Chapter 1: C'est la VieA Chapter by Yuvia ChairezEvery first full moon of the fall season, Ethan would bake butterscotch cookies in the middle of the night and leave a full tray out on the window for the fae to find...
Previous Version This is a previous version of Chapter 1: C'est la Vie. Once Every Blue Moon I “C’est la vie”, said the old folks, “it goes to show you never can
tell…” Every first full moon of the fall season, Ethan would
bake butterscotch cookies in the middle of the night and leave a full tray out
on the window for the fae to find. This would make the entire neighborhood
homes beam in cheerful light and often made his neighbors dream of fairy tales
and adventures in far-away places. He would start the endeavor by telling Peaches
and Biscuit the story of how the At thirty-two, Ethan Crowley thought he would have a
different life than the one he was living. When he was younger, he had made a
blueprint of his life which included going to Africa and runaround with those
people who save the animals from hunters and poachers, marrying Farrah Fawcett
and having eight kids (two girls, four boys and a set of twins), and
discovering something so important that humanity itself would not be the same
afterwards. So far, the closest he had been to Africa and Farrah Fawcett was
via the posters he had on his bedroom walls (the Africa one was particularly
cheesy as it had a sunset and the silhouette of a giraffe with the words “Your talent is God’s gift to you”
written in golden, fancy letters). As for the invention, he was convinced that
whatever he could muster in his B+ mind
had already been thought of, laughed at, and tossed to the bin of stupid ideas
by other, brighter people. No, Ethan was not in He wasn’t sure, however, if it was the fae or the dogs
the ones eating the cookies. It wasn’t as if Ethan believed in faeries, but the
memory of his grandparents and Amelia was kept alive through the tradition of
leaving food out for the “good folk”. His grandfather would sprinkle thyme on
windows and doorframes while singing gadflykins,
gladtrypins, gutterpuss and cass, come to us fairily each lad and lass.
Amelia, his twin sister, would laugh at the sound of those words. She was a
cheerful and delightful girl, with bouncy ebony curls and bright almond eyes
who could brighten up a room with her sole presence. She loved to hear her
grandfather tell the fae’s stories, often dressed like a backyard fairy using
her pink tutu dress and tin foil to make frilly wings. Their mother would use
stems from the lily of the Nile blooms to make excellent wands and the frail
flowers to make necklaces Amelia would then wear until they dried and fell. He
would pretend, like any older brother, he didn’t like the stories and he would
often tell Amelia that faeries weren’t real to which statements Amelia would
often react with anger and tears because it was a well-known fact that faeries
died when people ceased to believe in them. He would then apologize profoundly
and swear (spit in hand) that the faeries lived in their backyard and that they
came out dressed like fireflies to dance in the moonlight when the year’s wheel
turned. Amelia was only seven when the wheel turned for her
and Ethan would feel her ghost following him all the time after that,
particularly during the spring, when the flowers bloomed and it seemed as if
the entire garden came to a magical rebirth. “This old tabby came to my house this morning again. I
thought you said you gave it to that nice family in Ethan smiled politely. Beverly Swanson was
eighty-seven years old and always wore that bright-flowered hat with her big,
bug-eyed sunglasses on Tuesdays, even if there wasn’t sunny outside. “I did,
Mrs. Swanson. I think she must’ve walked.” “Well that’s some journey. I can’t have her at my
place, not with George and his arthritis acting up during the winter. Can you
take her in and find her a good home again? This time tell her to stay there.” “Of course Mrs. Swanson,” Ethan said taking the tabby
in his arms and turning to place it in one of the pet carriers behind him. “How
is George?” “Grouchy. Cold weather makes him want to pee every
other hour and makes him get up from the mat near the fireplace to do his
business in the yard. He’s all achy and winy from the arthritis, but that old
mutt doesn’t lose his sense of decorum, I’ll give him that.” “Be that as it may, you still need to bring George in
next week to get his yearly shots, okay?”
“We’ll be here, dear, don’t you worry about that. So,
how is your grandfather?” “The same he was last month, and several years before
that: dead.” “I’m pretty sure. I was at the funeral home the day he
died,” he said, as if proud of it. The cat blinked and meowed. He chuckled. “Nice try,” he said, “but I can’t
take you in either. Sorry pal: you’re just going to have to settle for a warm
blanket and free food " for now.” * * * * * © 2010 Yuvia ChairezReviews
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StatsAuthorYuvia Chairezmoon city, MexicoAboutI am somewhat... err... what's the word?? Oh yeah ------ nuts. Influences: My Sister, the Ramen life, Jhonen Vasquez, Sara Segfovich, Arturo Perez Revertez, JK Rowling, Julio Scherer Garcia, GABO,.. more.. |