Sunday, October 18, 2009

A Day With Cheesebutt -- Part One


It's been an interesting few days at Casa Plumb.
Sebastian learned to walk, which means the next task is to get him to STOP. Dad is still dad, which means he spends his nights (mostly) in his basement with his guitar. I guess surrounding himself with what he loves is how he unwinds. He finally finished this song he'd been writing, Aunt Margaret said, since before I was born.



On Friday evening, I decided, probably against all sense, to go into town and visit Ari. When I went to pick her up, I put the radio on my favorite classical music station. When she got in the car, she shocked me. "Classical?"
"Yeah, I like classical music. Bach, Brahms, Beethoven -- I can't stand the screaming heavy metal or the hard-core rap songs."
"I read your story."
"What story?"
"The teacher passed copies of other students' stories at the club meeting. It's pretty good. You got talent."
"Really?"
"Really." She then paused and looked at me. "Girl, you have been frontin' ever since I met you, and prob'ly before."
"Frontin'?"
"Yeah, frontin'. I know what I was sayin.' You been puttin' up a front. You riding around in this snazzy car, you wearing three-inch heels and thigh-high miniskirts, and that's not you at all. Who you tryin' to impress, anyway?"
"Impress? I'm not trying to impress anyone."
"You not doing a good job of it, anyway. No matter how much money your family got, or if you got this awesome car, or if you can afford the latest designer duds, it can't buy you friends."
"How do you figure my clothes aren't 'me'?"
"How you walk in them. They're not comfortable, and you still look awkward. There's still very much a tomboy in you. I bet as a little girl you climbed trees, played sports, and rode your bike everywhere."
"Well, people change. They don't always stay the same."
"Savannah, you need to stop pretending and be who you are, regardless. That's not gonna change. Just be Savannah."



I have to admit, Ari's words stung. I tossed and turned during the night, and woke up the next day and skipped to the breakfast table. "Savannah, darling, are you still planning on buying that house on the beach?" Aunt Margaret asked over French toast at breakfast.
"Sure," I said, "but I think I'd like to have a fishing pond, too."
"What's gotten into her?" dad asked Aunt Margaret.

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