Those of you who have been around here for a while may remember when I uploaded the first couple chapters to my last complete project, "A Season in Summerton." And those of you who have been around more recently may have seen me expresses my exasperation at making that story a success, and how I'm trying to modernize the same tale. Well, I'm finally making progress! Your encouragement and support through these last few months of sparse blogging has been incredibly valuable, and it would make my day if y'all would peruse the new, and I'd like to think improved, first chapter of "A Season in Summerton." Please PLEASE leave your honest thoughts and comments below. I cannot improve without criticism, and I really do care about what y'all think. Thank you for your time and happy reading!
There hasn’t
been a good looking or worthwhile guy seen in Summerton in over ten years. Of
course, available men have passed through before, but none of them made me
suddenly forget how to speak and/or form coherent thoughts, a raging epidemic I
have had the guilty pleasure of seeing many of my friends fall prey to. But
it’s not like I have their heads turning or anything. When it comes to the game
of man catching, I certainly have my work cut out for me. For example last
spring, a decent blonde bachelor with a well-to-do family settled in Summerton,
and Cecilia Carmichael had him thoroughly secured in her clutches before you
could say, “don’t throw yourself so hard at the men, you might trip and crack
your face.”
Don’t ask me
how.
The fact that
Cecilia’s face might have been carved by angels might have had something to do
with it, yet I prefer to think he saw something more in her than a pretty face.
Her prospective inheritance laid away by her Mr. CEO father who I’m convinced
hasn’t been seen wearing anything other than a suit since he was potty trained,
could also have been what induced the new kid to propose to Cecilia at her high
school graduation. It wasn’t like the boy was desperate. Just hours after his
arrival he was awarded the secret and illustrious nickname of, “the local hottie,”
and he had captured the interest of all the single females within ten square
miles…which is all the females within ten square miles.
Yet I digress.
Where was I? Ah
yes, the unconventional proposal. Even though I had been fairly expecting an
equally moronic stunt, even I the
cynical life-meddler did not foresee such a public popping of the question. For
the rest of the summer nothing was spoken of but the cancelled wedding.
Cecilia’s mother managed to assemble the ceremony of the century even on short
notice and the local church was so swallowed up in decorations that we could
scarcely find the front door. My attendance was strictly formal and by formal I
mean that mother forced me to go after she reminded with teary eyes and a
series of nostalgic nose blows how Cecilia and I had once sang a duet together
in an elementary school performance.
Though I nodded
as my mother relived that night in all its childish beautym the only part of
that evening I remember was when Cecilia “accidentally” sang my final crescendo
note for me. Such a tease, that Cecilia. Always accidentally stealing other
people’s moments. Despite all that, I was eager to see how the wedding would
play out for I had never attended one which had been formed under such
adversely ridiculous circumstances. I had to stop myself from smiling when my
predictions came true and the money grubbing suitor, whom shall remain nameless,
made no appearance at the altar other than to publicly proclaim that he had
made a mistake.
Gasps resonated
through the small, historical chapel and I scrutinized the scene with sharp
eyes that the unfortunately hysterical moment would never fade from my memory.
That dude fled from the church and was never seen or heard from again, although
he narrowly escaped a beating from Mr. Carmichael’s crew of body guards and a
heel to the head which was weakly although passionately thrown from the sweaty
palm of Mrs. Carmichael. The ultimate crown to the moment, however, was when
the back of his suit jacket closed with the door on his way out, and we saw it
suddenly vanish through the crack as he screamed in terror. Cecilia crumpled up
into a pathetic little heap on the altar steps and I might have felt more sorry
for her were it not for the Vera Wang veil surrounding her sobbing, trembling
face. All I could think to myself was, “You could have fed a third world
village with the cost of that veil…or had another cake at the reception. The
choice is yours but I think you made a poor one.”
To a certain
extent she resembled an over-glorified baby whose crying face shamed the
extravagant dress on its body. She mourned like a proper widow for days, however, a leisurely getaway in
Vegas with some of her cousins restored her even faster than the engagement had
been made. She came back looking perhaps not quite as fresh faced as before,
but certainly more rosy-cheeked.
Despite
past scandals, the prospect of a new single guy coming to town continues to
create a hub amongst the female population. As such, when my best friend Katie
Pearce came to report the arrival of Charles Turner, I, though excited, did not
dare to hope for my own success.
It could be easily concluded from
Katie’s description of his pretty face and even prettier family fortune that
brazen flirting from every single woman within sight, would soon ensue. Our
small town dates back to over one hundred years ago and lies where all the
dreams which once existed gloriously in their dreamer’s imagination until they
lost hope and deserted the notion: in East Texas.
The set apart
atmosphere encouraged families to stick around for far longer than they were
wanted and, consequently, we children have grown up together. And that’s really
just a charming way of saying that we have dirt on everyone and are more familiar with the same group of people than
we would prefer to be. Even though our mothers continue to conspire and
speculate in secret, we all have given up hope of finding any worthwhile
partner in Summerton. Even nosy Ms. Baines who knows the darkest secrets of
everyone and their great grandmother, has given up home of match-making the
youth of Summerton with one another.
“Soooo….is
he nice?” I asked, after Katie interrupted my study session under my favorite
maple tree to enter into a ten minute pitch on why this guy who I have never met
is the best thing to happen to this town to date.
“Well,
uh…” she laughed and I rolled my eyes, feeling fairly certain of what her
giggles foreshadowed. “I haven’t exactly met him yet. Though I caught a glimpse
of him whenever he was helping the movers unload the trucks in front of their
house. They picked that old, abandoned one on Orchard Street you know, they
want to fix it up. Anyhow, he had a pleasing smile and welcoming eyes…I think
you and he would make a divine pair.”
“Nonsense,”
I scoffed, slamming my textbook shut and rather gratefully resigned to an
afternoon of gossiping rather than studying. “If Cecilia Carmichael doesn’t
have him irrevocably in love with her before I have a chance to meet him, you will.”
“Of
course I could make him fall madly in love with me.” Said she, with a wink and
playful toss of the head. “But so could you, I would warrant. You always get on
so well with the guys.”
“That’s
just my problem. Boys don’t look among their buddies for romance, that I have
learned the hard way. No, this time around I intend to try something new.”
“Oh?”
Katie questioned with an upward flick of her dark, pointed brows. “I hope you
don’t intend to snub all of us and everything you once adored for mere
attention.”
“Hardly!
And whatever I do shall not be in the sheer pursuit of amusement alone. I have
designed a social experiment, and Charles Turner sounds like just the proper
proponent for my equation.”
“And
this ‘experiment’ as you put it is highly scientific, I am sure?”
We
both smiled.
“You
know I would work with nothing other than the latest and finest developments of
science.”
“But
honestly Sofie,” she continued, “What do you intend to change? I’ve always
relied on you being instable when it comes to consistency. I don’t know how I
could cope with the thought of your every move and thought being intended.”
“Now,”
I reverently closed my eyes and shook back my auburn hair. “This change is not
to take place around old friends like you. I merely mean to present myself
differently to those whom I am meeting for the first time.”
Katie
slowly nodded, as though attempting to understand. My pink lips twitched when I
suppressed a smile. “You, and I daresay everyone in town considers me to be,
what we shall label as…bold.”
“Outspoken,”
Katie continued, touching the tips of her fingers as though counting. “Giggly,”
“Yes.”
“Unconventional.”
“Agreed.”
“Prone
to clumsiness,”
“Alright,
I get the idea.” I laughed. “But I mean to act completely different. No more of
my uncalled for although hilarious monologues, or frequent bursts of laughter.”
“It
won’t be easy for you.”
“I
know.” For some reason that prospect only made me smile all the more. As I
faced the setting sun which lowered behind the town square, I took my most
heroic stance and stared determinedly with my hands placed firmly on my hips.
“But that is what will make it a challenge. I’ve always longed to be one of
those soft-spoken, doe-eyed kind of girls who seem to swiftly obtain the
attention of whomever they place their affections upon.”
“Well
not all guys prefer the same type. What if Charlie or some other boy comes
along who would prefer your true personality?”
Raising
one eyebrow I stared her down, and Katie’s luminous blue eyes danced in return.
“Seeing as I’m eighteen years old and that still
hasn’t happened, I doubt it will. I’m not feminine enough for most guys and
it’s time I started acting my age regardless.”
Observing
the sun which swung low in the sky, we joined arms and started walking towards
my house. A delicious breeze swirled through Arthur Goodall’s peach orchard and
saturated our lungs with the fragrance of summer. Lush grass mushing beneath my
bare feet proved to be one of those delightful sensations that never loses its
charm, despite the passing years. When we reached my wrap-around front porch or
the “veranda” as my grandmother continues to call it, I said, “I’d invite you
to stay over for dinner, but mom has already invited guests.”
“Who?”
No
question is rude with old friends.
“The
Bromwells.” I rolled the name off my tongue like a bratty child being forced to
apologize.
Katie
nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, I have heard of their
daughter Penny.”
“Have
you heard that she is nauseatingly giddy in addition to being quite the
impressive flirt?”
“Rumors
have circulated. But they only moved her a few weeks ago, so I would not
consider local gossip reliable.”
“I’ll
try to give her a chance to prove herself,” I huffed as though granting someone
the liberty of a first impression was really stretching my limits. “But if what
I’ve heard turns out to be true, this will not
be an enjoyable meal.”
Katie
smiled and turned her feet like she was saying goodbye when she suddenly smiled
and said, “The Turners, and now the Bromwells. Isn’t it weird?”
“Isn’t
what weird?” I yawned.
“It’s
been ages since anybody new has come to Summerton. I hope they turn out to be
likeable people.”
Patting
her arm I replied, “That’s all we can really hope for, I suppose. Though I feel
I’m not as excited by the prospect of a new “bachelor” as I should be.”
“You
never have been the giddy type.” She said, half admiringly, half reproachfully.
“I’m expecting you to keep me in line whenever
we meet him.”
“I
will be the very model of sophistication, that you might mimic my graceful
manners.” Like a pudgy ballerina I began dizzily twirling towards the front
door as though dancing for an imaginary crowd.
When
Katie caught her laugher she wheezed, “Oh Sofie, the day when you are graceful
and charming will be a far more headlining occasion that a good looking guy
moving to town.”
Our
laugher rang and molded together like a familiar harmony. When it faded beyond
the birdsong and rustling leaves she said, “I’ll see you later. Good luck with
the dinner tonight.” I closed one
eye, stuck out my tongue, and made a gagging sound while pointing to my open
mouth before walking inside where mom was frantically flying around the living
room, fluffing pillows and demanding the food in the oven not to burn.
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