’RE GOING DOWN!!!’” The three of us watched Blake’s antics as he took the plane nose-down to the counter and made crashing noises. “Okay, I’m ready to eat!” he told us when he was finished. We stared at him. “What?” he asked; a confused look on his face.
TJ turned to me. “Sure, I’ll go.”
 
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