That I Would Be Good

Chapter Fifteen

“What is the point of being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable?” ― John Green, An Abundance of Katherines

      “Elodey!” I jerked awake to the sound of Dolores’s yelling.  Great what could she want?  I rolled over and looked at the red glaring numbers of my alarm clock.  Four a.m.?  Are you kidding me?

       Pulling an oversized sweatshirt over my sports bra and underwear, I walked out of my room.  I was never a morning person and never would be.  Dolores enjoyed torturing me like this though.  All times after I’ve fallen asleep she’ll yell at me to go make her some tea, make a sandwich, and my favorite: fluff her pillow.  She must get some type of cheap thrill out of being so goddamn controlling.

      Rubbing my eyes and walking into her office I saw her hunched over her typewriter.  She hadn’t left it all night, not even to eat dinner.  It was surprising because she hated eating food when she was in her office, but if she was on a writing roll, sacrifices must be made.

     “What do you want?” I snapped groggily, redoing the messy bun in my hair.

      “I want you to read this for me,” she snapped back.  I raised my eyebrows in surprise.  She never wanted me to read any of her work.  Never.  The only time I was allowed to read anything of hers was when the book was published and in hardcover.  Because I was an uneducated writer.

       “Give it,” I grumbled, holding my hand out.  Dolores slowly turned in her chair to look at me, and handed me a stack of papers.  There had to be twenty pages there. 

       “Go read it, and come back and tell me what you think.”  With that she turned back to her typewriter and began clicking away again. 

      Leaving the room I headed over to the living room to lie on the couch and read whatever it was she had just given me.  Thinking about it I didn’t even know what type of book she was writing this time.  I assumed it was another mystery because she only locked herself away in her office when she was writing a mystery.  Any other type of story was not taken as seriously.

       Stepping over the arm of the couch and sinking into the soft cushions I clapped my hands turning on all the lights in the room.  Then I began reading the papers. 

     Clarisse was a troubled girl… she thought she knew everything there was to know about people and life itself.  She didn’t.  You may have a harder life than most people and you may experience only heartache and tragedy, but that doesn’t make you an expert on life.  You need to experience both good and bad to be an expert on life.  And she was far from an expert.  She wasn’t even a novice. 

      I finished reading it and set it down letting in digest.  Then I pulled open the couch table drawer.  After a bit of digging around I found a pad of sticky-notes and a red pen.  Dolores only ever made changes to her drafts with sticky-notes, never writing on the actual paper. 

     Writing a few quick words on the notes, I stuck it on the first page and walked back to her office.  It was now five-thirty a.m. and I was wide awake.  No way was I going to be able to go back to sleep.

     Slinking in her office I saw she was asleep in her chair.  I smiled, and set the stack of papers on her desk and left to shower and start my busy day of chores and taking care of Stewie.   

***

      “But they’re going to be here soon!” she yelled at me in a panic, her hair was all over the place, and the buttons on her shirt were uneven because she buttoned it wrong.