I've Never Done This Before

My friends and I escaped through the creaky, eerily black iron gate towering above us in front of an ominous, foggy forest. Our crunching feet snapped the dry leaves as we were running back and forth so many times since early childhood. As Camille and the others all leaped over fallen logs and swung from low branches, I stopped and turned around. The place—scarily inappropriate for small children—didn’t make me shudder and run to my parents to comfort a scared me anymore.     

I stood, all fear and hesitation vanishing. Standing firm, I opposed such an enemy. Maybe I’ll write a poem or a song about this place after my book’s in the stores.

I was an aspiring novelist. But I wanted to write something meaningful. Yep. I’ll write about this place. So others can venture in, challenging themselves, too.

I ran back to my house over by the huge lake with the cute ducklings following their quacking mother. As I thrust open the screen door and then the front door, I grinned as more ideas sprang into mind. Going into my bedroom, I closed my ugly, boring door and hopped into my swivel chair. I typed on the laptop. I didn't realize the mail had come, or heard the repeated knocks on the front door. When I finally arose, I went downstairs and opened it. One of my friends was standing there with a pitying look on her round, freckly face. The boys, all dressed to the nines with thick scarves and wool mittens in the cold autumn life outdoors, glared at me.   

“I was telling you a story, and you just ditched it!”

Camille turned harshly away, and I knew tears were cascading down her cheeks. I pursed my lips, guilt sealing my lips shut. Watching them all walk away, I thought, it wouldn’t be like I actually ran away from her out of spite; I just wanted to write down my ideas so I didn’t lose them. They usually escaped from my mentality faster than a cheetah after a hunted gazelle. I sighed.

I walked out that door exhaling. I knew it wasn’t right being mean, so I stopped her. “Camille, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to abandon you.” 

She came running up to me, face dry. “Oh, Sunshine!” She stopped in front of me, and hugged me. “I knew you wanted to get back to your writing!”

I responded in kind—coldly. Camille smiled genuinely at me, and told me to forget the whole matter. But I furrowed my eyebrows, asking her how she could be so gracious. “Why were you so willing to forgive me if I am so indifferent towards Hester, Jester, Chester and you?”

“Because I love to help!”

Camille headed back over to the three of them, and I followed her, my hands jammed firmly in my coat’s pockets. I dropped by the next morning, hoping she’d help me get some of that happy-go-lucky attitude. I knocked on her door, smiling in anticipation.

“Good morning!” Camille welcomed me, and I apologized sincerely for the way I behaved yesterday. She shrugged it off, saying I didn’t need to dwell in the past. Camille offered me some coffee, tea and cookies, but I declined, saying I already had a big glass of orange juice.  

“Oh good!” Camille made a cup of tea, put two cookies on a plate and headed over to the table.

I just nodded. Why couldn’t I get rid of this bitterness I’ve been harboring since Mom and Dad were killed in that boating accident?

I mean, I was kind to some of the new students in our elementary class. Inclusive, I always accepted those whose best—and only—friend was herself. I helped others in middle and high school and even college by tutoring them, especially those with cognitive and physical disabilities—

“Sun?”

I jumped. “Sorry. I…just…”

She laughed, beckoning me to sit with her. “Come on—let’s talk about it!”

I did, studying the gorgeous mahogany wood of the table and chairs. Camille pulled me away as she said she was too happy to let the past steal my joy of living now. Of a future full of endless awesome possibilities to shine her gift of hospitality towards others.

I ignored this, beginning with my book that was about to be published very, very soon. Whether anyone would like that novel was a mystery, though. Camille nodded understandingly while she listened. I even admitted I was a little frustrated—she seemed to just be able to get stuff done without having to fight every step of the way.

“How are you able to complete anything with a smile on your face?”  

“Well, I know I can do it. So I just do.”

I thought about her words as I got a glass of water. When I returned, she put her phone down, and announced Chester just got a promotion from his job as a construction worker. “He’s well on his way to becoming a plant factory owner. He’ll be the manager of it all!” Camille celebrated with pumped fists.          

I nodded, elated for him. He’s worked so hard for this moment, and he deserved it. Maybe, I sipped, I should be more like that—a proactive achiever. Not just a desiring bystander, cheering the racers on. I can be a racer, too. I just needed to believe in myself.

Well, I did, with almost publishing my first novel. Then why was I so gloomy?     

We talked some more about Jester’s Broadway show and Hester’s new stamp hobby. I grinned wickedly small. How could he want to become the next postman if he couldn’t even differentiate between a head of cabbage and a head of lettuce? I laughed. Camille frowned.

“What?”

She just shook her head. I studied her sad but honest facial expression. I apologized but then tightened my grip on the glass in annoyance when she lamented my inability to just be happy with big things like this. I walked home silently late that night, envying her sunshiny personality.

But I shone, too! Camille constantly complimented my adorable clothes, my love for puppies (especially Goldendoodles) and the ability to write such an imaginative book. But believing that manuscript, I knew as I shut the front door and headed towards the stove from across the hallway and past the living room’s big TV, would be any good was more like a dentist trying to pull a screaming toddler’s teeth. Or just getting him to calm down. Either way, he wasn’t succeeding well. He might as well have the parent do it.    

I ate a salad, feeling better. Healthy food always comforted me.

I had a long way to go before I saw my novel on the bookshelves—if I made it that far. Why couldn’t Camille see what I saw—deep hurt? What blinded Jester, Hester and Chester from seeing this abstract truth? 

I exhaled deeply, setting my plate of meatloaf onto the ugly wooden table that was my kitchen table. I also called these abominably ugly wooden chairs that were creaking and splintering such beautiful parts of this set. They weren’t; I just said they were because I didn’t want to admit the truth. I tended to hide the real me under excuses and even lies. I didn’t want to come clean with anything. The hurt hurt too much.

After flipping through some channels, I yawned, heading upstairs. I was so excited before, but now I didn’t want to write at all. But I forced myself, grinding out the words until midnight. 

“Sunshine.”

No answer.

“Sunshine!”

A snort. I jerked up, fully awake, and turned, staring at Camille. I wiped the drooling saliva. “Camille,” I switched over to the clock, “it’s five o’clock in the morning. What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d pop in to say Hester just got his dream job as a stand-up comedian. He’s ecstatic!” 

She pulled out her phone, turned it on and then showed me a picture of the grinning, glowing-eyed man standing with his arms around Jester and Chester’s shoulders. “And look!” Her finger swiped right, where I inhaled and widened my eyes in utter gladness for Jester as he demonstrated a shiny silver Tony Award right in front of his top-hatted self. I laughed, saying Jester always demonstrated his achievements literally up front. She suddenly frowned, pocketing the phone, commenting I do the same thing—I’m always standing there, all proud of myself. But I’m wrong. Everyone sees my frustration and sadness. Everyone sees the bitterness killing all possibility of joy. The joy that comes with just being who I am.    

After a few more funny pictures, she left, and I knew she wanted me to admit it. I stretched and then changed into my pajamas. I curled up in my bunkbed behind my desk, but a minute later, I kicked away my sheets and texted Camille never to bother me again! I dropped my phone, it clattering on the plastic of the tabletop.

I lay there, alone. I then rolled out of bed, grabbing my purse and shoving on my sneakers, hiking out to Florida’s early morning world. I locked my door and hailed a downtown taxi. After I got in, we cruised down Sunshine Skyway Bridge. I silenced my phone, and put it in the deepest gap my purse had. As the taxi cab driver and I chatted, I felt something terribly wrong. I studied the man—his chiseled face and wrinkly temples creased as he laughed at my jokes and responded with interest at my announcement of my new novel-to-be.

But I then swallowed nervously, drawing myself up small, staring suspiciously at this other Floridian. I knew he wasn’t a bad dude, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I shouldn’t be in this car.

Maybe it was because I was running away. I wanted Camille besides me—  

“So…where are we going?”

I ignored this question by asking a question myself.

“How long have you been driving here in Florida?” 

“Twenty weeks.” He chuckled for the third time, and slowed down, stopping behind a long line of traffic. “I want to trade this cab for a microphone and a laughing audience. Hope it’ll happen!” He seemed to focus on the cars ahead of him. “Sitting behind this busy traffic—it takes years of patience, but…” He sighed and looked back at me with a glimmer in his blue eyes. “I sure do hope I get out of it!”

Taking a deep breath, I responded. “You don’t always have to just hope. You can persevere, too!”

He turned back, nodded stiffly, like he didn’t believe me. “Yeah.”

I reminded him I was about to become an author. He remarked about that, but I said I wasn’t the only one desiring to make it big in life. I wanted him to know he could make audiences roar with laughter as well as any hysterical person—he just needed some self-confidence. 

As we continued on another subject, I told him to let me off at the corner between one street and the other. He asked whether I knew where I was going. I nodded firmly, and then shut the door. He drove off after waving goodbye, but I turned away, balling my hands. Everyone seemed to be happy but me. I was tired of watching everyone besides me win the race. I wanted to join, too.

I wanted to stand among the winners.

I walked down the sidewalk towards my house. Then, that terrible feeling returned!

A black hand grabbed my mouth, and then I was picked up and tossed gently into a taxi cab. Wide-eyed, I froze. Then, while we drove away, I struggled to get free, and realized I could the whole time! I scrambled up, threatening the attackers. When they started talking, I noticed two familiar boys all dressed in black and dark grey. I slowly turned, gaping at the driver. 

Hester? He planned this? 

“Jester and Chester are sitting right beside you.”      

He jerked back a thumb, and I got a top hat dipped towards me. Sitting in between two of my best friends, I was relieved beyond words. “Besides, who else would kidnap you like this?”                     

I smiled. He told me Camille wanted me waking up today fresh for another week of work. But I couldn’t stop soaking in the relief as we approached my house. Jester got out on the right, and I climbed this way, Chester handing me my purse. I thanked him and then returned to bed after we all said goodbye.

Actually, I stood there, and then whirled around, marching up my set of stairs and unlocking my door. That terrible feeling returned, and I tossed and turned in my bed. My office job could wait a week or so. But I went, chewed my boss out and then received an email saying I was one less employee. At home, I slammed the door. Glowering at the floor, I wished it’d open right up and swallow me.

A knock at the door. I whipped it open. Camille stood there, a cheerful grin on her face.

“What do you want?”

She beckoned me closer and whispered in my ear. I followed her. When I saw the ugly black iron gate before us, I looked, speechless, back at her.

“Yep!” She gleefully unlocked the car, unbuckled her seat and got out. With pursed lips, I got out, too, only returning my hands to my pockets and staring at the place we’d run around for hours—days if we could—when we were little toddlers. The glorious days before my parents’ fate that sent me into an emotional war of anger and frustration for the past twenty-two years of my struggling life. “Come on, Sun! Your name does end in shine, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I kicked at a stick and then looked right up at that row of deadly looking pointy metal bars welded together to form such a barrier. I admitted I knew why she had brought me here.

I looked back at her, and she nodded. I bit my lip, and then swallowed. Standing before that giant gate, I shivered. I could blame the wind. I said I just got fired. Camille ignored this, jerking her head towards the gate. I wanted to crank out the remaining chapter before hitting the Send button. I told her I had to go, and escaped into the driver’s seat, promising I’d be back. When I was, I told her I emailed my manuscript. She smiled and nodded, but told me a manuscript wasn’t going to shut that gate on my past. Only I could change myself.                      

I looked at it. Would I shut out all that hurt about my parents’ tragic death, or would I would move on, leaving such pain behind instead of emotionally killing my friends and loved ones around me?

I knew it wasn’t everyone else, or even the situation. It was me.

I dashed up to it, shutting the gate completely. A burst of applause should’ve resounded in the still, silent park. I whirled around, but Camille said she knew I did it because she brought me here to do so.

Dropping me off, she ignored my angry answer. As she sped away, I ground my teeth and retreated into the house, making and eating my dinner. I chucked my ceramic dishes into the sink. The ear-splitting sound jolted me, and I ran over, staring in disbelief at the cracked pink flowery dish. Grabbing the pieces, I blinked back tears—this dish belonged to my grandmother, who hung it above our kitchen when I was a little girl. I had destroyed it.

I grabbed my keys and drove to the park a couple nights later. I reopened that iron gate, slammed it and then walked away. I looked around for someone to congratulate me, but only the trees and leaves surrounded me with their quietness. I pressed my lips together, wishing Camille would just show up and put a smile on my face. Care for once.    

I spat I had done what Camille had told me. I rushed to her house, but she wasn’t there. I ran to the restaurant where we kids enjoyed coloring placemats every Thursday evening. There they were, all laughing and enjoying cocktails underneath a pretty hanging lamp. I tried stealing their attention. No one saw me.

Then, Camille rose from her chair and walked outside. She grabbed my hand, urging me to sit beside “the actor of the century!” I did, watching Camille’s stories entertain Jester. I saw Chester laugh across the table at Hester’s comedy, and Hester nod his curly black head, his blacker eyes widening in interest as he listened to the steps Chester was taking towards building and managing his own company.

Then I joined in—for real. I couldn’t help reveling in such relief, joy and excitement. I even told Camille I now decided I had slammed that gate closed, walking away from it forever. She rose, walked around towards me and grabbed me into a hug. “We’re all heroes at something, Sun!” She returned to her seat, and I engaged in a conversation more delicious than our dinner.

The next night, I typed some words on a new document. 

It revolved around that iron gate. My taxi cab driver was my deuteragonist. He was funny, but once he became a hit, he no longer suffered from the traffic of hopelessness and frustration—he had too crossed the Sunshine Skyway Bridge.  

Just like me.   

Once I had many, many copies of my previous book sold, I went to one of his shows. He said he bought one of my signed books.

"I'm still a taxi cab driver."

But his eyes shone with hope. I laughed. Maybe because he was my comedian. I asked. He shook his head.

"Because I'm a funny taxi cab driver!"