Supernatural Fairy Tale (short story) Vampire + The Emperor’s New Clothes = The Vampire’s New Suit
The Vampire’s New Suit
by Dorlana Vann
His apartment was on the top floor of a tall building. Everyone knew he was a vampire, so no one would have bothered him even if he had been on the first floor. That was why he found it strange when he heard the knock. After opening the door, he asked, “May I help you?” but thought: Magnificent! Take-out delivered to my door.
“Excuse us, Mr. Smith,” said the first young man of two, “for dropping by unannounced, but you’re not listed.”
“There is a reason for this,” the vampire said.
The second young man said, “I’m Mark, and this is my partner, Trey.” He held out his hand graciously and, without a mere tremble, he shook the resident’s hand.
Intrigued, Smith sought to connect with the gentleman’s eyes. When Mark avoided this with skill, the vampire couldn’t help but grin, something he hadn’t done for centuries. “Perhaps you have happened upon the wrong doorstep,” he said, only because he liked them.
Trey cleared his throat and also avoided Smith’s stare, except with less sincerity. “We’re new to town; however, we do know … who you are.”
Mark said, “We believe we offer a service that may very well interest you and benefit your particular situation.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Smith said. “Is that right? Well, in that case, do come in.” It had been a long time since the vampire had guests—who were alive at any rate—and he found that he was quite enjoying the change of pace. Suddenly, the mundane lifestyle that he had become accustomed to became clear: sleep, eat, and watch TV. He had been doing the latter before the interruption and used the remote to click off the early evening news.
“Please, have a seat. I’m afraid I do not have any refreshments that you would enjoy.” He couldn’t ignore the sudden sound of Trey’s heart as it pumped a refreshment of its own. He licked his lips, knowing the evening could only get better.
Mark cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should come back another time?”
“Don’t be silly. There is no better time. Perhaps you should state your business.”
“Of course.” Mark pulled Trey down beside him as he sat on the couch. “Our company, of which Trey here is a new recruit, provides a unique service to, shall I say, our nocturnal clients. We understand and sympathize with the fact that you’re a prisoner in your home from sun-up to sundown. We have developed a fabric that is solar and flame resistant but extremely lightweight. We design and produce clothing made of these exclusive materials.”
Mark reached inside his bag and pulled out a black swatch. Handing it to the vampire he said, “This is the most popular with our clients, but we do offer many different colors. All we need to get started are your measurements. As you can imagine, this discreet service is not cheap. It’s company policy to receive half—” he stopped when he lost his audience.
The vampire had walked into his modest kitchen and turned on the stove. After all, he wasn’t born yesterday. He put the little piece of fabric over the flame. Nothing happened. He was impressed, already imagining the possibilities. The thought of walking outside during the day after so many, many years was very enticing.
The young men took out their tailor tools, a small catalog, and more fabric samples. In no time, Mr. Smith had chosen a dark gray, pinstriped suit with a high collar, black gloves, and a hat complete with ear and neck coverings.
***
As the weeks passed, the vampire actually became fidgety. He thought about all the wonderful things he would be able to do during the day. He could even do lunch—if he were to be so bold.
He began to amuse himself as he pondered curious things that didn’t have to do with feeding. He wouldn’t have to hide in shadows. Maybe he would see a matinee. He could walk among the mortals, saying, “Good afternoon.” He picked up the catalog the young men left behind. He thought that next time, he might even buy khaki. He would almost be … human.
***
Finally, the knock came at the door.
Mark held up a black garment bag. “I have your new suit,” he said with a smile.
The vampire moved out of the way and let him enter the apartment. “Where is your friend?”
“Trey told me he had a previous engagement,” he said and then winked. “Between us, I think he’s a little afraid that you no longer need us.” After giving the vampire ample time to answer, Mark said, “You know, I am your personal tailor, and the only way to get more of these, is through me.” He put the bag on the couch and unzipped it. He pulled out a handsome, well-tailored suit.
It was just like the one in the catalog. Mr. Smith couldn’t hold back his excitement and snatched it out of Mark’s hands.
Mark winced from the sudden pain the vampire’s nails had caused. The amicable mood immediately transformed into intense as they both stared at the red blood slowly escaping its safe haven.
For the first time, the vampire caught and held Mark’s stare. It was so surprising and so challenging that it seduced the vampire into wanting to win. It had been a long time since he had such a tough challenger. But of course, the mortal was no match in the end.
The vampire dropped the suit, catching Mark before he hit the carpet and carefully placed him on the couch. He grinned, his fangs hungering for the taste of such a satisfying victory. Nevertheless, he looked down at his new clothes. The young man would be out for a while, plenty of time for him to try out his new suit.
Although the vampire had acquired quite a wardrobe over the centuries, he had never felt the likes of the material that was against his body. It was soft, like silk, yet form fitting. He wished he could see himself in a mirror. He settled with knowing he would be able to analyze the expressions on people’s faces. Even though the glare of terror so pleased him, he was anxious to see a new expression in their eyes; one of awe and admiration. Complete with gloves and hat, he walked out his door.
***
“Wake up sleepy head.”
It took Mark a moment to stop his dream and to realize he was asleep. He opened his eyes, took in a panicked breath, and sat straight up. When he clearly remembered his predicament, he hastily felt his neck.
Trey stood over him with his arms crossed. “You’re clear. Even if I am a rookie, I know the rules. If he had bitten you, you would’ve stayed asleep forever.”
Mark nodded, feeling truly foolish. In all his years of being a slayer, he had never allowed himself to be hypnotized by one of them. “Mission complete?”
“Poof,” Trey said, his eyes wide with excitement. “You should have seen him. Oh, that’s right; you decided to take a nap. Anyway, it only took him a second to trust the suit before strolling down the sidewalk like a man about town. When I realized you weren’t right behind him, I knew what I had to do. But don’t worry; I waited, like you taught me, until he hit the mark. I was shaking so bad, but I managed to grab the pull-tag before he even noticed me. But when he did see me, he knew something was rotten and went for my throat. I ducked and ran like hell. What a rush! When I was far enough away and got the nerve to turn around, I saw him still standing in the same spot with nothing on but a frown. But then a second later…” Trey put his fist up by his face. He popped his hands open wide and whispered, “pooffff.”
“Did you gather the catalog and the rest of the money?”
“Yeah, all right here.” Trey held up a white envelope. “You know, I still don’t understand why we just don’t clean them out.”
“I’m not in this for the money. I only charge what is needed to fund our operation. Otherwise, we could turn into the bloodsuckers.” Mark stood up, still feeling a little woozy. “Speaking of bloodsuckers, who’s next on our list?”
“Female,” Trey said. “What I hear is that she’s really young-looking, smart, and smokin’ hot. Hmm. I don’t know. We may have a problem, seeing as you let this repulsive ancient dude get to you.”
“Funny.” Mark grabbed the envelope from Trey. “Just give me the details.”
The End
The Vampire’s New Suit is one of the short stories from my collection: Supernatural Fairy Tales. It was inspired by The Emperor’s New Clothes from Fairy Tales Told for Children (The third booklet). Hans Christian Andersen, Denmark:1837
The End
The Vampire’s New Suit is one of the short stories from my collection: Supernatural Fairy Tales.
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Can’t wait to watch: The Great Gatsby
I can’t recall the last time I was so super excited about a movie. There are so many reasons why I want to see The Great Gatsby that I’m going to list them … in no particular order.
- The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald’s is one of my top two favorite novels – Here are a few of my favorite lines from the book, which I will be looking for in the movie:
“And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.”
“Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.”
“Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?”
“But there was Jordon beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age.”
“I shook hands with him; it seemed silly not to, for I felt suddenly as though I were talking to a child.”
- I have a writer crush on Frances – If you’ve read my bio, you know I also have a writer crush on F. Scott Fitzgerald. I don’t obsess too much these days, but there was a time when I was reading biographies about him and his wife Zelda, watching movies about his life, and I also happened to find an old copy his last, and unfinished novel, The Last Tycoon of it at my library. I love it because it had his notes about the unfinished chapters and the letter to his editor at the back of the book – so awesome.
- It is a Baz Luhrmann film – He directed the 1996’s adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. I don’t know how many times I’ve watched this movie. It is one of my all time favorites. It is unique and bright and brilliant.
- It stars Leonardo DiCaprio – who also starred in Romeo and Juliet and the reason I’ve been a fan of his ever since. I think he’s such an emotional actor, and I don’t think they could have found a better Gatsby.
- It is set in the 1920s – I love anything to do with the 1920s. One of the reasons I loved the novel was because of Fitzgerald’s account of the era. I love the fact that it was a contemporary novel when he wrote it; therefore it wasn’t from research but from experience.
- The costumes – From what I’ve watched on the trailer, they are going to be spectacular, which brings me to the last, but not least, reason I can’t wait to watch it …
- The trailer – If the trailer is any indication of how this entire movie will be, I know my eyes will be glued to the screen the entire time. So excited. And speaking of the trailer, here it is:
Filmography links and data courtesy of The Internet Movie Database.
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Fairy Tale Inspired Short Story: Quiet on the Nightingale
Quiet on the Nightingale
Fairy Tale inspired (Jorinda and Joringel)
short story from Dorlana’s collection Supernatural Fairy Tales
Before climbing aboard the Nightingale, a 60-foot yacht, Jake listened for a second to make sure its owner, Richard King, slept. From the cockpit, Jake climbed the stairs to the upper aft deck, and with little effort, he opened the glass door to the enclosed bridge. He had been tailing the millionaire for months and knew this was the necklace’s location.
Jake had never talked to Mr. King but had heard his thoughts about purchasing the diamond and blood-red ruby necklace for his wife. Jake had followed him to restaurants, golf courses and parties, patiently waiting until King’s mind revealed all the details, down to the code on the safe.
He pulled the ski-mask off his face before punching in the numbers. Opening the safe without incident, he reached in and brought out his prize. He didn’t stop to examine it—plenty of time for that later—but stuck it in his pocket, ready for his quick exit. He stopped again to listen and to make sure all was clear.
“Now that wasn’t very nice,” a female voice said.
Startled to a slight stumble, he twisted around to see who had caught him. The silhouette of a woman sitting at the small table, her arms and long legs crossed, came into focus. Why didn’t I hear her? He wondered.
Her voice moved gently, “That’s my necklace.”
Shit. Mrs. King. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he said, buying some time as he weighed his options; running seemed a very good choice at the moment. She might scream, but he already had the loot in his pocket. By the time Mr. King got his wits about him, he would be long gone.
Her thoughts finally sounded in his head: I wish he were here to pinch more than that ruby.
Well, there it was. It wouldn’t be the first time he had used his pretty-boy looks to get out of a situation. But when she stood up—the moonlight shining full-force on her smart face—he doubted she was the type of woman who could easily be swayed by his devilish charms. She reminded him of an elegant movie star from the 1940s like Ingrid Bergman or Lauren Bacall.
She languidly walked over to him, her heels softly echoing on the wood floor. “May I have my necklace back?” She extended her hand gracefully.
Taking a step back, he wondered why he suddenly felt so intimidated. He had known plenty of rich, beautiful women. He needed to take control of the moment and his nerves. In the darkness, the burglar and the wealthy woman stared at each other for a mere second before Jake grabbed her bare shoulders and kissed her hard on the lips. Unexpected fire exploded between them, and he pulled her closer until he embraced her fully. He could feel her hands on his waist, moving slowly down the front of his pants until—
Jake gently pushed her away and had to smile, but he didn’t let go of her arm. He brought her hand up, revealing the necklace.
She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
He licked his lips tasting the memory of her kiss, her thoughts letting him know she wished she could see all of him. “The Country Club tomorrow night,” he said as he snatched the necklace, gave her a slight nod and left, before he couldn’t pull himself away.
Two Weeks Later
Like some bad movie cliché, he found the note she had left on her pillow:
Dear Jake,
I’m afraid my husband has decided to leave this morning. I couldn’t bear to tell you. Please forgive me. In another lifetime perhaps.
Love,
Jezze
Jake crumbled up the letter wondering how in the hell he’d missed it. Maybe she just pushed it out of her mind because it was too painful.
Love Jezze, she had written.
“Shit,” he said. “I do.” He suddenly found himself playing what if: What if I would have told her I loved her? Would she have stayed? Would she leave her rich husband for a crook? Would she come back with me now if I caught the yacht before it hit open water?
Regret swept over him as he put on his pants, because he had known for a week that she had feelings for him, yet he had said nothing. Let on nothing. Just another stolen treasure. At least that was what he had told himself before that morning. Now the only thing he thought was that he had to get her back.
His Jag hit the highway at sixty-five miles an hour, the windows down, and the air thick with morning. Their hotel/love nest was only a few miles away from the bay, but he couldn’t be sure what time she had actually left his bed. He had fallen asleep some time after midnight. He looked down to see the time, realizing his watch wasn’t in its usual place on his wrist. Must have left it on the nightstand.
As Jake jumped out of the car, he knew he had no idea what he would do if King tried to stop him. He listened as he ran, listened to see if he heard Jezze saying, I’ll miss him so much!
Jake ran up the steps that lead to the ramp and then to the spot where the yacht had been docked. When he realized he was too late, that it was gone, he cursed himself and stomped the pier. Searching his mind for conversations and memories of her thoughts, he plopped down on the steps. Did she say where she lived?
Soon, he decided to leave, promising himself that he would not rest until he found her. He would rummage minds for the slight mention of Mrs. Jezze King. As he stood, someone else’s thoughts blurted inside his head. At first he tried to ignore them, not wanting to listen to another person’s problems. But then, he heard something he just couldn’t ignore…
***
Jezze sat at her vanity brushing her hair as she looked at the newly acquired necklace. She sighed. It entranced her as it sparkled in the glistening sun that streamed in through the porthole. Knowing how difficult it would be to part with, it certainly hadn’t been easy to obtain, she had considered keeping it. So exquisite.
She wiped new tears from her swollen eyes. No, the necklace would only remind her of him. Her buyer had already offered a beautiful price, so she would go on as planned. Maybe she would set sail after the transaction and take a much-needed trip.
She had lived on her yacht for over a year, loving the open water, the smell of the sea and the freedom to travel whenever she became restless. If Richard King had not docked his yacht in the same water as hers, her life would be so less complicated. If she had gone on home that night when she heard Jake coming after her necklace, things would have been so less complicated. If she would have just let him take the necklace without trying to seduce it out of him…
She doubted Jake even knew others like him existed, others who had superior control over their gift. She had learned to listen for other mind-readers years before and trained herself to stop her own thoughts at the first sign.
She had been getting ready to go home that night, when she had heard him. Mistaking her for Mrs. King had just been a crazy break; there was a real Mrs. King, somewhere, but it wasn’t her. It had been kind of fun pretending to be the adulteress, instead of the other woman.
Jezze unlatched the necklace from around her neck and put it back in its black box. Stop crying Jezze. This is just how it has to be. She never expected to fall in love with Jake for real. Over the past two weeks she had searched for signs of mutual admiration but found nothing.
“I think you have something that belongs to me.”
She held her breath and swung her attention to the familiar voice. Richard King stood at her door. Lost in her own thoughts Jezze must have missed his. “Sweetheart,” she sang. “I thought you left.” She stood up cautiously. She could certainly read his thoughts now…
Mr. King was a fairly tall man, but the way he stood there, his chest heaving in and out and his teeth clenched, he appeared monstrous as he growled, “Did I not treat you well? Did I not give you enough money for your services? You were good, but not fifty-thousand dollars good.”
She put her hair behind her ears, feeling the tremor of her hands. “Why are you so upset, handsome? What happened?”
“Don’t play games with me. Give back my necklace, and I’ll be on my way. I don’t want the publicity for being with a woman like you any more than you want jail time.”
“I didn’t steal your necklace. Just leave before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing.”
“You bitch!” He raced toward her.
Before Jezze knew what had happened, she was staring up at the ceiling, King’s handprint-sting across her face. He stood over her and drew back his fist.
She tightened her body for the blow, when King suddenly flew across the room and landed on her vanity with a crash. She sat up, tears blurring her view. Jake stood over Richard, daring him to move. They all noticed the necklace at the same time, out of the box and on the floor.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jake told King. “By the looks of you, I don’t think fifty grand is payment enough.”
King sat up, still eyeing his necklace.
Jake continued, “Just collect your insurance, lick your wounded ego, and you’ll be fine. Now get the hell out of here.”
Jezze chose to ignore King’s thoughts of justice and revenge as he walked out the door. She also decided not to focus on what Jake must have thought of her. “Thank you,” she said to him, unable to look him in the eyes. “How did you know where to find me?”
“After I found the Dear John, I came looking for you. I heard King coming after you, and then I heard you thinking. I heard everything… I know everything.”
“Just take it; I don’t want it.”
“I’d rather have you,” he said. “The only thing I heard that matters to me is that you love me.”
She found his sincere stare and listened to the thoughts he fed her. That’s why I was looking for you. To tell you, I love you.
She smiled and jumped into his arms, giving him tiny kisses all over his face until their lips met. After a silent conversation, they separated and began removing their clothes.
“Hey,” Jake said, looking on the floor at the mess from the vanity. “Is that my watch?”
The End
Supernatural Fairy Tales by Dorlana Vann
Supernatural Fairy Tales eBook will be free Saturday Jan. 26, 2013.
Fairy tale inspired paranormal short stories.
fairy tale + paranormal element = supernatural fairy tale.
These 9 Supernatural Fairy Tales are not retellings of the original fairy tales but were inspired by them. They are paranormal themed stories about vampires, ghosts, mermaids, witches, and more, in genres ranging from romance to thriller. And fair warning: they don’t always have a happy ending.
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Paranormal Egyptian Mystery FREE eBook
Passage to Queen Mesentia by Dorlana Vann
Passage to Queen Mesentia will be free today thru Tuesday January 22, 2013. This book was one of my favorites to write and most of my research was done by using my personal library because I’m such a huge fan of ancient Egypt. The story starts out in modern day Texas where a cowboy, a princess, and an immortal travel to Egypt for a old-fashioned treasure hunt. It is also a five-thousand-year-old love story: forbidden, cursed, forever, lost, reawakened.
Here is the blurb:
The assassination of her archeologist parents thrusts Lillian Steward from her comfortable life into a dangerous quest for an ancient Egyptian artifact. The mystery guides her from Texas to Egypt as she follows the clues left by her parents. Accompanied by a mysterious stranger with a romantically tragic past and her protective ex-boyfriend, who is still in love with her, Lilly walks a tightrope of forbidden attraction and blind determination. Will they finally be able to bury the past, or will a history of love, hate, and blood repeat itself?
Here are some links:
Love and Laughter,
Dorlana
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The Third Draft is an Empty Tube of Toothpaste!
I finished the dreaded rough draft of my romantic comedy November 8th. I enjoyed writing the second draft, even going all poetic about it and blogging with sentences like, “I’m dancing with my characters or something like that. Yeah, yeah, yeah … all free flowing toothpaste.
When I finished the second draft on December 6th, I had 51,437 words. If you’ve read my stuff, you know that is pretty much it for me. My longest book Jaclyn’s Ghost (BTW the eBook is free today on Amazon) is around 52,000. But I know in the publishing world this is considered a novella .
Anyway, by the third draft, I’m usually jotting down little notes and just checking for words I’m obsessed with (“Just” being one of them). And trying to cut down my sentences that start with ‘and’ and ‘but.’ But no! Right when I was finishing the second draft, I decided I really, really wanted/needed more words. But like I said, the problem was, writing the story part was finished. I had a beginning, middle, and The End!
What started out as just trying to add more words has turned into really appreciating the term ‘fleshing out your characters.’ Right now I’m at 57,000 words, and in these last 5,000 I’ve learned so much more about my characters’ personalities and especially their motivations. I’ve even uncovered a very interesting plot point that I would have completely let slip by me.
However, like the title of this post suggest, it’s like trying to get more toothpaste out of an obviously empty tube. You’ve been there, right? You twist, turn, and squeeze that sucker anyway – until finally a tiny amount comes to the surface.
That’s what writing this third draft feels like to me. It’s hard – so much so that the other day I was wondering why in the world I wanted to be a writer. But I’m also in awe of this craft where I can learn something new with every book I write. If there are more books, this third toothpaste squeezing draft will be part of the process.
Blogging as I write my book, here are the discovered names/methods for each draft:
1st draft: Heavy Metal
2nd draft: Country Music
3rd draft: Empty Tube of Toothpaste
Until the 4th draft …
Love and Laughter,
Dorlana
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The Second Draft is Country Music
I don’t like writing rough drafts. I’m not really sure why. I think it might be all the frustration. Facing the blank page is intimating, no matter how many times I’ve been there. I know that frustration is unavoidable, and even necessary, if you want unique characters and plot. But that is all behind me now, and I’m now in the middle of my favorite part of writing a book.
I like writing second drafts, when my characters are alive and my story has a beginning, middle, and an end. I love having something to work with, because something, even if it is terrible, is better than a blank page. There’s satisfaction in finding the perfect word and rearranging sentences and paragraphs. It’s like this huge puzzle where everything has its perfect spot and until I find it, it just doesn’t feel right. But when I do, it makes me smile. It makes me happy to see it all take shape.
I work on one printed out chapter at a time . No matter what, I don’t rush through a chapter. If the first draft is heavy metal: wrote without restraint, fast, hard, loud, bad, get your ideas on the page! then the second draft is more like country music: the pace is more laid back – I can hear the lyrics, hear the story – slow dance with my characters. I move on to the next chapter after I can’t find anything else to change, or I get crossed-eyed and start overanalyzing.
I have to make difficult decisions along the way. I have to cut entire paragraphs that don’t move the story forward and cut ideas that I thought were clever because they don’t work elsewhere. It is especially difficult for me to cut because I struggle with story length. However, my story is always always better after changes, and so I have to trust myself and trust the process.
So to me, working on the second draft of a novel is like two-stepping through a rhythmic maze with smiles along the way to the big reward at the end: an “almost” finished novel. (There are still a couple of drafts to go.)
So until the third draft …
Love and Laughter,
Dorlana
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Short Story: The Thanksgiving Play
The Thanksgiving Play
by
Dorlana Vann
The sun was coming over the turkey when all hell broke loose. I watched from my front row seat with panicked amusement as the cardboard sun fell on the turkey’s head. The turkey tripped the little Native American, which made him fall on the Thanksgiving filled table. The table went sideways, and so did all the plates, fake food, and decorations. All the six-year-olds froze, round eyed, until my little Mary began to cry, she was a pilgrim at the table, which set off another disastrous chain. There was now a chorus of twelve sobbing first graders added to the Thanksgiving play.
I was about to run up on the stage to comfort my daughter when the teacher, Mrs. Leto, showed her face. She’d been holding the rope on which the sun was hoisted, making night turn into day, or in this case, night turn into catastrophe.
She smiled at the audience—an oops smile—and went to the turkey first to make sure Angela’s mom wasn’t going to sue. When she seemed satisfied by Angela’s answer, she said to us the audience, “Thank you for coming. You can get your children from back stage in five minutes.” She then did something magical with her hand, and all the kids lined up in a nice little sniffling train and followed her off the stage.
My husband, Phillip turned to me. “Wasn’t it supposed to last longer?”
I frowned in response and then nudged my nine-year-old son, John, trying to stop his hysterical laughter that I just then noticed. “Now when we get in the car, I want none of that,” I told him. And then I turned back to Phillip. “That means you, too.”
He shrugged his shoulders as to say, the very idea was ridiculous.
I wanted to laugh too, but I knew I had to be the straight man. Mary had looked crushed. She had been counting the days until this play. This had been her life for the past two months. She had practiced for her big end-of-the-play speech every night after dinner. But the sky had fallen right before her speech, and she didn’t get to say it. I closed my eyes trying to think how I was going to comfort her. I didn’t think ice cream and a hug were going to help this time.
“I’m going to go get Mary. You two stay here and pull it together. You know she is very disappointed and is going to be upset. So, no talking about it. And especially, no laughing about it.”
I followed a couple of other mothers, whose children didn’t have a speech at the end of play, backstage. Their kids ran up to them, talking with hyper excitement about what had happened. Mary didn’t run up to me. She made me look for her.
It took me only a second to spot her sitting by herself, arms crossed, and head down, in the middle of the floor. People were stepping over and around her like she was a prop. But I knew trying to budge her in her current mood wouldn’t work, so I joined her instead.
I also knew not to say anything to her; I just waited until she decided to acknowledge me.
“Let’s go,” was all she finally said. She stood up and left me sitting in the middle of the floor by myself.
By time I caught up to her, she stood by Phillip and John. Phillip had his hand on her shoulder talking to her. She nodded in agreement with whatever encouraging words he said. I smiled, happy to see that at least she would talk to one of us.
I heard Mary giggle as I approached, but when she saw me, she went somber again. Phillip had caught it too and frowned and shrugged his shoulders.
“Mary?” I said. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t say anything.
“I’ll let you two talk,” Phillip said and grabbed John’s arm and took him with him.
Mary stood with her arms crossed over her darling brown and white pilgrim dress. She looked so grown up at that moment, her hair in a bun, and soft pink blush on the apples of her cheeks.
“Sweetheart,” I bent down. “Are you okay? I’m very sorry about the play.”
She kept her head down and didn’t look at me.
I was becoming a little upset myself. “I don’t understand. Why are you mad at me? I didn’t stop the play.”
She finally let her eyes to glance my way and whispered, “I’m not mad at you, Mommy.”
“You’re not? Then why are you ignoring me? Why won’t you talk to me?”
“It’s just that … well, I wanted to make you happy.”
“I am happy. I thought you did a wonderful job.”
“But I know how happy you were when you found out I got the speaking part.” She sniffled. “I didn’t get to speak.” Her tears began to flow. “And I just wanted to make you happy.”
I took my crying daughter in my arms and hugged her tight. “I was so happy because I thought it made you happy that you got the speaking part.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“No, of course not.” I pulled her away gently and wiped at her tears. “I’m very proud of you. It takes a lot of guts just to get up there in front of everyone.”
She smiled up at me, her eyes still held unfinished tears. “Can I say it for you now?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Can I stand on the stage?”
“I think that will be fine. Let me call your dad over, okay?”
She nodded and walked onto the stage. I waved to Phillip.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Yes, just a misunderstanding,” I said. “But I’m sure glad that sun fell on the turkey tonight.” I was thinking to myself that if the play had been successful, I would have never known I had put so much pressure on Mary.
He nodded, even though I could tell he had no idea what I was talking about.
“I’ll explain later,” I said and then we sat back down in our seats.
Mary stood proud on the darkened stage. Her hands were behind her back and she smiled sweetly. She cleared her throat, and then began her speech, “That is why the last Thursday of November was set aside as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise. It is a day for families and friends to gather and to be thankful for even the little things, like turkeys …”
The End
Happy Thanksgiving!
Love and Laughter,
Dorlana
Dorlana Vann - Author 