Living A Blonde’s Life
Of The House
I heard the steps eerily pass my room, odd enough. If a good, master, kidnapper was here, they would have found me already, taken me hostage and written a ransom note with separately cut out letters from magazines and newspapers to disguise themselves and their handwriting to whoever finds it and then sign anonymously. The noise of the feet were going back and forth across the hallway with an echo. My heart was pounding so badly, I could barely hear a sound. That’s how tense I became.
“Maybe your mind’s running from you again.”, my mother had told me when I was younger, due to my old ,and probably still is, overactive imagination. Sometimes I can’t help how out of control my imagination gets.
I wasn’t being particularly quiet squirming in a sharp corner and the hefty hard-back covered Math textbook I had in my clammy, shaking hands was doing no favor to me. I heard a knock on my white bedroom door, and I questioned, “A polite kidnapper? One that knocks like, ‘Oh, I’m going to knock and come in now and ask if you want to be kidnapped, but that’s okay, what you say is irrelevant because I’m taking you anyways.’ Like why ask? Or if they are really screwed, if you ask not to be Kidnapped, they’ll let you go. That would still be breaking and entering ,however, you escaped with your life so…” Then the person let themself in and from the moment I saw that door open, I squeezed my eyes shut and swung as hard as I could towards, where I thought, the mysterious person was. I still didn’t open my eyes, as I heard what would have been a satisfactory thud. “If only,” I sighed as I realized this, “it didn’t come from the RIGHT SIDE of the room.” It wasn’t even a thud, it sounded like a very loud smack. So I can only guess it hit the wall on the flat side. I should have known it probably wouldn’t have hit said person considering that my aim can sometimes be good and then all else it sucks.
I heard soft chuckling in front of me following the smack of the book that sounded familiar. “Really, Lesels (pronounced Leh-sulls)? You’re lucky it didn’t make a dent.”
“Is that..” my mind trailed. I finally relieved my eyes and opened them.“It is!” I assured myself.
“Charlie! ” I threw my arms around him into a giant bear hug. I had forgotten he was coming back today from the colleges.
“You missed me that much? I was gone only a week or so.”
“And it was a slow, lacking silliness, week or so.” I teased lovingly, squeezing him tighter.
Charlie was really Charles. I just didn’t like saying Charles when I was younger so I said Charlie instead. Coincidentally enough, it rhymes with Leslie so it was all good. Coincidentally again, my nickname Lesels rhymes with Charles. It’s like we subconciously wanted to rhyme with each other. Charles is my older brother who has, lucky for him, a bronzish shade of brown hair. He got it from Dad, who had a lighter shade of the same color. He never had to go through the blonde struggles through out middle school and definitely isn’t in high school even though this is his junior year. Plus, he just has this charisma, charm, friendliness, and intelligence that makes him friend to all. It is hard to stay mad at him, trust me, I would know. He isn’t perfect, however, but I find it perfection that he’s modest and nice. Plus, he’s my brother and I love him.
He was gone for that one week, 21 hours and 36 minutes (I only calculated because I missed him) because he left the versatile life here in our small town in West Virginia to see Yale and Harvard in Connecticut and Massachusetts. He stayed in a hotel with a few other students from the local highschool. My brother was alwayssmart and sometimes that takes from our times together. He sent postcards to me to help him feel near, but I still enjoyed his physical presence. He was already turning in college applications and touring the schools.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew my days with Charlie were numbered and so I despise it when he leaves home because it’s less Leslie and Charles time and more Leslie-alone-while-Dad’s-in-Pennsylvania-and-Mom-is-hardly-home time. Dad got a new job offering in Pennsylvania two years ago. Without wanting us to start life all over, he got the job but decided to stay in Pennsylvania while we live our lives here. He came every other weekend but it just isn’t the same anymore. He owns a little apartment there that we all, Mom included, visit during the breaks. So Charlie has been kind of raising me as a male figure.
Mother, however, has been struggling to get by since my dad left. She takes classes at a college 45 minutes away because she’s trying for a Master Degree in Occupational Health And Safety so she can become an Occupational Therapist since she hught she wanted to be more than a nurse. So we already didn’t see her as often as we want. Then she began to work extra hours to double-insure that we had money just in case dad’s job went south. She always has a need to come up with an extra plan (or 26). I guess that’s where my blonde yet not blondeness comes from, or maybe it’s dad’s brunette genes intermingling. I should just stop.
“So what are you up to?” Charlie inquired while taking a strawberry from my fruit salad and chewing it while peering over me.
“Well, I made this fruit salad-whatever thing, and then I was GOING begin studying when you came into the house and I became mentally convinced that it was a kidnapper that was going to take me, hold me hostage, and write a ransom note with various cut-out magazines and newpapers with a reward of 20,000 dollars. But why would anyone use that type of money to save me. Besides, I’ll save myself with with my dumb blonde skills. I would Act so stupid that it’s preposterous and he will literally not want me and kick me out of his rusty, abandoned workhouse, evil lair, his mother’s basement, wherever he is. If it just so happened to be a guy, you never know. It could have been a woman if it wasn’t you, Charlie.”
“Well, Lesels, like mother said-,”
“My mind is running away from me again. Yeah, I know. But you didn’t scream Hello or something so how was I going to know?”
“Well, Leslie, a dumb blonde probably wouldnm’t have the word ‘preposterous’ in his and/or her vocabulary. So, I have make-up homework to do since I left, so have fun studying, and I’m taking the food with me.” I hadn’t heard very well the last part, It sounded like, ‘I’m taking the food.’ But I responded, “Okay, bye Charlie.” I searched my table for a bowl of fruit and I couldn’t find it.
“Charles!!!!” I yelled as it echoed through out the house. Over the echoes, you could hear him chuckling to himself and the audible crunch of an apple chunk over the sounds of clickety-clack of his keyboard with his laptop.
“Imogen, I know this is nearly the end of the year but you will not get away with wearing your thin strapped tank tops or shorts no matter how screwed the dress code is here and no matter how chill Mr. Mitchell is.”
Mr. Mitchell was our homeroom teacher and also our first period teacher. This year, your homeroom teacher was also our first period class. It was something odd they decided to do this year all of a sudden. I guess it was to reduce the transition hassles so early. It worked so I can only guess the same will happen next year. These school year was already coming to an abrupt end, and honestly it has been a bit stressful and whizzed by SUPER QUICKLY, but I know I will miss it this summer. I mean, I don’t go out and ‘hang out’ with people much so the last day of school could be the last time I see them in a while.
I was convincing her that just because school is almost out it doesn’t mean we should rebel because some of us need to maintain a good reputation. It was was still kind of, sort of light outside at 8:26pm , and I had taken some pictures of the beautiful sunset from my backyard my room window with a camera I got for my 10th birthday from one of my favorite aunts. It’s one of my favorite birthday presents. Other than books, writing, and playing my instruments, I had a hobby of photography. I have a lot of hobbies, it’s weird. Although, it’s better sitting around bored because you don’t have any.
“Come on,” she whined, ” It would be fun! You know you want to. You do. You know so.”
“Nope, Imogen. We don’t have to be like every other partying kid at our screwed school who wants break the rules. Besides, we need a good record to get into Harvard and or Oxford together.”
“I guess so.” We had mused to go to the same colleges for a while now. Harvard, it’s like one of the best schools in the country! Imogen’s in for Oxford, however, not only the education but the, ‘ cute, hot, British guys with their accents that sounds like cakes.’ I wonder how an accent sounds like a cake or any dessert but anything with Imogen is possible or near possible.
“The books. The libraries are said to be BIG with hundreds of books, can you Imagine it?”
“The guys. British guys are so HOT, mayube we’ll pick up some if we go to Oxford. BY the way, I think I’m going to like someone else and try for him since Andrew is so out of reach.”
“Imogen, you can’t just decide to like somone else because Andrew is not obtainable. ”
“Well, what else am I going to do? It’s the perfect way for him to see what a great girlfriend I can be. Then, he’ll get jealous. Then, I’ll break up with the other guy and date Andrew. Then, we’ll-”
“I don’t know but you can’t just decide how your emotions are. Emotions can be uncontrollable. Plus, I don’t think that is morally or ethically correct because you are technically leading them on.”
“Why not? Boys have side chicks, why can’t girls have side men? Plenty of people lead people on, so why does it matter?”
“Well, we aren’t those people. We are genuine people. Side chicks are only used when men are so pitiful and greedy that they can’t be happy with what they have.”
“Such a feminist sometimes. But I’m still thinking about a potential love interest to pass the time. Like I said before with my train of thought before you derailed it, he’ll see how great a girlfriend I’ll be if I date someone else.”
“Imogen, you would be using them.”
“They’ll never know.”
“You should really at least, kind of sort of, like them.”
“Okay, I kind of have a crush on that lab partner of yours in Mrs. Heathens class. I keep forgetting his name though. Is it Lincoln, Lyle?”
“It’s Liam. Liam Heran.”
“Oh, yes, Liam!”
“Don’t you think if you like someone, you should remember their name?”
“I know, but I just forgot! He’s nice and kind but a bit soft-spoken. I don’t think he’ll handle my wackiness. But hey, no harm, no foul.” I heard someone shouting for Imogen, over the phone, “Immy! WE need you down for a family meeting!”
Immy was her nickname but even I didn’t call her that but her youngest sister insisted that only she can use Immy. Her family of 7 always had unexpected or expected family meetings. She had her 15 year old twin sisters, Amanda and Melissa, her 10 year old brother, Ross, her 6 year old sister, Carmen, and her parents who insist that I call them David and Rachel instead of Mr. and Mrs. Peters. Things can get a bit hectic there especially with Carmen who is a bit too controlling and sarcastic for her own good.
Yet, they seem to know what exact time can be slotted in. It’s Almost like a receptionist, which is coincidental since her father is a pharmacist. I was over at her house for one and they tend to drag on and on. It’s mainly a progress report and a chat time on how their family members are, how are grades, relationships, all that stuff. As much as they are boring, I’d like if our family could get together just for one random night with no strings attached. Maybe it’s a little too much to ask for.
I clumsily scrawled out of my soft bed and took a long, hard look at myself with the clear, yet slightly smudged in the corner, mirror with its brown wood border that’s attached to my dresser. Standing there, I grew bored. So instead of walking back into my fluffy, warm, lavender comforter covered bed with blue sheets underneath with a white and pink polka dotted base, I held a piece of my hair and then threw it onto my face. While peering through the light hair strands, I looked ridiculous, RIDICULOUSLY HILARIOUS. I snickered at myself while I attempted to blow the hair off my face with no such luck. I don’t know why playing with my hair amuses me but somehow it does. Maybe it’s to make up for the mocking of the color, I don’t think I’ll ever know.
I lay on my bed reviewing how my day was. It wasn’t too bad, I don’t think. Over my thoughts, I could hear Charlie washing the dishes. I growing more and more tired staying the same position. I turned myself around to look at our my window to see the porch lights and the trees around the neighborhood. I just found peace in the quiet life of this town sometimes. With that thought, I smiled, nestled within my bed and went to sleep.