Page and the lion II

 

Blazer/Shoes: Thrifted, Shirt: Gap (Thrifted), Jeans: Walmart, Belt: Nordstrom Rack, Earrings: Etsy

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I have a long list of things I am grateful for; my job, school, my body, my brain. The last two days the weather has been very mild. I expect to take more advantage of the sunshine by going on walks and soaking up some vitamin D over the next few days. During the between walks parts of my day I am going to bake and read and watch movies and snuggle and cook and clean (but not too much) and generally enjoy the "good life" with my love Nick.

I asked him this morning, as we slept in, if he thought Thanksgiving break would always be the wonderful holiday it has been for us these past two years or if it would wind up being me awake at 6 to put the turkey in the oven. He said no, so I am writing this as documentation that if one of us, in some distant future life of ours, needs to get up and begin cooking, it's not going to be me. :) 

Anyway, I hope you are tucked in a warm house, whether or not the weather is as lovely as mine. This is the part two of three of Page and the Lion. This is dedicated to my little sister Grace. We're a lot alike; especially in terms of books and writing.

Tell me what you think. Does it kill you that there are parts or does it feel too long for a short story? 

Page made no effort to conceal the room behind her when she opened the door. Looking the

person over critically who stood in her doorway, Page said “I suppose you’d better come in too.”

The man appeared as surprised as Anthony had been. Looking at the girl before him the man

hemmed and hawed, “Uh, well . . . perhaps I have the wrong address. What did you say your

name was?”

“I didn’t,” she said smiling. “But it’s Page. And I think, judging by your outfit, that you have

found the right apartment. So do come in.” Page opened the wooden door, scraped on the outside

and gold filigreed on the other.

The man was dressed in a khaki outdoors suit with tall black boots and a whip coiled at his hip.

This must have been his formal wear because everyone knows that lion tamers wear bright-

colored tank-tops and striped pants. With a bald head and a thick black mustache that curled at

the ends, it was right away obvious that he was a lion tamer, even if he wasn’t properly dressed.

It became even more obvious when, after looking around the spacious living room, his eyes

narrowed when they rested on the lion. “Tony!” he shouted. Most people would have just

shouted “Lion!” and then run away. Instead, the lion tamer stepped inside the doorway.

“Yes, yes, Tony, as you call him is here. But please come all the way in and stop shouting. I

don’t want my neighbors to wonder what’s going on,” said Page.

“What is my lion doing here? You have stolen him!” roared the lion tamer.

“Of course I have not,” Page replied calmly. “And as for what Sir Anthony is doing here, he was

just about to answer that question when you interrupted, but since you probably have your own

side to this story, you may sit quietly until he is finished and then I will hear you as well.” This

was said with such noble bearing that Anthony nodded in what I assumed was approval.

“Well, I never –” started the lion tamer.

“Quite so,” Anthony cut him off. “As I was saying, I was kidnapped as a young cub by Porticus

here,” he motioned toward the lion tamer with his nose.

“Kidnapped you, did I?” thundered Porticus.

“Well, what would you call it?” asked Anthony.

“You asked to come with me! Wanted to visit my world, you told me.” Porticus was pacing

the length of the living room, gesturing wildly. (It was no wonder he was in the entertainment

business; he was very entertaining to watch when he was angry.)

“Yes, visit. Not stay for ten years and never see my family again and play at being a ferocious

lion forever!” These last words were roared back by Anthony.

“Well, why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to go back?” Porticus asked.

“ I tried, but you never listened. You were too worried that you would have to go back to being ‘Tic the stable-cleaner’ instead of ‘Porticus the Lion Tamer.’ Besides, it’s not like you could send me back even if you wanted to.”

Page and the lion

 

Trousers: Mango, Blouse: ASOS, Belt: Nordstrom Rack, Loafers: Bass, Earrings: the Field Museum

Today we had beautiful weather. Sun-shining, don't-really-want-or-need-to-wear-a-coat kind of weather. Now let's keep our fingers crossed that Mr. Sun graces us with his presence on Saturday too, so we can enjoy it for more than an hour in between work and classes.

Anyway, some of you mentioned that you wanted to know what happened in the story, The Beach, that I posted a little while ago. I planned to post more of the story today, but instead I decided to share a different story.

Don't worry I will  post The Beach II soon. This story is called Page and the lion and I'm sorry the section is a little long, but short stories don't usually have good stopping points.

When the lion knocked down the front door to Page’s apartment he seemed surprised that she
didn’t scream.

Page stood in her living room wearing her rattiest pajama pants, sloshing some of the soup she
had in a cup onto the hardwood floor. Although she didn’t appear to be shocked that her door
was broken, or that a very large, surprised-looking lion was standing behind it, she did have
a few questions. “I’m sorry, did you knock?” she asked politely. And, “What was your name
again?”

The lion appeared even more astonished. He made a grumbling sound deep in his throat that
would have made a grown man shiver, let alone a wisp of a girl like Page. But once he had
finished clearing his throat, instead of proceeding to eat the girl (as the growling rumble seemed
to have suggested) he extended one paw gracefully forward across the floor and said, “Anthony
is my name, and I do apologize. I didn’t realize anyone was home.” This was all said and done
very regally—if a very large lion crowded into the doorway of a small New York apartment can
appear regal. But as I said, he can and he did.
 

Page was no less regal in her reply, although her bow was hindered from being as graceful since

she was still holding a now half-empty cup of soup. “I welcome you, Sir Anthony. I have a good
many more questions but you had better come inside first before you frighten my neighbors.”
If you could have seen it you probably would have that Page’s request was impossible.
Anthony’s shoulders extended beyond both sides of the doorjamb; he was already ducking
his huge head to see Page under the seven-foot doorframe’s top post. Even with a lot of
uncomfortable maneuvering, there seemed to be no way that Anthony would be able to fit
through the door, let alone stand comfortably inside the apartment. (New York apartments are
notorious for being no bigger than a hallway closet. Without the benefits of extra storage space,
you know.)

The lion just sat on his haunches, somewhat meekly as he waited on Page, rather than trying to
ram his large frame through the doorjamb. Page didn’t waste any time. She simply said, “Well,
please do come in Sir Anthony,” and jammed her free hand into her sweatshirt pocket.
The instant she spoke the door expanded to become a large arch, at least fifteen feet tall.
Anthony didn’t hesitate but prowled forward gracefully. The room itself had also expanded and
instead of standing next to a small puddle of spilled soup, Page stood next to a Grecian fountain.
Anthony looked around as he prowled forward, probably noticing that the once clean, but tiny
apartment had expanded to ten times its previous size. Gold curtains now covered the arched
windows, the hardwood was transformed into Persian-rug covered marble, the paisley couches
became velvet and brocade covered settees, and a twelve year-old girl in faded Grumpy the
Dwarf pajama pants and an over-sized Cubs sweatshirt stood in the middle of an elegant home
from a different era. Anthony’s face remained lionishly inscrutable, but his tail twitched about.
Perhaps he had expected Page to be replaced by a polished young lady to match the changed
surroundings.

“I had no idea that this place was actually so large.” Anthony sat down on a rug near a roaring
fireplace. “Great illusion.”

“Which one?” Page asked with a smile. Anthony didn’t respond but seemed to frown in
confusion. Page walked toward him and said “By the way, I am Page.” Anthony gave her his
paw.

“I must thank you for welcoming me into your home, and apologize for your door…” Glancing
over, Anthony saw that the door was upright and secure in its frame. He shook his head and
returned his gaze to the serious but pleasant-looking girl in front of him. “I never would have
come if I had thought someone was here. It’s just that . . . well . . . I’m trying to find a way back
home, and your apartment . . . errr . . . mansion, seems to have a portal of magic.” The last part
came out in a rush.

When Page made no reply other than an encouraging “Mmm,” and nodded her head
understandingly, Anthony continued more slowly. “You see, I’m not from around here. Or even
this planet. I was taken as a young cub from my home in Herwhone. Brought here –”
Anthony stopped when the doorbell jangled abruptly. When he started up in surprise, Page rose
from the armchair she had been perching on. “No, no, I’ll get it.”

Page and the Lion part III

Sweater: Forever 21, Earrings: Thrifted, Belt: Nordstrom Rack, Pants: J Crew via Downeast, Boots: DSW, Scarf: Freepiled

I have a few things to say.

• Last day of classes tomorrow, Holla! ("Holla" is a shortened version of the slang term "holler" or "holler back y'all", which basically means "What I just said was awesome, right?"
• I tried the half-tucked look today. Thumbs up, thumbs down?
• It is getting chill-E (notice the capital E to emphasize the coldness of current weather trends). I might have to start modeling parkas and babushka style hats for y'all. 

And now, as I promised, we will begin where we left our heroes Page and Sir Anthony. If this makes absolutely no sense to you checkout part 2 and part 1 first and then come back and see how the not-so-short story ends.

Page cleared her throat. Both Anthony and Porticus swung their heads around to look at her; from the way they stared they seemed to have forgotten she was there. “Well, I think I understand your side of the story a bit better, Sir Anthony. But why don’t you want to let him go back?” she asked Porticus.

“It’s not that I don’t want him to go back home, if that’s what he really wants. We’ve been friends for the last five years.” At this Anthony harrumphed, but Porticus continued, “I owe a lot to Tony. When we first met I was exactly what he said, a stable-hand, cleaning up after the horses at the fair. But when I brought Tony home, then people started really noticing me.” Porticus was staring off into the distance as he talked, and by distance I mean into the window of the apartment complex that was jammed across the alleyway from our building. “They started a whole new act for us. They had had lions in the past, but they were always either too dangerous or too docile. Tony was perfect. We could understand each other, and he said humans smell terrible so I didn’t have to worry about him eating anyone.”

“Well, what if Anthony wasn’t around anymore? What would you do then?” Page asked.

“I would be forced to either leave the fair or go back to working in the stables. No one needs a lion tamer when there is no lion,” Porticus said, looking over at Anthony.

“Why can’t you do something besides cleaning or lion-taming at the fair? Isn’t there anything else you’d like to do?”

“Well, when I first ran away as a boy, I wanted to join the circus and become Porticus the Tight-Rope Walking Wonder. But, in the travelling fair there aren’t any tight-rope walkers.”

“Even better,” Page said. “It can be your own, all new act. I’m sure many people will come to see Porticus the Former Lion-Tamer turned Tic the Right-Rope Walker.”

“That name is too long,” Porticus said.

Anthony roared softly at him.

“Okay okay, I can see the possibilities though.” And Porticus smiled as he became lost in his own dreams of heights and fame. (I, for one, was glad that the man across the alley wasn’t home, otherwise he might have been creeped out by the intense staring Porticus was doing into his window).

“So it is agreed? You won’t interfere with Anthony returning home?” Page asked.

“Well, no, of course not. But as I’ve told him already, I can’t find the pong that I fell in the night I landed in his world.”

“Well, that’s no problem at all,” Page said. Turning to look at the lion, she gestured, saying “Anthony, come forward.” Page stuck her hand in the front pocket of her bright blue hoodie and pulled out an apple-sized globe.

Me.

“What is it?” Porticus asked.

(Stupid lion-tamer. Correction, stupid former lion-tamer.)

“This is Anthony’s way home,” Page said.

(What was he expecting? A mirror? A wardrobe? Humans are so predictable, they expect everything else, even magic to be the same way.)

Anthony walked toward us without any gestures or words he was gone. (Don’t ask me how I do what I do. I just do it.

Yes, I can read minds.

And no, I can’t tell the future.

I’m not sure – oh, will you please stop with all of those questions? This is the end of this tale.

Oh wait –)

Page said good night to Porticus and wished him good luck in his career change.

She closed the door and went to heat up another cup of soup for herself.

(Okay. This is the end.)

my so called life

Cardigan/Tights: Target, Blouse and Bowtie: ASOS, Skirt: Freepiled, Shoes: Ebay

So, guess what?

I told my little sister that she should checkout my blog and when she had she told me that my blog--correction, my life which I write my posts about here--is boring.

Blow.

Somehow school-aged kids are able to deliver an insult that is ten times more powerful than any elegantly composed witticism. "Your mama dresses you funny" trumps "Why ever did you buy that?" any day of the week. A blunt blade hurts more than a sharp one.

But, perhaps my sister was right and my life is boring. Either way, I hope my writing doesn't put you to sleep.

Speaking of kids, this outfit is what I wore to a job interview last Friday and job interviews always remind me of the start of a new school year. You dress your best, attempt to look smart, and try not to get into trouble for talking too much on the first day.

I must have done something right though because I got a second round interview for this Friday. Which is the same day that Nick will be in Boston for his second round interview for a summer internship. 

So, here's to second round interviews, getting the job and hopefully not boring their pants off.

Now that would be embarrassing.

P.S. And Grace, I will post the end of Page and the Lion tomorrow, which will not be to tedious I hope.