Free Bird: Plantain Series Book Five
Page 1
Table of Contents
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
PLAYLIST
FREE BIRD
A Plantain Novel
Written by Amelia Oliver
Copyright © 2017 Amelia Oliver
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, events or locations are entirely coincidental.
This is dedicated to all my Plantain Addicts,
especially Kate Hastings. #HEMF
Cover by
The coolest person I know, MBE
Editing
Laura Hull
Amelia Oliver
Kate Hastings
Formatting
Dee Ellis
Stella James
Spotify Playlist
https://open.spotify.com/user/meganvohs1/playlist/4fHJqVxCGzB7lSBMSJYlTJ
Table of Contents
PART ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
PART TWO
23
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
PART THREE
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
PLAYLIST
PART ONE
1972
1
FAYE
Sitting in the back of my dad’s Buick, the windows rolled up tight and the heat suffocating us. Not one to ruin her hair, my mom would never roll down the windows and allow any of us to have some enjoyment of the trip. Rather she has the air on with the vents focused on her, not allowing any flow back toward us. Looking over at Sweetie, I see her sit up as straight as she can, leaning forward and towards the window as her little eyes scan the desert. This environment is so different than anything either of us have ever seen and I love seeing the awe and excitement in her eyes as she tries to take in all the barren land.
“Maybe we can have adventures out there,” I tell her, leaning closer and tucking hair behind her ear.
“You think there’s dinosaur bones out there?” she asks, looking at me with such hope in her expression and voice.
“Probably. We’ll have to look.”
“There’s no such thing as dinosaurs,” Gaye states.
I look at her, even though she’s still looking out the windshield. I really hate when she does that. Sweetie loves all things magical and my mom never fails to burst her little bubble.
“So, someone created fossils and buried them in the ground for people to find in an elaborate effort to perpetuate the idea of dinosaurs?” I ask.
Sweetie shoots me a small grin, even though she doesn’t understand half the words.
“Don’t be smart, Faye.”
I roll my eyes and train them out the window. It’s my fault I’m even still living with my family. I’m almost twenty-one and most girls my age are married, or at least on that track. But not me. I tried a few college courses and got my typing certificate, which means I can be a secretary. I want to work, being married I probably won’t because families I know, the man wants the wife to stay home. I’m not particularly keen on being a secretary, the idea of making my own money is the point, to not be dependent on my parents anymore. I also stick around because of Sweetie. I dream of taking her away from here with me, but I can’t support both of us. Yes, I could leave and make money and then come and get her, but I know my mom won’t let that happen.
Sweetie is my world. I love that little girl. She’s four now, and I don’t remember what life was like before her. I’m thankful my mom hasn’t decided to do to her what she did with me: live through me and try to obtain the perfection she failed to achieve herself. From the time I could walk, Gaye Elizabeth Spencer-Hamilton started molding me for pageants. And I loved it. I loved that she would get excited over watching my performances, making my dresses, grooming me and training me to win. I reveled in the attention I got from her and her friends, often being paraded around at parties and getting to show off my elegance and grace. It was fun, until I started going through puberty. I was too fat, my hair was never clean-looking enough, my skin was greasy, you name it. All the things that puberty brings to a girl, you’d hear my mom complain about it.
I had to wash my face and hair up to three times a day at one point, and I was sent to fat camps in the summer. After my body finally got itself together, I’d developed into a curvy young woman, and I liked how I looked. For some reason, I’d not minded that I wasn’t a waif, or organically thin like the style that saturated the media. I knew I wasn’t going to look like that, and I also liked the way people looked at me, mainly men. As much as I embraced my new womanhood, mom on the other hand, did not. She continued to treat me like I was going to be entering pageants, regimenting my days and my life to fit the perfection she thought I should have. But I haven’t been in any competitions in years. I keep waiting for the dreaded news that she’s going to enter Sweetie into one, and if that happened, that will be my sign that we need to leave. I’d never wish that on anyone, especially a dreamy wide-eyed girl like Sweetie.
“Here’s Plantain,” Dad announces, and both Sweetie and I lean towards the center of the bench seat to look out the window.
Dad slows his speed as we approach an oasis in the desert. Sweetie still can’t see, so I put her on my lap as we enter the place we’ll call home for three months. The place is cute, and like any other small town I guess, like where we’re from in Mississippi. Gaye makes a displeased sound as she gazes at the small shops and people walking along the sidewalks.
“It’s not that bad,” Dad says to her quietly.
“Not that bad? I can guarantee that not one person here owns any formal wear.”
I sigh and Sweetie looks back at me. I smile at her, instantly ignoring my mom’s ignorance. The car stops at a light and I notice a movie theater, the bright circle bulbs light up in a pattern that leads my eyes up to the sign that says PLANTAIN THEATER. I tap Sweetie’s leg and point in the direction of the building. She sits up straighter and I can tell she’s pleased.
“I’ll take you there okay?” I
whisper in her ear and she nods.
Gaye would die if she heard us. Movies aren’t something my mom likes us watching; too much for us to see that she can’t control. This is also why Sweetie and I can’t watch television. I never knew anything about television until I went to visit my friend Gwen. We watched American Bandstand and it changed my life. Every now and then I sneak off to catch it and, if Gaye’s not home, I let Sweetie watch it too.
“Looks like a decent diner there,” Dad says and we look over towards where he’s nodding.
The diner looks nice and fairly new, and it only takes a moment to notice the motorbikes lined up along one side of the place.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Gaye scoffs.
Something happens inside me, a spark of excitement. I can’t explain it, but I like it. We’re still sitting at the light when four men with longish hair and a way about them that just screams rebellion come out the front door of the diner. As the last one in the group comes into view, I see he’s tall with blond hair that ends just below his ears, he’s wearing a white shirt with an army green jacket over it, jeans and boots, and there’s some swagger about him that exudes confidence. His appearance is so opposite of what I’m used to: men with perfectly styled short hair, perfectly pressed clothes and perfectly polished. I should be frightened by him, or at least uncomfortable like my mom is, but I’m not. Dad starts driving and I look at the man for as long as I can until we turn down a side street and I can no longer see him.
“I think,” Dad pauses as he scans the large homes. “Yes, there it is.”
We all look over at the house he’s pointed out. It reminds me of Miss Havisham’s condemned mansion from Great Expectations. All the greenery is overgrown and almost blanketing the house from street view, and the iron gates covered with ivy and Spanish moss. The house is white, or at least was at one point. As we pull up the long gravel driveway, the way the sun comes in through the leaves almost gives the house a dreamlike feel, like from The Secret Garden. Sweetie’s excited by this place, and I can only imagine what fantastic things she will think up that live in this place.
“Good Lord Frank,” Gaye states.
“It needs a bit of work. That’s why we’re here, remember?” he adds.
“A bit?” she asks, turning to face him.
“Gaye, it’s cosmetic-”
“Well, we haven’t seen the inside now have we?”
Because I don’t want Sweetie to hear them bicker, I open the door as soon as Dad parks and slide out with her on my lap, stretching my arms in the air once I set her down and she runs off.
“Don’t get your dress dirty,” Gaye manages to tell her, in between arguing with my dad.
I look up at the tall oak trees, the sky barely visible through the branches and leaves thick and plentiful. I find myself walking around towards the back of the house where Sweetie went. Ivy clings to the sides of the house and just about every other thing. It blows my mind that not even ten minutes ago we were in the desert and now there’s greenery as far as the eye can see. I pass the moving truck; the back is open and some boxes still sit inside. It was sent ahead of us before we left Mississippi. It’s then I hear the tinkling of water coming from behind the house and I follow the sound. There’s trellises and overgrown areas that I picture as well manicured gardens at one time, now rose branches so full of blooms they tip toward the ground. Navigating through everything until I see a massive fountain in the middle of the lawn, looking up to where a large section in the canopy of trees is gone and the sun shines through it so brightly it’s almost blinding. Sweetie’s there, looking up at the massive fountain and I notice four fairies carved into the stone and know exactly what this little girl is about to say.
“Fairies. I bet fairies live in this place,” she smiles, looking over at me.
“I bet you a Coke we see one before the end of the day,” I tell her.
She reaches out her small hand and we shake at the same moment we hear Gaye calling for us. I can see all Sweetie wants to do is explore, but I know we need to unpack in order for my mom to regain some control of this moving situation. I give her a smile and put my hand on top of her head as we start walking.
“Fairies live inside, too. I bet they’ll be surprised since someone’s moving in, so maybe we’ll find some in your bedroom.”
She looks up at me with her eyes twinkling and a smile that always makes me feel a flood of love for this little girl. We walk all the way around to the porch which lines the front of the house. The wood there looks dodgy and I watch closely for weak patches as Sweetie walks in front of me. The front doors open and I admire the gorgeous stained glass on the windows paneling the door.
“Well, where are they?” Gaye questions.
“A lot of the boxes aren’t marked, but we moved everything that had marks on them. But the rest we weren’t sure, so I sent them to lunch which they should be back from any minute,” the moving truck driver tells Gaye.
I give him a polite smile as he tries to explain this to her. Which she just sighs and looks over at us.
“Go, girls. Unpack your rooms,” she tells us, urging us towards the huge wooden staircase.
The house is exactly what I pictured in this style and age of a home. Wood carved in intricate patterns on the molding and railings, stained glass windows, built in dressers and beds. Reaching the top of the steps, the hallway is wide and painted an aqua blue and there’s dusty white sheets covering furniture and lamps on either side. I pop my head in the first door as Sweetie skips down to another room. We walk through each of the six rooms and as I open what I think is a closet, I’m shocked to see Sweetie standing in a connecting room.
“Oh, look at this,” I say.
She giggles and walks over. “Can we have these rooms?” she asks.
“Definitely,” I confirm with a nod and walk back out to where most of the boxes are labeled BEDROOMS.
I packed all of my and Sweetie’s things we needed for the summer, mainly clothes, toys for her and records for me. I know by my writing which ones are ours and begin moving them into the rooms. The rooms aren’t terribly dirty, but dusty, so I open the windows and start removing the sheets off the furniture. As Sweetie gets started on setting up her Barbie’s on the window ledge, I search for my AM/FM radio and plug it in. Loud static cuts through the space and I startle, quickly turning the volume down. Then I search the dial and vaguely hear “Heard it Through the Grapevine” by Marvin Gaye and work my magic to get the signal to come in. When it does, I instantly start singing. I gather this is an oldies station, which is the music I like most. My talent at competitions was singing, not that I think I’m amazing, but I know I sound okay. My favorite songs to sing are Motown, but my mom thinks that’s too urban, so I often sing The Carpenters or Bread. I like that music too, but it doesn’t get me going like The Supremes or Jackson 5.
As I move around the room singing and opening boxes, the song morphs into “I’ll Be There” by The Four Tops, but it isn’t until “Dancing in the Street” by Martha and The Vandellas comes on that Sweetie comes in and starts dancing. I put down the handful of clothes and start dancing with her as I sing. Her giggle and wide smile make me happier than anything in the world, and I wish every day could be like this for us. We twirl hand in hand until I get too dizzy and stand to watch her. Noticing something out of the corner of my eye, I startle a moment when I see a man standing in the doorway. I have a moment of memory; recognition of him from outside the diner- it’s the rebel. He gives me a small smile and lifts a hand.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, then nods over at Sweetie who’s still dancing.
“Sounded like a lot of fun in here. I’m helping your family move in,” he adds as I stare at him.
Just then I see other men, the ones I think were also at the diner, walking behind him with boxes in their arms.
“Come on slacker,” one says.
He turns and gives them a nod.
“Sorry, get back to-” He stops and
waves a hand, giving me another smile and wow, that smile.
“Please Mr. Postman” comes on and Sweetie finally realizes someone’s there and walks over towards me.
“Hi,” the man says to her.
“Hi,” she says, in a little chirp of a voice. “I’m Sweetie,” she tells him.
This surprises me, as she’s not normally so forth coming to strangers.
“Oh, well it’s lovely to meet you Miss Sweetie,” he nods. “I’m Sven.”
“Sven?” she repeats and I can tell by the sound of her voice that her face is screwed up in question, and I smile.
“Yes, my family’s from the other side of the world, a place called Norway.”
“Do dragons live there?” she asks.
“Wouldn’t you know, I come from a long line of dragon tamers,” he says, seriousness on his face, but a hint of playfulness in his voice. “And I have seen some flying over the desert before.”
“Whoa,” Sweetie says, stunned.
Sven nods and I can’t help but feel taken with him. Someone who would stop and talk to a little girl about such trivial things really says a lot about a person.
“It was a pleasure meeting you lovely ladies, but as you can see, duty calls,” he says after being heckled again.
“Can I ask you something before you go?” Sweetie requests, taking a step closer to him.
“Absolutely,” he says.
She walks closer, crooking a finger for him to lower his ear for her. She says something to him with her hand cupped beside her mouth. His eyes remain on me, my bare legs mainly, until he looks up at my face and starts smiling, likely because she said something cute.
“Everyone here in Plantain knows fairies do live here, in this house mainly. And actually, I think that room over there is where the queen fairy lives.”
Something in my chest grows warm, knowing he’s telling her this to make her happy. To see her smile and know she’s about to burst with the wonder that I live for, it tugs at some part of me.
“Did you hear that?” she says turning to face me. “The room I picked is the queen’s room!” She giggles and takes off running.