RE: Trailer Trash, 6 pt 10 (Patreon)

   Several days had passed since revealing her story to Elena, and Tabitha was getting more antsy by the moment. The teenage girl sighed, brushing her red tangle back from her face with her good hand and tucking her hair behind one ear as she surveyed her boring room within Springton General Hospital’s inpatient ward. The decor was bright and clean but in a forced cheer way, somehow sterile of coziness and comforts to put her mind at ease.

   An oversight on their part, to be sure, Tabitha thought to herself with a wry smile. A big picture of a bunch of corgi puppies on the wall right there would do wonders for my recovery. I’d even settle for a HANG IN THERE, KITTY!

   Her father had brought her a bouquet of chrysanthemums that overflowed from a small vase—reportedly at Grandma Laurie’s behest—that failed to combat the strained optimism of the hospital. Sighing with an impatient smile, Tabitha stretched her legs beneath the blanket again, nearly toppling her Goblina notebook onto the floor. She’d managed to spend some of her ample free time streamlining her ideas, but her heart just wasn’t really in it right now.

   I want to DO things, Tabitha thought once again. Nothing sets your mind on going out and living your life to the fullest quite like an intimate brush with death.

   As her long days of convalescence gave her ample time to mull over her thoughts, Tabitha had come to a number of conclusions about herself. She wasn’t making the most of her do-over— her actions since traveling back in time were too timid, too passive, so focused on avoiding some of the specific things she feared that she entrapped herself in a mindset that was even more dreadful; that she was letting so many opportunities slip through her fingers!

   I don’t mean money, either, Tabitha chuckled and shook her head. After all, as the saying goes— you can’t take it with you.

   Her now suddenly gothic friend Elena’s questions had more or less all revolved around eking out every possible financial gain using her future knowledge, to the point that Tabitha grew exasperated with the girl’s line of thought. As un-American as it apparently was, Tabitha knew she had no desire to become obscenely wealthy. Though she’d grown up in poverty and fantasized in her childhood about such a rags-to-riches turn-around, she’d already experienced an adulthood of modest comfort and had the benefit of some rare gems of hindsight on the matter.

   I want to fill up my life with moments like when us three girls were just giggling in the dark of my cramped little bedroom for that slumber party. The things that are truly priceless in life are friendships and family; loved ones. Money and EXTRAVAGANCE will honestly just complicate those relationships. I won’t allow any of us to be poor enough to suffer hardship because of it, but I also don’t think I want us to be rich.

   The things I want in life right now are as cheap as an ice cream cone, Tabitha thought wistfully. To go around Louisville and see the sights in people, to hold hands with my Mom and Dad on either side like I’m a little kid again. Maybe go swimming somewhere, when it’s warm again. Go camping. Watch movies together in the living room. To do all the FAMILY things we never ever did in my past life. Want to go somewhere scenic with them, watch a sunset maybe, while we have ice cream cones.

   Tabitha really wanted ice cream. 

   Money is necessary to an extent, of course—but what I want to focus on is MAKING MEMORIES, Tabitha had decided. Pursuing a fortune just isn’t something I feel called to. I remember a bigger TV screen just made me feel smaller when I watched things. A more spacious, fanciful apartment would just be even emptier space—it’s scary to even think that I’ll probably be able to afford my own house in this lifetime.

   The point her mind kept returning to was the Williams family lakehouse. It was nice in a rather extravagant way and she loved visiting, but she didn’t think she’d ever want to actually live there. It was alien to her, and a place like that would never feel like home. In contrast, Elena had seemed to immediately internalize the experience of seeing the mansion on the lake as a sort of personal goal. Dwelling over their differences in perspective was a fruitless endeavor, however, because her thoughts always returned to the current rift between her and Elena.

   She doesn’t believe me. Of course she wouldn’t—we talked and argued and debated, but honestly how COULD she believe me? It really just is too absurd. It’s probably crazier that Alicia accepts it already.

   Tabitha didn’t regret telling her the truth, though. Getting everything off her chest felt amazing, and wherever their friendship went from here, their interactions wouldn’t be slowly poisoned by the uncomfortable knowledge of everything she was withholding from Elena. Agghh, I just wish that there was some way to— 

   “Knock knock, Tabitha!” A cheerful woman’s voice called out. “Are you accepting visitors?”

   “Good morning, Mrs. Williams!” Tabitha’s face lit up.

   “What do you mean?” Mrs. Williams joked. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not, Miss Tabitha? Or, is it that you feel good this morning?”

   “You’ve—you’ve read Tolkien,” Tabitha observed in a breathless voice, feeling a little more floored than she should have.

   “Of course I have dear, everyone my age has,” Mrs. Williams tut-tutted, bustling into the room wielding a fruit basket. “Look, I’ve brought you fruit. Doesn’t it just look like something out of a high school art painting? Tacky! The grapes looked delicious though, and I thought, oh, Tabitha’s been cooped up in here with nothing but—”

   “My parents haven’t,” Tabitha confided with a bitter smile. “Read Tolkien, I mean. Dad doesn’t read, and Mom just… doesn’t feel passionate about reading the way I do.”

   “Ugh, I know just what you mean—hubby dearest and even my Matthew are terribly uncultured bores in that regard,” Mrs. Williams griped as she plopped down in the chair beside Tabitha’s bed and began unfastening the plastic of the gift basket. “Football. Basketball, dreadful action movie nonsense on TV, anything Schwarzenegger with shooting and explosions and all that.”

   “What else have you read?” Tabitha sat up with interest.

   “Goodness—promise you won’t make fun?” Mrs. Williams tore away the last of the wrapping and presented the basket to Tabitha.

   “Anne Rice?” Tabitha guessed with a chuckle. “Laurell K. Hamilton?”

   “Tabitha,—my word you’re a touch young to be reading those, aren’t you?” Mrs. Williams looked startled for a moment before erupting into boisterous laughter. “You’ve caught this old lady red-handed, I do enjoy my Anita Blake. I gave the Anne Rice stuff a try, but it was just too dry for me. Sometimes she just goes on and on and on!”

   “She does, sometimes,” Tabitha agreed. “Stephen King?”

   “Oh, I have to be in the mood for him,” Mrs. Williams waved a dismissive hand. “The man’s a brilliant writer and I love a good visit, but his books aren’t someplace I want to live, you know?”

   “I loved his book The Talisman,” Tabitha confessed. “It was my favorite book, for a long time.”

   “That was a good one!” Mrs. Williams exclaimed, leaning forward to steal a grape. “Just listen to you— a long time, hah, you’re still so young! Have you read any Anne McCaffrey, or Barbara Hambly?”

   “I’ve read Dragonriders of Pern,” Tabitha nodded. “I haven’t even heard of Hambly— what does she write?”

   “I didn’t care for the dragon rider stuff,” Mrs. Williams admitted. “But, McCaffrey wrote a different series I just adore, the Crystal Singer trilogy. Barbara Hambly writes these fantasy books with Sunwolf and Starhawk—oh, I’ll just have to lend them to you. I don’t want to spoil anything!”

   “Please!” Tabitha nodded eagerly. “I’d love that—I don’t know how long they’ll keep me here.”

   “Well,” Mrs. Williams leaned in and gave Tabitha a conspiratorial look. “We have this unofficial little book club between some of us old hens at the church group. I think you’d just love some of the… now wait a minute, you’re just fourteen years old! We can hardly be pressing John Varley books into your hands and just insisting you read! It’s honestly scandalous to think you’ve read Anita Blake at your age!”

   “I always preferred Meredith Gentry to Anita Blake,” Tabitha chuckled. “And, I’m actually still thirteen. My birthday’s in December.”

   “Meredith Gentry?” Mrs. Williams pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Are they much like Anita Blake? Who writes them?”

   Ah. Right, Tabitha remembered, sheepishly reigning in some of her wayward enthusiasm. It’s still 1998. Probably can’t mention Neverwhere or American Gods—and I guess Laurel K. Hamilton hasn’t started writing Meredith Gentry yet. I’m too fuzzy on book release dates. At best, I’d only remember when in my life *I* read them, not when they actually came out.

   “I… I don’t remember the author,” Tabitha lied with an apologetic face. “They just seemed, um, similar in writing style to the Anita Blake ones. I think.”

   “I’ll have to look them up!” Mrs. Williams said. “As you can imagine, quite a few of us church ladies just love the Blake books. Don’t you go telling anyone, though!”

   “I won’t,” Tabitha promised with a grin. “Um. Actually… I’ve been trying to talk my parents into joining a church. I want them to be part of a community, to—”

   “We’d love to have you!” Mrs. Williams gushed. “My word, I already go on and on about you to all the women in choir. Are your parents Methodist?”

   “My father was raised Baptist, but I don’t think he’s been to a service since he was little,” Tabitha said. “They both believe, they just… never got into attending services and being part of something bigger. I’d really like them to, though. I think it’d be good for them.”

   “Just listen to you,” Mrs. Williams remarked, rocking back in her seat. “Shouldn’t they be the ones looking out for you? Tabitha, you’re just fourteen years old!”

   “Thirteen,” Tabitha corrected again with a wince. “Thirteen, but… I dream big. Actually, I’ve been working on writing my own novels! This here’s the outline I’ve been putting together, I keep all my thoughts and ideas right here in this binder. I think by next year I should—”

   “Hello in there,” a nurse interrupted, pushing a wheelchair in through the doorway. “Oh, you have company! Looks like things weren’t so bad in the X-rays, but we do still need to get a proper cast back on your wrist for a few months so we can be sure your hand heals correctly. I’m here to bring you over—but, your mother’s welcome to accompany us!”

   “Oh, I’m actually not—” Mrs. Williams began in a fluster.

   “She’s one of my Moms,” Tabitha quickly insisted, shooting Mrs. Williams a smile. “I mean, you don’t have to if you’re busy… but I’d love if you came with.”

( Previous, 6 pt 9 | RE: Trailer Trash | Next, 6 pt 11 )

/// Was struggling with some key missing element for several days there, but I think I've got this storyline back on it's groove now. This one's short, expect another RE:TT either tomorrow or the day after.