Part 1: The Park

“I guess I shouldn't have given you all those candy bars.” My harried babysitter said after I'd hungrily devoured the five Butterfingers, two Baby Ruth’s, and three Hersey Almond bars she'd brought with her. I don't know what she was thinking, bringing an already hyper five year old girl candy. The sugar had be bouncing off the walls like a madwoman. My house felt like a cage that I was desperate to escape.

“Why don't we go to the park?” My babysitter suggested. “Let you run off some of that energy, before you destroy the house.” She grimaced at the mess I'd made. She'd brought with her a blank canvas, a brush, and several cups of paint, hoping that it would keep me entertained. I'd painted just about everything except the canvas. Again, Lord only knows what she was thinking. A simple board game would have sufficed, and it would have been much easier to clean up afterwords.

“Yipee! The park!” I cried excitedly. I was running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. There was a public park only a few feet behind my house. It was the selling point for my parents when they bought the house while my mom was pregnant with me. The park had a playground for kids to play on, and green metal benches where parents could sit and watch their children play and swap parenting tips with other parents, and do all those other boring things that parents did.

I sashayed around the park like I owned it. It was my park, and I made sure all the other kids knew it. I'll be the first to admit that I was a bit of a brat; I wasn't the nicest kid. I wouldn't call myself a bully, but when I wanted to swing and all of the swings were being used, I wouldn't hesitate to push someone off and take their seat. I was a firm believer in doing whatever it took to get what you wanted. It was that state of mind that made my father proud. “With that attitude, you'll get far in life!” He told me. “What most people don't seem to understand is when you want something you have to reach out and take it. Don't wait around for handouts, be a self advocate!”

My mother had frowned, rolled her eyes, and sighed. She'd always wanted me to be a dainty flower; a girly girl who loved dressing up like a princess and sneaking into her parents' medicine cabinet to try on her mom's make-up. I must have been such a disappointment to her, because I wasn't that kind of girl; I was a tomboy. I enjoyed getting down and dirty and playing rough. Even my name isn't girly. Well, at least not my nickname. My real name is Eleanor Schuyler Hill, my nickname is Lennie. I've gone by Lennie since I was a toddler. It wasn't a nickname that I'd chosen for myself. My name was Eleanor because my mother had insisted on a name that was feminine. My father had conceded on the condition that he could call me Lennie, a decidedly masculine name. I shouldn't be surprised, since he'd always wanted a son. He seemed content, though, to have a tomboy for a daughter, and, as it turned out, the name suited me.

Reviews

[Rae Emeral]

This makes a nice first chapter. Long enough to get you interested, but short enough to keep your attention. I enjoyed reading this. Can't wait to see where you take this story. It has potential. :)
~Rae Emeral