by Tony C. Skye
Pee-room. Check.
* * *
“No, my granddaughter will not be attending any public school,” Martha informs, “I appreciate you calling Mr. Stuart, but Julia has just been through too much to have to deal with a school change on top of it.”
Martha shakes her head with the phone snugly against her right ear. The red-hair beauty rolls her eyes at her staring husband.
Frank grins. He knows Mr. Stuart has bit off more than he can possibly swallow. No one changes Martha's mind when it is set. Not even himself. And he ought to know. He's tried walking that road called Martha's will – a road which Mr. Stuart has just staggered upon like some poor drunk.
“Yes, Mr. Stuart. I am very well aware of the law,” Martha recites back, “But the law, also, states that I have the right to home school her. And you better believe I plan on doing it.”
“No, I am not,” Martha answers another objection from Mr. Stuart, “But how hard could it possibly be?”
“I know there's only two weeks left. Don't you worry yourself, Mr. Stuart. I'll figure something out before then,” the woman explains.
Martha turns to place the cordless receiver down, “You, too, Mr. Stuart. Thank you for calling.”
Click.
The woman turns and faces Frank. Her stare narrows, “What are you smiling at old man?”
Frank laughs.
“Well, I am not laughing at the woman who just took out an innocent high school principal,” the woman's husband of thirty-five years divulges, “That's for sure.”
The sixty-two-year-old gets up from his Lazy-boy styled couch where he was about to take a nap. The man walks around the glass covered oak wood coffee table and holds out both arms to welcome his frustrated wife.
Martha's lips form a pout as she walks into her husband's awaiting embrace.
“I think it was the other way around,” her words convey a mild defeat.
“What did he say?”, Frank questions while gently wrapping his arms around Martha.
“I must have a legal certification as a parent-teacher,” the woman explains, “And I've got to get it done within two weeks. Before the school year starts. If not, I'll have to enroll her.”
Martha pleads to her husband with her blue eyes, “Frank, she's just been through too much already.”
Frank kisses his wife upon her forehead. Looking into her eyes, the tall man speaks assuredly, “Let me make some phone calls. Judge Reignburg owes me a few favors. And he's on the school board if I'm not mistaken.”
Martha nods. She leans in and softly kisses her husband's lips.
“What would I ever do without you?”, the woman asks.
“That goes both ways, my love,” Frank responds. He smiles as he releases the hug around Martha, “Let me see what I can do.”
Frank walks towards the phone, “How's she doing?”
Martha sits on one of the recliners attached to the sofa. She gives him an update of the past twenty-four hours within a few short words,
“She's strong and doing really well all things considered. I just don't want to keep throwing straw on the camel.”
Frank nods while dialing the judge's cell phone number. He turns and grins at his lovely wife. She has leaned back with her eyes closed.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Judge Reinburg speaking,” a man's voice answers.
“I may still be an old man, but even I know your phone has my name on it, Donnie,” Frank playfully criticizes.
The sixty-three-year-old judge laughs.
“Hello, Frank. What can I do you for?”
“Donnie, I need a favor,” Frank begins explaining, “Martha has run into a little problem with some kind of parent-teacher certification junk. Would you know anything about this sort of thing?”
“I do,” Donnie answers, “But I'm guessing by the favor request that's not what you're asking me.”
Frank remains silent.
“I see,” the judge speaks. He inquires further, “I take it Martha's decided to spare Julianna the aggravations of adapting to a new school so soon?”
“Yep. That about sums it up,” Frank reveals.
“So, what exactly do you need from me Frank?”, the judge corners his dear friend, “This isn't really an area of my influence.”
“We need to get her certified within two weeks,” Frank answers.
“Two weeks. Geezus, Frank. You want me to walk on water, too?”, the judge mocks.
Frank runs his fingers through his silver-streaking hair. He turns away from his wife and lowers his voice, “Listen Donnie. The kid's been through a lot. Martha's just trying to lessen her load.”
The judge sighs. “Some people owe me,” he explains, “I can set up a time for her to come in and test. And this is pushing it, Frank. Under normal circumstances, she'd have to have training hours in. Or take her test at a state certified facility. One or the other. Most of the time, both.”
“What do we need to do, Donnie?”, Frank wants it all in black and white.
“If you think she can pass the test,” Judge Reinburg answers, “I can do that much. It's the best I can do. I'm overstepping the boundaries as it is. There are deadlines for these things. And the deadline's already up.”
“You make it sound like I just asked you to overturn a murder conviction, Donnie,” Frank kindly scolds his friend, “She's no novice.”
“I know she schooled your daughter,” the judge counters, “And a fine job of it, she did. But that has nothing to do with rules and deadlines. You know that.”
“I do,” Frank admits. He pauses for a moment before continuing, “She'll be ready.”
“Sounds good,” Judge Reinburg responds, “I'll get everything set up on my end.”
“That'll work. Thanks Donnie.”
“I owe you more than I care to keep track of, old friend,” the judge responds, “And you have never asked me for anything. It's the least I can do.”
“You want a ring and a marriage proposal?”, Frank questions.
“Ha-ha,” the judge laughs, “How about we settle on some fishing instead?”
“You bet. Same place as always. I'll see you there, Donnie,” Frank replies. Hanging up the phone, the man turns and sees his wife walking towards him.
“Think you can pass a test?”, Frank questions.
Martha smiles, “You know I can.”
* * *
“I not be needin' to see into da bag from da Lady Crazy tonight,” Julianna mocks.
She sits the gift bag onto the desk next to her freshly poured glass of chocolate milk. The girl opens her bag of nacho cheese Doritos and plops a chip into her mouth. Sitting down at her desk, Julianna uses her key to unlock her mom's diary. She shifts in her seat to get more comfortable. Julia shakes her head. The teen grabs up the diary, chips, and her glass of oh-so-good chocolate milk. She gets up and walks over to her bed.
Choosing the nightstand to the right side of the bed, Julianna sits everything on it. She pulls back the thick comforter. It is embroidered with the same star and circle scene she seen in the upstairs carpet. She crawls into her bed, fluffs the two feather pillows, and places them against the headboard. Sitting her back to them, Julianna maneuvers her legs under the comforter and pulls it up to her waistline. She reaches over and picks up her mother's diary. She plops another chip into her mouth before opening the book.
July 24, 1989
Dear Diary,
I have discovered why mom only allowed me to look at the white tag books in the library. They are basically a general knowledge set. And I am proud to write that I have figured out what the other colors are for. Well, I think I have.
I believe the tags have something to do with the doors down the hallway. That's the good news. The bad news is that I have no idea what to do. Mom gave me her diary in the white room. I have already read some of the white books. Better to read than to clean. I'm starting to think she knew I'd choose to read over cleaning. “Well, Theresa. You can help clean the library,
or you can read a book,” she'd say. And it just so happens that every single one of them had a white tag.
I guess I'll start reading the rest. There are so many of them. Maybe, I've slept over a few of them. But what mom doesn't know won't hurt her.
Sincerely,
Theresa
August 24, 1989
Dear Diary,
Man I'm good. I am knocking three books out every week. I have figured something else out that I never noticed as a child. The white tags are not the same. None of the colors are.
Each color has different shades to it. The very last book of each color matches the shade of the door exactly. None of the other shades are an exact match. And the next color tag to read is a tiny perfect mix of the current color and the last tag which matches its door. White and dark-yellow leaves light-yellow. My next tag color.
The last book of the white tags I am reading now. The book tells about colors and their relevance to the world. It explains about moods, environment, personalities, and all kinds of neat stuff. Color shading is the chapter which put it all together for me.
Sorry, I haven't written in a while. As you can see I've been really busy. Mom has told me it is mandatory to write to you at least once a month. So, I’ve wrote. Bye.
Sincerely,
Theresa
August 29, 1989
Dear Diary,
The first yellow tag book explains the door keys. I got excited until I kept reading. According to this book, I should already have the stupid yellow key. This blows. It means I must have missed the clues when I pretended to read. Or I read about it and didn't catch on. Either way it blows. It's back to the beginning of the white set for me.
Yes, I thought about picking the door's lock. But when I looked at the next book in the yellow set, I seen a lock on it. Book after book is locked. All of them! The only one that isn't is this first one. And if this book could speak, it would probably say, “Hey, Theresa. You are too dumb to continue.” Oh, in case you didn't hear me the first two times, THIS BLOWS!
Theresa
* * *
No freakin' way.
Julianna grins. She tries to recall a strange nursery rhyme her mother used to recite when she was around five or six. It always put her to sleep at night.
How did she start it? Something about a princess. No, it was a queen. A queen and her kingdom. Her white kingdom.
The girl smiles and begins reciting the nursery rhyme aloud,
“The queen searches all of the colorful kingdoms.
She searches to find her place among angels and demons.
She begins in the white kingdom. One, two, she finds a key.
The key, which opens the yellow door, if she only believes.
One by one, the queen finds them all.
The door to each kingdom down the hall.
The queen spends her time in careful examination.
So her mind is not filled with any contamination.
She does not skip, hop, or run along the way.
For the power and danger she faces is not for play.
She takes care to read every word she sees.
And it all begins with one, two, she finds a key.”
Julianna throws back her covers and springs out of her bed. She heads upstairs with her mother's diary. The auto-feature of the library's lighting detects her movement and illuminates the dimmed area.
She stops on top of the circle with a star inside and faces the three u-shaped rows of bookshelves. Her eyes widen as she spots books with white tags upon their bindings. They are located on the first four rows from the top of the first shelf, and wrap all the way around the u-shape shelving. She notices a set of blue tag books underneath the white ones. They finish the massive horseshoe with a whopping sixteen rows to their credit.
Geezus. I'll be two-hundred before I can read all of that.
The girl notices the air is a little chilly in this open area of the library. Dressed in her short-shorts, the girl realizes she probably should have grabbed her robe. Her red-streak side bangs dance among her raven black hair while she rubs the rising goose bumps from her arms.
“One, two, she finds a key,” the teen quietly speaks while moving closer to the books. Julianna sees a ladder to her right. It is placed near the end of the bookshelf. She crosses the sixteen-foot distance to the ladder. It is attached to the thirty-two foot wide horseshoe. With roughly eight feet between each shelf, Julianna surmises that the third shelf must be around sixty to seventy-feet wide.
“I take that back,” the girl reconsiders each of the three shelves; “I'll be five-hundred.”
Julianna's emerald green eyes sparkle against the florescent lighting as she peers up the towering ladder. She exhales a quick forceful breath. The sudden burst of air parts her lips.
“Gotta start somewhere, I guess,” Julianna coaches herself into making the high climb.
Her legs nervously shake as she reaches the top row and looks down.
“Stop that,” Julianna scolds herself for the rookie mistake.
She locks her left arm – still holding her mother's diary – through the gap between ladder runs and around the forty-five degree riser-board attached to the right side of the ladder. With her right hand clutching the ladder run above her left arm, Julianna examines the white tag books on the right end of each row.
Of course not. That'd be too damn easy.
After recognizing the last tag in the set to be a perfect match color for the door where her mother's diary had been kept, the girl climbs back down the ladder. At least, she is now somewhat assured as to the books' orderings. If the final color is at the bottom right, then it only makes sense that the first book in the set will be found to the top left of the shelves. She places her right hand on the ladder and pushes.
Crap.
The ladder stubbornly rejects the girl's authority. She examines the ladder's wheels. They do not touch the floor. Julianna spots a handle towards the bottom of the ladder. She walks behind the ladder and presses the handle down with her bare right foot.
Click. Click. Click. Swoosh.
The hydraulics take over – dropping the wheels to the floor and releasing the brake. Julianna shakes her head and talks to her new stubborn friend,
“Shall we try this again?”
The teen nearly falls as she over-eagerly pushes the compliant ladder. She looks around the empty room like there is a possibility a small crowd has gathered to witness her clumsiness. Recomposing herself, Julianna walks the willing ladder to the other end of the horseshoe bookshelf.
Click. Click. Click. Swoosh.
The ladder's wheels rise back up while locking the brake back into position. Julianna pushes and pulls to test the ladder's obedience against her victorious conquering. With her new experience, the teen climbs the ladder with a little more confidence in each step. Once she reaches the top row of white tag books, Julianna no longer feels the need to place a death grip around the ladder. The look down, however, she still believes is a good enough reason to harbor some anxiety, and reason enough to avoid the situation as much as possible.
The girl gently nibbles on her lower lip while she scans the four rows. She grins after she verifies her calculations about the shelving system.
“One, two, she finds a key,” Julianna recites as she plucks the first two white books from the shelf. She climbs back down the ladder, and places the two books on the floor next to the diary she decided not to carry a second time. Carefully tracing the diary's cover as she kneels, the girl sighs. Her eyes water while she stares at her mother's past.
“Thanks mom,” she whispers before placing her first two fingers of her right hand to her lips. She makes a quiet kissing sound. Touching the diary's cover with her kissed fingers, Julianna forces a smile.
She places the diary on top of the two white tag books and stands upright. The girl turns and reexamines the towering ladder before her. Julianna shakes her head at any notion of moving the ladder back into its original pos
ition. After all, there is no need. The library now belongs to Julianna Cora Atwood – daughter of Theresa and granddaughter to Martha, the mother of her mother.
* * *
Julianna sits the empty glass of chocolate milk into the kitchen's empty dishwasher. She returns to her new bedroom, opens her personal fridge, and grabs a bottle of vitamin water. After opening it, the girl takes a long drink to wash down the thick film left behind from the milk. She places the cap back on and sits the water bottle on her nightstand.
The teen reclaims her spot upon her bed. With her covers pulled into their rightful position, Julianna reaches for the two white books lying next to her water and Doritos. Leaning against her two pillows, she reads the book's titles.
The first one reads: Family History and Records. The girl raises the left corner of her lip in protest. She puts it on the bed to her left and picks up the next one in the series.
She quietly reads the title to herself, “Woman: An Autobiography.”
Visioning what her mother went through with the white tag set, she replaces her book with the first one in the series. She opens it and begins reading.
“This book is maintained and expanded by all who have been placed into authority over the Collection. It is the sole responsibility of the governing authority to write her own story into the likeness of the Book of Two. Furthermore, said authority shall place her name into the back of this Book of One before the Collection can be reassigned to the next authority.”
Julianna flips the pages to the back of the book. Finding only blank pages, she thumbs the book towards the front until she sees writing. Her fingers, slowly, run over the final entry.