Can it be...is it really...OMFG it's chapter 4!!

After what, like, 6 months? Ah, I'm so sorry that I dissapeared. If youa are reading this and have not already vowed to never look at another thing I write again, please forgive me.

But without further ado, I present...chapter four.

Questions

Eleven years previous

"I will not! Mama says that playing is for boys only. And it is dirty!"

An annoyed Sarah snorted at this. "Well, your Mama” she sneered the word, “would not know, would she? I bet she never ever played when she was six."

"Of course not! Because her Mama told her not to. Why would she do something she was told she should not? That is being bad, she says."

"Oh, please. If everyone always did what they were told, the world would not be the place it is today, would it?"

This confused Catherine. "What are you talking about?"

"Bloody hell, never mind."

"Sarah!"

"What? My Papa says it all the time when he's mad."

"Well, you are not your Papa! I am sure your Mama told you not to say that? To curse like that? It offends the Lord Jesus."

"Oh, yes, 'Do what I say, not as I do!' It is an ageless tradition between Mamas, Papas, and their children. One day, my silly Catherine, you will learn this."

Catherine harrumphed. She hated it when she did not understand what Sarah was saying. Sarah was so much smarter than Catherine, and it made her feel as though their relationship was somehow tipped toward her, that she had to try extra hard to make Sarah want to be friends with her. Sarah always assured her that this was all 'coddlesworth', Catherine had not even bothered to ask her what that meant, but still, she felt as though Sarah could leave her, would leave her, anytime without a second glance.

Deep down, Catherine knew that Sarah would not do that, would not abandon her. But, still, the knowledge that she could abandon her hung over Catherine's head like a shadow. An inescapable reminder of the near possibilities.

"And as for the Lord Jesus, he can kiss my foot if a simple curse offends him so. Someone like that is not a person I would want to be friends with."

Catherine blushed.

"Now, Catherine, my dear, if you will not climb the tree with me, I will just do it myself. Then, you will be all alone on the ground, with only the hem of my dress to look at, stories above you!" With that, Sarah stuck out her tongue and ran away.

Catherine followed, reluctantly, for she knew that the consequences would be dreadful if her Mama caught her climbing a tree. Even if she saw her running after Sarah.

But, Sarah did have one thing straight, Catherine did not like to be left alone, least of all by her only friend. She trudged, half unwillingly, half desperately, after her galloping, laughing, best friend.

Present

There had been times, when I was still small, when I had believed that Sarah was somewhat cruel. I had sometimes thought that Sarah could have been a little gentler in the way that she went about trying to get me to live my life. I was never one for breaking the rules, not because I was a "goody two-shoes" as Sarah often called me, but because I simply saw no point. I did not think that it was fun, and did not get near the amount of adrenaline that Sarah did, the times that I did break the rules.

I chuckled at this. Sarah was always a firecracker, constantly running, always had something to say about everything. I never knew why I had latched onto Sarah, it just happened.

Perhaps because Sarah had been the only one to see me as a person. Even my mother did not acknowledge my feelings when I was small. In fact, my mother was at the very top of that list.

The carriage that said woman and I were riding in suddenly lurched to the side, as it swung around a turn.

We were headed to the Shopping Plaza, the two of us, the carriage driver, and the footman sitting on top of the carriage. I dearly pitied him; it could not be much fun up there in the cold. And when we arrived at our destination, all he was going to do was carry around shopping packages after myself and my mother. I assumed that someone with a job like that could not possibly have much of a life of their own.

Across from me, my mother heaved a dramatic sigh. So far, the entire ride had been awkward and unpleasant.

I did not mind so much. I did not really wish to speak to anyone at the moment, least of all, my mother.

She cleared her throat. "Well, I was looking through your wardrobe the other day. I truly think that a few new dresses are in order."

"That's nice." I said, looking away. This was neither the time, nor the place that I wished to discuss dresses and high fashion. I wanted greatly to simply sit in silence and think about happier times.

"Catherine." My mother snapped her fingers in front of my face. "I am trying to make conversation. You are being very rude by ignoring me."

I sighed, "And I am trying my hardest to ignore you. You are being very rude by trying to disrupt that. And needless to say, when you wish to get someone's attention, snapping your fingers at them is not the most polite way to go about it."

"Don't you dare try and tell me what you think is rude and how to avoid it, Catherine.” She enunciated every word to the extreme, very nearly spitting in my face. “You are seventeen years old. You may be clever, my dear, by that does not at all mean you are intelligent."

"I could say the same for you. Minus the ripe young age, of course."

My mother straightened and glared straight at me. "Catherine, not only was that extremely uncalled for, but a bit contradictory after trying to correct my manners."

"Mother, let us be blunt, shall we? It is just us girls right now, after all." My mother raised her eyebrows. "My one and only true friend in the world has gone missing. She was the only person who gave a flying fuck about whether I lived or died, or even that I have human emotions. It seems very likely that I will never see her again, and even more likely that she is dead. And you want to talk about dresses? What were you doing, going through my wardrobe, anyway? If we are speaking of how to avoid rudeness, I do not think that searching through someone's personal possessions without asking them quite follows as shamelessly as one might think."

"Dear, I am your mother. I can go through your wardrobe if it pleases me. And it was for you, Catherine. I wanted to know what clothing you needed."

My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I cackled, laughing at the roof of the carriage.

"'You are my mother?’ Since when has that ever, ever been an excuse for you? And, oh, I wish it was even a good one! You have never cared for me the way a mother should, so don't you dare try and use maternal instinct on me."

My mother's voice became sharp. "Catherine, I have cared for you your whole life. Since before you were even born, my dear. I have taken care of you, loved you, and watched you grow up indifferent to me. That is painful, Catherine, to have your only child not love you."

"I'm indifferent to you? I do not love you? Ha! Mother, you are oh so very funny, truly you are. All my life, every time I have looked at you, I see empty eyes. I see eyes that cannot hold emotion, and if they could, would not choose to. Whenever you looked at me, you looked through me. You were never tender, as a mother should be, never held me, never even hugged me, mother. A spare kiss goodnight, perhaps every other year, would have been nice. I always felt like I was weighing you down, and not because this was something I noticed. Oh no, this was the way you acted around me. Everything you said, every movement in relation to me, you did not bother to conceal your indifference to me. It has been this way for as long as I could possibly remember, mother. If you did love me as you say you did, mine and your definition of love must completely contradict each other."

"Catherine..." she shook her head, "Catherine, your view on life is so one-sided. Have you ever taken into thinking of someone's point of view besides your own?"

You have no idea. "I have indeed, mother. Even so, your actions still make little sense to me."

"There have been times, often, granted, that I have wished my life was different. That I imagine what would have happened if I had denied you father's hand. A life like mine is not easy, do not be mistaken-"

I snorted. "Oh yes, having to sit around all day and just glare at the servants? I expect that must be very trying on your mentality, you poor dear, you."

"Please, do not interrupt me."

My mouth clamped shut and I beckoned her to continue.

"Your father and I were wed merely for the wealth that was to be gained if we pooled our family’s money. In the early years of our marriage, he beat me on a regular occasion, Catherine. He had many mistresses that he did not even try to hide from me, if only for my sanity. But when I became pregnant, I was so unbelievably happy. Not because I would have a child with my wretched husband, no, but because I would have an outlet. A source of happiness, of relief, even, in a painful existence."

I listened, thinking of how I might continue to plead my case.

"The child was stillborn. She-"

"Wait, you had another child besides me?"

"Again, Cat, do not interrupt me."

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry."

"The child was stillborn. She had managed to wrap her umbilical cord around her neck while she was still in my womb, and was born dead."

"A blessing in disguise, as I'm sure she's come to understand." I blinked.

"Please, Catherine." my mother's voice broke. "When I became pregnant again, there was not a movement I made that was not thoroughly considered and thought-over, in hopes of keeping you safe. But then, I began to realize, that although you would be my child, you were also your father's child, as well. This scared me to no end, the thought that you might look like you father, that I might see his face every time I looked at you."

"Oh. I am sorry my face disappoints you so."

"You came out looking like your mother, only prettier."

What? I had not expected this.

"But your eyes, my dear. When you were a month old, I remember a day that you looked at me. You narrowed your brown eyes, and for a moment, they were shinning and sharp as anything. Even though I knew you would be smarter than most, it scared me.

Then, when you were five years old, we began to disconnect."

"Now, that I do remember."

"You sort of contracted into yourself. Then you met Sarah, and completely cut yourself off from the rest of the world. I did not understand it, because Sarah was so outgoing. A relationship with her would most likely result in more communication with the world, I thought. I made the mistake of letting you become who you were without my help. I should have been there to guide you more. I should not have left you to make adult decisions when you were so young."

"Are you saying this is Sarah's fault?"

"I am saying that it is my fault. We have only grown more apart as the years have gone by, and I suppose neither of us wished to swallow our pride and reach out to the other."

"Ahhh. So your explanation for treating me like I was air was that I flashed a sassy look at you when I was a month old, I met my cousin, and then I became a full-fledged adult at six? Well, this was all a bit much for you, so you decided to just leave me to it! Ah well, what is done is done, I suppose."

"My dear, we all make mistakes. Even you. I would like you to take into consideration that I am only human."

"Well, do not fear, mother. Soon Papa will marry me off to some disgusting old rich bastard, and I'll be free of you, and you of me! Then I can squeeze a few out, and have my own children to ignore! ‘Like mother, like daughter,’ no?" I was being unreasonable now, I knew this. But the bitterness I had stored up over the years, nurturing it on means on being ignored and hated, had hardened into a rock. I was angry, mostly with myself, and it was coming out in the words I spoke.

"I have done many things that I regret. But I will not apologize, for you have made plenty of mistakes of your own."

"No worries, Mama, I was not, in the least, expecting you to apologize."

My mother settled back into her, replacing her mask. She had said all she intended to, and more. She was back to her usual self.

I did the same, and dwelled on a memory...

Ten years previous

"How dare you, you pathetic little slut!" the fiery redhead that haunted Catherine's nightmares, screamed at her.

"What did I do?! I only said that you are wrong about the crosshatching! It does not always have to go up! It goes in whichever direction that the shadow does!"

An innocent seven-year-old Catherine, against a full-fledged modern whore, Mary. Even though Catherine was right, Mary was the teacher, and would not let the pupil get away with contradicting her.

"If I say always do your crosshatching upward, always do your crosshatching upward, god-damn it!" She grabbed a candelabrum on the near table and raised it to strike Catherine.

The young girl noticed the movement, and tried to dodge beneath the table. Mary brought her hand down, and the instrument struck hard against the child's forearm. She yelped in pain and turned around to try and leave the room.

Mary was faster this time, and brought the piece down against the child's back. This slowed the child, and the teacher went again for the back of her head. The child sobbed, not knowing how to make it stop.

She fell to the ground and the piece was brought down again, this time, on her the back of her shoulder.

The seven-year-old Catherine lay there, wailing pitifully, as the mad teacher beat her again an again, over and over.

"STOP IT!" the girl sobbed, "PLEASE! Stop it!"

"I'll. Teach. You. To. Con-Tra-Dict. Me." The teacher did not falter, aiming a blow with each word.

Then, the sound of a carriage pulling to halt outside caused the teacher to hesitate.

Catherine did not wait; she leapt up, unbearably sore and in pain, and bolted for the door. The teacher did not pursue her, she had learned her lesson.

The young child ran through the many rooms of the mansion, sobbing as she pumped her sore body. The maids looked up and muttered in alarm, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders. The ‘masteh’s’ daughter did not slow as she ran by the door of the kitchen, choking out sobs and shudders. She shakily pushed the enormous rear door open and stumbled over the doorframe into the flower garden. The gardener paused for a moment and looked up from his begonias at the crying child. She narrowed her tear-filled eyes at him and stomped away.

She tripped over a stone engraftment that marked the end of the gardens and shouted as her knee hit the ground. Not faltering, she continued onward up to the edge of a fence. She hitched her foot up onto the first bar, and swung her other leg over the top, falling to the ground on the other side with a thud. She huffed and stood up to brush her once- white gown, grumbling about how unfair it was.

A bright-eyed young mare noticed the curious creature leaping over everything and falling to the ground numerous times from afar. Then, the strange being with an untidy mop of fur on top of her head, stumbled over her fence and into the mare’s favorite grazing spot. She watched the white frill-clad beast stiffen as she felt eyes upon her back, and look up at the mare. She stuck out her little pink tongue and marched onward, meaningfully avoiding the large piles of the mare’s leavings.

Once she reached the other end of the pasture, Catherine harrumphed her way over the opposite fence, in much the same way she had the first.

The forest behind the property was not far now, about fifty paces. The little girl covered this space in the blink of an eye, running now, and pushed her way into the underbrush.

She collapsed beneath the first tree she came to and began to sob again. She cried and cried, not bothering to care whether someone might hear her or not.

"It’s not fair! I don’t-It’s just not fair!" she croaked to herself, "I do not under-I just can-What did I do? It’s not fair!" she sniffled. "What did I do"

Then, a cheerful familiar voice came from the vegetable garden, before the woods began.

"Catty-catty-catty-Cath'rin. Where's my catty-catty-Cath'rin? Catty-catty-KITTY-catty, catty-catty-catty-Cath'rin!"

Catherine looked up to see a friendly face.

"Catherine!" Sarah exclaimed. "There you are. I was told that I would find you h-“ Sarah stopped as she took in Catherine’s tear-stricken face, “Catherine! What happened?" Sarah noticed the tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Mary. She beat me with a candlestick. I said do the crosshatching with the shadow, and she did not like that, so she hit me. What did I do? I do not understand why she was so mad." She sniffled.

"Oh! She hit you?!" Sarah gasped, "My poor Catty-Cath'rin!" She ran forward and threw her arms around her sobbing friend. Catherine welcomed the embrace, and snuggled into Sarah.

"Oh, my poor Catty-Cath'rin, my poor dear." Sarah cooed, stroking Catherine's arm. "My poor Catty-Cath'rin."

"I hate her." Catherine choked.

"I hate her too, for what she did to my Catty-Cath'rin. She is not a nice lady, she deserves to be hated. You can tell when you look at her. She just glares at everyone like a cockroach." Sarah pulled a face, imitating Mary.

Amidst the crying, Catherine snorted a giggle.

Sarah held her cousin, rocking her back and forth, telling her stories, drying her tears, and throwing curses at Mary, until Catherine felt better.

"You should show your Papa your bruises. I bet there are a lot." Sarah stated.

"He will not listen. He likes Mary too much. I think-" she paused. She was treading into unfamiliar territory, "I think he likes her. Like, the way a Papa likes a Mama?"

Sarah snickered. "I think so."

Catherine joined in the giggling, which grew until they were laughing at loud.

"Mary aa-hannd Uncle! Mary aa-hannd Uncle!" Sarah started chanting, laughing the whole time.

Catherine joined in. "Mary aa-hannd Papa! Mary aa-hannd Papa!"

They both fell over laughing, holding their sore stomachs from giggling so hard.

Then quickly Sarah looked up, an intricate though dawning on her face.

"Do you ever think we'll be married? And become Mama's?" she asked Catherine.

"I do not know. Probably, almost all little girls are."

"Euch." Sarah made a face. "I hope not."

Catherine tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Well," said Sarah, putting on her know-it-all voice, "we have these neighbors. They have a little boy, our age, and he always pulls my hair and knocks me down. One day, I told him to stop and he called me 'a silly little girl'. I did not like this, he was my age! How could I be 'little' to him? So I hit him. He ran away crying, and later, my Papa told me, he pulled my pigtails because he liked me. Because he thought I was pretty." She paused. “And then he said that I should not have hit him. Now he is only going to do it more."

"So?"

"Well, if that is what people who like each other do to each other, how could you possibly want to get married? I mean, I have never seen my Papa pull my Mama's hair, but he says he does."

"Your Papa pulls your Mama's hair?"

"He says so."

"Hmmm. My Papa does not pull my Mama's hair. She would not like that very much, I expect."

"Well, that is probably because he is far too busy pulling Mary's hair." They both giggled.

Sarah rolled onto her back and looked up into the thick canopy of leaves that covered the sky from their view.

"Why do you think people have to get married?" she asked, serious again.

"Hmmm?"

"If two people love each other, and all their best friends know that they love each other, why do they have to get married?"

"Well, Mama says that God does not acknowledge a true relationship unless people get married."

"Acknowledge a wh-? That's coddlesworth! I think that marriage is a bunch of coddlesworth!"

"Some people do not think so!"

"Well then they are coddlesworth too!"

Catherine snorted. "I do not know what this 'coddlesworth' means, but I am assuming it is bad. You should not let anyone else hear you say that."

"Coddlesworth to that too! Every coddling coddler can coddle my coddling coddlesworth, if they have a problem with my coddlesworthing."

This made Catherine laugh, then Sarah joined in, and they were both laughing again.

"Oh, my Catty-Cath’rin." Sarah breathed, "What would I do without my catty-Cath’rin?"

Catherine smiled.

Present

I remembered that moment that I had shared with my cousin, all those years ago and I wished that life could still be so simple. Without having to be beaten with a candlestick to get there, of course.

I was trying to avoid thinking of Sarah in the present day; delirious, and missing. I knew that if I could replace all thoughts and feelings for her with pleasant memories and warm emotions, I could prevent myself from breaking down and sobbing at any sporadic moment. Although trying to altogether erase her from my mind would be impossible. There was an unconscious desire to keep her face firmly planted in the front of my mind, so attempting to forget her altogether would only bring out the freshest memories. These were ones I did not wish to dwell on, so I remembered her as she was in our innocence.

The carriage jolted to a halt, and the driver tapped on the window.

"Beggin’ yer, pardon, mum, but we’ve arrived," came a muffled voice from the roof.

"Very good." replied my mother. The carriage bounced slightly as the footman jumped to the sandy ground. I heard him brush himself off, and then carriage door opened.

I stepped out first, as was custom, but not soon enough to miss my mother mutter something about trying not to argue with her today. I had the sense not to question her, least of all in front of the footman. He gingerly took my gloved hand as I exited and helped me off the single step.

"Thank you." I replied kindly, as I always did, though it was not custom.

"Yes mum." He mumbled, as he always did. It occurred to me then what agreeable servants we must have. I had heard stories, from my uncle, speaking of ‘hooligans’ and troublemakers who were never pleased. My father always scoffed at this, waving away his complaints. Our servants had been selected carefully, I now understood, for ones who would smile when we asked them too, complete any task we requested, never question us or their salary and finish it off with a skip and a leap. The thought flashed across my mind to ask him why he did it, but I stowed it away in the back of my mind. If I was going to ask, now was not the place. I wondered if a servant would even answer a question like that, and if so, with honesty. I supposed not.

My mother cleared her throat behind me, and I stepped delicately out of her way.

OoOoO

"Ridiculous." She muttered as we passed by a street performer. He was juggling cheerfully painted pins while his pet monkey did a pirouette on his head. I thought this an impressive trick, unlike my mother.

Our footman stumbling behind us, we were at the Shopping Plaza. Occasionally, he would stumble due to the hefty amount of packages his arms were laden with. At some point or another, my mother had decided that every place she laid eyes on, we had to slowly and meticulously sift through every item they carried.

It was more than a few hours after we had arrived, earlier that morning. After a thorough examination of every shop that vaguely interested my mother, came the thorough examination of all the shops that my mother believed should interest me. I assumed that this was to avoid having to stop and speak to me for more than a few minutes, and did not question her actions.

Regardless, I did not fully comply with her either. While she would let her expertise gaze drift over random objects that only members of high society could afford, I would simply turn my back and walk away to wait with the footman. So, as her sharply irritated voice would carry over the heads of other shoppers and annoyed store clerks, seeking out her daughter’s opinion, I would shuffle my feet awkwardly, hoping the footman would say something to make me feel more comfortable. But seeing as this was not his hire, we would simply stare at the ground as my mother’s tenor pierced the silence, making it all the more deafening.

As my eyes skimmed the crowd before me, I noted the many different shapes and sizes of the people. Each carried themselves in a certain way, each spoke a certain way, and each avoided certain people and was drawn to others. Each person there at the plaza that day was entirely different, individual. This was a rather stupid realization, I thought, as no person is the same, but I thought on it nonetheless.

A little girl with brown hair and freckles skipped by in front of me; so happy, so carefree. Life is so simple when you are a child. There is no pressure to impress the rest of society, nor the desire to be perfect. There is just fear and love.

I thought of how every child wishes to grow old, and yet every adult wishes that they could just be a child again. You can try to convince a child, try to tell them to live their life, love their life, while they can. You can try to tell them to appreciate every minute of being able to rely on their parents and not having to support themselves. You can try to tell them to not try so hard to understand the things beyond their grasp, to just let them be and move on.

A child never understands this, though, for who does not wish to be grown up with privilege of making your own choices? Who does not want to be able to decide when their bedtime is, whether or not you can truly afford that toy, or whether or not you are going to eat your vegetables?

Still, an adult could never truly understand childhood, truly relive the feeling of being watched over and loved by your parents, once "maturity" is reached. You wonder, if only you had not tried to grow up so fast. If only you had lived your life a little more. If only you had gone to sleep at seven thirty, eaten your vegetables, given up on that toy, and made more time to go outside a play. If only you had not argued with your parents over that simple, and enjoyed the alternative they gave you. Perhaps stress would not be such the issue it was when you were older. But you cannot.

Life cannot be relived, decisions cannot be undone.

Curious, I branched out into the little girl's mind.

Miss Mary mac-mac-mac

A child's word game, one that I had never really understood, never took the time to enjoy.

All dressed in black-black-black

A silly game, no point to it, really...

With silver buttons-buttons-buttons

And yet, the child was smiling. A silly game, but it could mean so much, make one so happy.

All down her back-back-back

But I had never fully learned this game, my mother never had taken the time to stop and teach her daughter this silly, little child's game. I had heard it from Sarah, once, and had dismissed it as foolish, since I knew that the adults in my life would see it so. Maybe if they had let me live my life as a child, even though they never really lived theirs, some things would have been different. Maybe-

"Catherine, what are you doing? You really shouldn't mope about so. It irks me to no end. Ta, hmmm lovely. Look at this sweater, would you? I love how it looks on me, but I am quite convinced that it makes my arms look not too dissimilar from sausages, no?"

No, mama dear, I thought, your flabby arms make your arms look like sausages, not the sweater.

I cleared my throat. "No, it looks fine."

My mother heaved a sigh, "Catherine, you really mustn’t dwell on this situation with Sarah. I understand your anxiety, I’m sure, but you should not let it ruin other people’s moods. I am trying to enjoy myself and perhaps buy something for the family. The desperation and sadness that shows on your face, however, completely stunts all possible enjoyment I could have."

"Well, mother," I said, looking up and speaking softly, "perhaps the reason that the only emotions my face show are perturbing desperation and sadness, is because the only emotions I feel right now are perturbing desperation and sadness."

"But we don’t all have to suffer for it, do we?"

"Apparently we do. How about you tell me a knock-knock joke to lighten the mood?"

My mother sighed. Carefully judging each movement, she delicately removed the sweater, folded it, and handed it to the store clerk.

"Thank you for your time," she said to him gently, not remaining to hear his confused "Welcome."

"Come with me, please." She said, not breaking her mellow tone.

I followed, turning and beckoning to the footman to follow. I could not help but imagine my mother taking me behind a building a suddenly beginning to roar and beat me with a stick.

She moved swiftly forward, seemingly using mental telepathy to clear the space in front of her as she put her foot down there.

The Plaza was roughly a large square. On three sides of the square, roads lead straight toward it. In the very center, was a large circular fountain. Nothing fancy, just a simple floral pattern was etched into the marble where the water spewed forth. All around the inside of the square were strip malls, long lines of endless stores toward every horizon you looked. Some stores had Jewelry, others fine gowns, some suits for men, others materials for horseback riding. There was a store that contained only buttons, a toy store, a genuine furs store, and a leather store. In between the edge of countless stores and the wide fountain in the middle, were stalls.

Some were food stalls, some were feather stalls, and I even spotted a tea stall. And, of course, there were Tom Foolery stalls.

My mother led us past all these, leaving the footman tottering as fast as he could behind us. We continued on back past the joker and his monkey, where she stopped with me by the fountain.

"I'm sorry," you hateful bitch.

"As you well should be." She breathed, not yet abandoning the gentle undertone, "Are we copasetic now?"

"Of course." My best friend has been erased from existence and it turns out that my mother is secretly the world’s most talented actress; she’s been doing it my whole life, but everything is copasetic.

"Good, thank you. Let’s find some lunch, shall we?"

I nodded as copasetic as I could manage.

My mother scanned all the nearest food stalls, looking for something suitable. Apparently spotting something she liked, she started off again, just as the footman caught up with us. Out of courtesy, I moved a little slower than my mother, so he would not lose sight of us again.

She approached an appetizing looking fruit stand, sizing up the specimens on display as she got closer.

"Fruit, Catherine?" she asked politely.

"That would be my assumption."

My mother’s eyes flashed. Things were not quite as copasetic as she would have preferred, I mused.

The vendor perked up slightly at the sight of a potential customer. "In need of some, eh, refreshing fruit? Madams?" said the portly figure, which seemed to be a woman, though I was not sure.

"Ah, well, I might be tempted. Catherine, do you see something you like?"

"Mrh. I do not believe that everything is quite copasetic here."

"…Oh no…?" mused a confused mother of mine. What was her daughter up to now?

"No, seemingly not."

The manly woman (or the womanly man) behind the cart deflated again.

"’Seemingly not…’" my mother repeated, "Well, if the copasiety of the situation has come into question, please explain how it is so. Better yet, refer as to how the copasiety might be restored. I do hate having an uncomfortable situation." The vendor straightened again, slightly confused.

"Perhaps one like yourself might be restoring of the copasiety by leavings one’s kin to be, at rest, so to speak? Or perhaps even bringing the missing back out of so, or the dead back to life! Oh, the copasiety would fill to brim and then some if such could happen."

I was losing my mind. Sarah, I wanted Sarah…

My mother grabbed me by the forearm, jerking me back to the side of the fountain.

"One moment please," she threw over her shoulder to the vendor. The wo-man had slumped back in his/her chair again at the sight of his/her customers walking away.

"Catherine, what on earth is wrong with you? Are you bloody stupid?" she growled.

"Bloody? No, not quite yet, I don’t think so. Stupid? Perhaps – it is quite possible. Lack of intelligence or otherwise knowledge, which has come to be known as ‘stupidity’, is not just derived from lack of knowledge or otherwise intelligence, don’t you know? It could easily come out of being lied to your whole life, then finding out the truth after seventeen and some years. Stupidity in that scenario would be considered a factor of shock, alarm, or even simply surprise. Or maybe even losing one’s best friend, who happens to be their cousin, to an unknown godforsaken force that drags people through the forest and purposefully smears their blood in a trail behind them. That might cause someone to become or ‘go’ stupid. So, honestly my dear, I do not have a definite answer to your question."

My mother blinked. "Do we need to go home? Do you need to see some kind of special doctor?"

"Psh, no. Of course not." I smiled. "I just don’t want fruit for lunch. Very un-copasetic of you to assume that everyone else would want the exact same thing that you do, dear."

Another blink. "So…would you like some coins to purchase yourself something slightly more copasetic to your taste so as to satisfy your seemingly ravenous stupidity?"

Apparently she knew how to fight with mad people. She spoke my new language well.

"How copasetic of you to think so. I appreciate your trying so hard to understand my stupidity."

"O-ho, it is really quite easy. I have had my fair share of stupid un-copasetic people, and one learns fast." She motioned to the footman, who was standing silently and pretending not to be soaking in every word we were saying. I assumed that the story of what happened at the shopping plaza would spread like wildfire amongst the servants when we arrived back home.

He balanced his delicate packages against his body by holding them firmly against his torso, and reached into a little black pouch tied securely around his waist with a black string. Removing a few coins, he placed them gingerly into my mother’s outstretched hand.

She counted the coins.

"Here you go, Catherine. I hope everything is copasetic."

"I am beginning to find stupidity more preferable to copasiety, frankly." I said, taking the coins from her palm and holding them firmly in my own. "But thank you. Complacency is another very good feature that this family seems to hoist high upon it’s broad shoulders."

My mother smirked and raised an eyebrow. "’Another?’"

"Along with stupidity and copasiety, of course."

"Ah, of course. Silly me."

I nodded and curtsied. "I won’t be long."

"I do not expect you to be." She curtsied back, and turned toward the fruit stand. The vendor straightened again, smiling brightly. Stupid, copasetic, complacent woman. Or maybe it was a man; there was no way to be certain.

I breathed deeply and spun around. From my copasetic point of view, my other options without having to go back to mother at the fruit stand a forfeit victory to her were; a sweets stand, a funnel cake stand, a pie stand, and a sausage stand. Sausage it was; might as well go the extra mile once I was already on this road.

I approached the new stand meaningfully, letting my eyes appraise the greasy selection….

"Hey there, young lady." I jumped. I had not noticed the vendor leaning on the side of the cart.

He was tall with a broad chest, chocolate colored eyes, matching curls and lovely olive-colored skin. His highest cheekbones curved squarely into his sharp jaw line. Altogether, he was very handsome.

"Hello," I said politely, "Um, I was just looking for some lunch."

He strode to the back of the cart, confidently. "Well, I have the biggest sausage in the plaza. I'm told it’s the most flavorful as well." he said, winking at me.

"Erm, yes please. That sounds nice." I replied, not quite sure why he had winked.

He flashed a smile. "Certainly. How much?"

"Pardon?"

"How much sausage would you like?" his smile broadened.

There was obviously some great joke that this young man had with himself that he was not going to let me in on. I hesitated, then slowly, "Enough for lunch?"

He burst out laughing.

I sighed and could not help but laugh along with him. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, my dear." He chuckled.

I started, slightly taken aback. "My dear?" No one besides Sarah had ever called me that. For the first time in my life, without the pressure of my father’s tyrannical stare, a man was flirting with me.

I smiled slightly to myself, I felt very pleased. It was very satisfying, a feeling that settled itself gently in the core of my chest. I had never felt pleased before, but I supposed there was a first for everything.

Intrigued by my pleasure, I branched out into the man's mind.

His mouth at my neck, slowly tracing a line on my collarbone. He trails his mouth up to my ear, leaving a faint trail of saliva as he goes. I succumb, knotting my hands in his hair and pulling his mouth up to mine in a fierce, passionate kiss, our lips moving in the same motion. His hand slips around to the small of my back, pulling me close, pressing my body against his own. The other hand cups my breast, he moans.

His thoughts skipped ahead.

I abruptly pulled away, unfamiliar with the territory that his thoughts had turned to. Shuddering, I stumbled backward, though I had not taken a step. Not sure of which direction or where I was going, I turned around and ran.

Intercourse was something I was aware of, being an adolescent girl. When I was thirteen, I had been awoken in the middle of the night by my father's moans and Mary's shrill laughter and there had been times when I thought about it. Obviously, I was alive, so it had happened with my mother and my father. But I could never imagine myself; it just was not something I thought about. Now, another man, one I did not even know, had me all over his mind.

I knocked aside a fortuneteller who sat in my way and ran my kneecaps straight onto the lip of the fountain. I bent down, gasping in pain. This brought the contents of my stomach, not that there was much, up through my throat and out into the fountain.

When I was done retching, I stood straight and looked around, trying not to think of what I had just witnessed. I took a few unsteady steps forward, concentrating only on moving.

Before me sat a mirror stall, a group of wealthy looking middle-aged women admiring their own pig-faced selves in the largest. At my approach, they all turned up their noses and marched away, tutting over the image of young people, nowadays.

I went to stand by the mirror and confronted myself. As if on cue, a large rain cloud spread over the sun, casting the Plaza in a dark shadow. The slight breeze that had carried the cloud picked up, forcing itself on the heads and backs of the people in the Plaza, whipping through displays and twining through dresses.

It reached me and my parallel image, and we accepted it freely; without bracing ourselves like everyone else. I took the pins out of my hair and watched it dance around my face, as if each lock and tress were trying to see who could twirl through the most space. I examined myself; pale, young, evidently attractive to men, and still innocent. Yet miserable. I had never lived my life, but only because I had never been told I could. I had not even known that there was more of a life to live.

There had been a brief flash of hope yesterday, brief but beautiful. Then, without even a full day's passing, it had been snubbed out.

Like when a rose falls on the road in front of you. It catches your eye, and you turn your head at its beauty. For a split second, you dote on its fragility, then how it came to fall in the road, then, when it is far too late, you realize that your own feet have trampled it, and now it is gone.

The wind whipped my hair forward, obscuring my face. Not agreeing with the tickling sensation, I reached and grabbed at it and twisted it back into a messy knot on the back of my head. Such a fragile rose. I glanced back up at the mirror. My cheeks were now flushed bright red, like all the others standing there.

Amongst all the tomato colored housewives clamoring about the wind, a snap reverberated through the air as one last gust of wind pulled back the hood of a browsing customer.

Upon first glance, what stood out most prominently to me was the eerie red glow of this person’s eyes. I had heard of albino’s with this ‘deformity’, but this person did not look like an albino.

Upon second glance, a more thorough examination, I recognized the face of someone I thought well to be dead.

I saw a friend.

R&R, people. No chapter five until fifty reviews. And I promise, chapter five will come within a week of fifty. Not six months, like last time. :D

And of course, where would I be without my beta's? Audrey, Evey, you guys are amazing. Keep up the good work. :p