Tavern Song

I was in the car one day and this song sprung into my head (yes, out of nowhere):

A mug of beer and a bottle of rum

With wine we sing, with ale we hum

A pipe full of smoke

And the bartender Boak

With his spritely fiddle singing

And his stead'ly beating drum

 

Gay is the light of a fireplace bright

Is the song of the stove in the middle of the night

A ballad to the soup of the kitchen-maid fair

To the cat eating scraps in the scullery there

To the dog in the yard who is howling at the moon

And the rat whose food is peelings tonight

 

A mug of beer and a bottle of rum

From home we leave, to the inn we come!

 

This song actually reminds me a bit of hobbits and other Tolkien-ish things related ot the Shire. I dunno why.

Chapter Two: The Trial (P. 1)

Nathanael took the steps two at a time. The door to the dormitory was cracked open and a sliver of sunlight dimly illuminated the musty hallway.

 

"Lionel?" Nathanael tapped open the door a centimeter. "Can I come in?"

 

"'Tis not my leave whether or not you enter. 'Tis not my room." The bitterness, oh, it was painful. Nathanael's stomach lurched.

 

"Lionel, it was wrong of me to snap at you. I was just flustered."

 

"'There are no excuses'. 'Tis what my father told me. There is that truth and that that is not true. No more, no less," he murmured as Nathanael made his way to his bed. "I've come to agree."

 

There were two dormitories in Hardy Hall, the first identical to the second. The window directly opposite the door with the curtains drawn back (but the panes tightly closed, Nathanael noted) shed light into the low-ceilinged room. There were five pairs of crisply made beds marching stoutly down the oak-paneled walls and a sturdy chest at the foot of each. A nightstand on the door side of each bed completed the scene, the half-melted candles replaced with fresh ones, the white wicks erect with a sense of renewal. Nathanael's bed was under the window on the right wall, right next to Lionel's. He was perched on his chest, frowning over notes.

 

 "Lionel, honestly. Don't get philosophical on-" Nathanael stopped short. Turning down his friend's advice didn't seem wise, especially after he had before. "Never mind."

 

Lionel glanced up at him and attempted a small grin. "Of course, the truth isn't always what it seems. Bradshaw and Baker could have easily stolen that money from Over-Bridge. You never know."

 

Nathanael smiled, and the tension melted. He leaned over and glanced down the page Lionel was studying. "What is this?"

 

Lionel grimaced. "If I could read it, it would be a whole lot easier to tell. This is my instructor's handwriting, not mine. His is horrendous."

 

Nathanael laughed. "Can't be worse than Asa's. He's what, sixty-five? and still can't hold his pen properly. There were marks everywhere on my Midwinter's exam when I got it back."

 

Lionel giggled and then sobered. "How did you do on it?"

 

"I didn't fail, if that's what you mean."

 

"Obviously you didn't. You're great at Medicine." Lionel sighed. "I dunno, Nathanael. Sometimes I think that Trade just isn't my thing. It just doesn't sit right."

 

Nathanael smiled and said, "Trade doesn't sit right in anyone in Hardy," but when he saw that Lionel was serious he asked, "Why? You were always good at mathematics. Better than me, anyway."

 

His friend shrugged. "It doesn't make sense, I guess. All Trade is is mathematics. Why I can't manage it I can't imagine." He paused. In a small voice he said, "I was thinking of leaving."

 

"What?" Nathanael exclaimed. "You can't leave!"

 

Lionel shrugged. "'Twas just an idea. I haven't written Mother about it or anything yet."

 

"But you're the only friend I've got! You can't just go!" As he spoke, Nathanael realized the truth in the words.

 

"And you are my only friend, Nathanael. You have Jared Marksman. Besides, it's selfish of me to take up this spot when someone else could have it instead."

 

Nathanael went pale. "You don't mean Zachary Over-Bridge, do you?" Lionel was silent. "Two Over-Bridges!" Nathanael exclaimed. "Two! As if the first wasn't enough, always sneaking in and out of the corners."

 

"What was that?" Calvin Marksman walked in, his bag slung over his shoulder. "You should be grateful, Smithy, that Over-Bridge didn't pay any more to Baker and Bradshaw, or you'd be at the mercy o' yer bumbling teacher."

 

"Yeah," Jared, Calvin's cousin, walked in, too. "One more hit, I'd say, and you'd meet an end before yer time."

 

Calvin and Jared would have looked exactly the same, if Jared's hair was the same shade of straw as Calvin's, and it was less curly, and he had lighter eyes, and he was taller. That is to say, they didn't look much alike at all. Most people assumed that they were fraternal twins, but in truth the only physical thing that they shared was a pair of grandparents, both on their father's side. Yet they acted the same, and  laughed the same way, and their voices were difficult to tell apart.

 

Lionel snorted. "Mind your own business, Marksman."

 

"Which one?" they asked in unison.

 

"By the way, Nathanael," said Jared, "Asa said we've got to get to the room early today." He was a Medical student, as well.

 

"Exactly how early?" Nathanael said, slightly panicked. He was beginning to recall the fuzzy instruction. "I don't remember it well."

 

Jared glanced out the window. "North take the snow! It covered the sundial." He sighed. "Well, we're supposed to be there early, anyway. I dunno why. Asa's losin' it, if ya ask me. Never can keep that head of his right side up."

 

"There's still time to get there. 'Slong as we make it before half-past we should be fine. Class doesn't start until one in the afternoon, anyway. Half an hour should be fine."

 

More boys had been streaming into the dormitory as they were talking. Some were packing their sacks for the next class. Others were just sitting on their beds and chatting to one another. Timothy Over-Bridge was leafing through old letters. Bradshaw of the Wood had his shoes kicked off and was dozing quietly. Calvin had the other Education trainee engaged in a conversation about their instructor. It sounded to Lionel that they were discussing how to get him to teach them fencing, which, to Lionel, had absolutely nothing to do with Education.

 

"Better get going, then, Cal," said Jared. "See you, Carpenter." Nathanael grinned at Lionel and followed Jared out, his bag in hand.

PS: Chapter One is called "Porridge". You could probably imagine why
PPS: Please, post some honest, unsympathetic critizism (spelling?). Don't feel bad aobut hurting my feelings; they are uneasily dampened.

To Give, or Not to give (P. 3 and the last)

Again, beginning where we left off:

Months passed. Polaris acquired many more pins, but every now and then she’d put on one that had once belonged to her beloved great-grandfather. It was in late August when she had picked them up again in the comfort of her cozy bed and clutched them tightly, one in each hand.

A door creaked open in a hallway. The tired groans on her bedraggled father could be heard. Polaris sighed. It was only a matter of time before the rest of her family woke up. There was no magic in remembering things when there was the presence of others to break the connection of past and present.  She sighed again as she poured her pin collection into the old jam jar, and to sigh turned to a grin when she saw that her pins did not completely fit anymore she would have to get a bigger jar, or pin them all to a sheet of fabric.

 

            Once upon a time, there was a girl. The girl, if you haven't guessed already, is me, and the gift of giving, as it is commonly called, is something that I have been working on for years. To give freely is something that I have wanted to do for a long time. And I have not yet acquired it. Human selfishness has always held me back, and I hate it. Truly. But the nice thing about being human is that that since we are imperfect we can learn, and pass on what we know. My teachers are the lady in the elevator, the man under the canopy. Grammy, Pappy Sterner, Sharon. Right now, I would like to say thank you. Really. Thank you for little by little, bit by bit teaching me to give and to give and to give. It is a gift that multiplies itself, like guppies, but unlike guppies it will benefit not just one person, but the next as well. It starts a chain reaction that is almost impossible to break.

            Amazing, isn’t it, how much a little pin could do?

To Give, or Not To Give (P. 2)

Beginning where we left off:

“You can keep that one if you like.”

Sitting on her bed with all of the pins spread in front of her, Polaris recalled how extraordinarily similar that that sounded to the story that Sharon had told her.

 

Polaris and Sharon had been friends for a long time. They lived on the same street and were in the same grade. It was a rainy day. Little drops had been sprinkled Polaris as she walked to Sharon’s, but as she entered it was as thought the heavens had been smashed open and all of the waters above had dumped themselves onto the road that they lived on.

They were sitting on the soft carpet next to Sharon’s bed. Sharon was showing Polaris one of her most prized possessions: a heart-shaped brooch, not two inches long and a pale sunset pink. Three flowers, two yellow and red and one blue sprouted from the tip. A butterfly hovered over them flying in the strip of white that streaked across the top where the color had been rubbed off.

With pride, Sharon talked about how she had received it. She clasped it in her hand and it looked to Polaris that she was messaging it.

“It was a day like today,” Sharon said. “Rainy and grey. I remember because I wore my rain coat with the red flowers. We were going to the hospital to visit a friend, but looking back I don’t remember who it was.  I was nervous and didn’t let go of my dad’s hand.” She paused. “There was a packed elevator when we went up. At each floor someone got off. Soon the only people left were me, my dad and a lady who looked about in her twenties.” Pause. “She was pretty, but I forgot what she wore. I think that it was a white shirt and knitted cardigan. Anyway, she was wearing this very pin,” Sharon relaxed her fingers so that Polaris could see it, “and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, Polaris. It was just so beautiful. She must have seen me staring, though, because she smiled walked over.

“‘You look afraid,’ she said to me, and looked me straight in the eye. And you’ll never guess what she did next, Polaris. Can you guess?”

Polaris opened her mouth to answer, but Sharon rushed ahead.

“She gave it to me! Can you believe it? She just undid it and pressed it into my hand and said, ‘You can keep this.’ I don’t know about you, but if I had something that pretty I’d never give it away!”

A few months later it was Polaris’ twelfth birthday. It was as wet as it was on the day at the hospital, so when Sharon and her twin sister, Sam, came to deliver her birthday present they couldn’t stay for long. When Polaris opened her birthday presents that evening, she found the little pin at the bottom of the bag.

“If I had something that pretty I’d never give it away!”   

“Never, Sharon?” Polaris whispered as she rubbed the pin thoughtfully.

 

On her bed, she noticed that she had been unconsciously feeling the brooch. She looked at all of the other pins that had been spilled in front of her, then gently put the heart down and picked up a pair of twin buttons, with needles so stiff that she couldn’t open it herself. They were both round, and fit each fit easily a palm. Polaris knew that they had once been orange, though now they were the color of rust. Each read “Maryland Beagle Club” with a brown and black pup standing, alert, on each one. Polaris knew well the one whom they had once belonged to.

 

Conrad Sterner was born in the year 1919. He grew up, got married and had four daughters, raising them about five minutes from the local Methodist church on the border of Maryland and Pennsylvania. They each got married and had children, and grandchildren (Polaris was one of them), and by 1990, Conrad Sterner was a great-grandfather. His wife lived to see her great-grandchildren, too.

In his long life, Pappy Sterner (as he was known to Polaris) had been a part of many things. One of these things was belonging to the Maryland Beagle Club. He had a special fondness for beagles (and John Deere tractors, and hunting).

In March 2012 Pappy Sterner passed away. He was ninety-three.

Polaris didn’t think that she could cry any more. Her eyes were sore from being rubbed and her fingers were clammy and cold and numb as she wrung her tissue between them. While her family loaded the car to return home, Grammy, Pappy’s daughter and Polaris’ grandmother, came up and wrapped Polaris’ hands around something.

“Polaris,” she said to her, “I was unpacking some of Pappy’s things from his house, and I found this. It has a lot of gifts that your family gave him, and there are some things that I found that I’d like you to have.” It was a wooden box, about eight inches wide and half as tall, the white paint peeling off and a picture of her mother and father and younger brother all sitting on a loveseat. It had to have been taken at least ten years ago, because Polaris’ father’s hair was still black and curly rather than grey and her brother was still less than a year old.

While Grammy hurried back into the house, Polaris opened the box. Inside there were a few trinkets and the Maryland Beagle Club buttons. She held them close to her chest and imagined Pappy Sterner wearing the same pins forty years ago.  

When Polaris’ father drove back to their home, he decided to take a detour (dads are sometimes like that) and drove past by- you guessed it -the Maryland Beagle Club, or the tree-shrouded field and house that it used to be, anyway. Polaris could see Pappy (much younger, of course) running across the field with a pair of faithful beagles at his heels and other men running with him, then getting tired with the sun and finally dragging themselves inside where hot cider and lantern light waited for them. Polaris blinked and the image faded. It had lasted barely a second.

 

Months passed. Polaris acquired many more pins, but every now and then she’d put on one that had once belonged to her beloved great-grandfather. It was in late August when she had picked them up again in the comfort of her cozy bed and clutched them tightly, one in each hand.

To Give, or Not to Give (P. 1)

I have written a memoir recently, and seeing as I have posted nothing nonfiction so far (story-wise) here is the first part. It was written to make the author totally anonymous, so it is in the third person. I also find that more amusing to write about an event that occured to me from an outside point of view.

 

 

As most stories open with “Once upon a time,” that is how we will begin. So here we are:

            Once upon a time, there was a girl. We can call her Polaris. Polaris began her pin collection when she was seven years old, in the year 2007. In the beginning there were four pins: the Coco-Cola bottle, the Build-A-Bear with a party hat and balloon, and two buttons that were acquired on a tour. But, like all good collectors, Polaris was not satisfied with only four pins. Oh, no, four wasn’t nearly enough! So she decided to collect at least ten pins in a year. This way by 2012 (which seemed so far away that it surely could never come) Polaris would be the proud owner of fifty pins!!!

            You may have noticed that is 2012. Polaris now has seventy-nine (and counting) pins.

            On a Saturday morning, before anyone else had woken up, Polaris separated her pins into groups: Flags and Countries, Freebies, Bought Just ‘Cause, Museums and Landmarks, and, finally, Gifts.

The “Gifts” group was certainly the largest. 

As Polaris ran her fingers through the pins given to her, she thought about the people that had left a mark on her through pins. The man at the church tag sale was definitely big.

 

It was summer vacation. The air was alive yet heavy with the aroma of grass and leaves and sunshine. Polaris’ mother was having one of her “days”. This meant that she dragged Polaris to every tag sale within a ten-mile radius. Not that she minded the “days”. They were amusing enough, with a reasonable amount of excitement and discovery.

While her mother looked at the plates and potholders mugs and teapots and all of those other lovely things that mothers have the special fondness of wasting money on, Polaris wandered over to a canopy that was set up over a few tables which were arranged in a rectangle around the owner. He was thinly built, with curly black hair that framed his weathered face and skin the color of ebony. The man’s fingers fiddled with the trinkets and necklaces laid out in little boxes scattered across the table. Polaris quickly scanned it and to her delight, found a section with pins that were small and seemingly inconspicuous amongst the colorful jewelry.

“How much are these?” Polaris asked him.

“Fifteen cents each, or two for twenty cents,” muttered the man, glancing up quickly.

She fished around the section and picked out two pins. One was a small world with eight children of different races standing on it and holding hands. There was another one that had the words “Jesus 2000” shaped in gold-colored metal. She pulled out a dime from her bag and handed it to the man, but couldn’t find another one.

“I only have a quarter here. Let me keep on looking.” Polaris put the unpaid for pin, the second one, down on the table and began to push aside the contents on her purse.

“’S okay,” the man murmured as she dug around. He picked up both pins and pressed them into her palm. “’S only a dime. You can keep that one if you like.”

Polaris was at a loss for words. “Thank you,” was all she could whisper before her mother called her away. When she looked out the window of the car Polaris thought that she could see him smiling to himself.

Polaris ran her finger over the shining pin that seemed to some worth fifteen cents, or less.

“You can keep that one if you like.”