by Les Cohen
Epilogue:
Now And Then
“Look at her out there.” Elizabeth’s mother pushed back the curtains along the bay window in their family room, gesturing to her husband with a slight movement of her head toward their daughter sitting on the gently sloping grass among the trees in their back yard. The two of them, Elizabeth’s parents, hadn’t been getting along well for some time now. For years, in fact, but it had been worse lately. No one had moved out yet, but they were thinking about it. Sitting there next to each other, on the bench that faced out back, was one of the rare times in recent weeks when they’d had something, anything in common to talk about.
She sat there on the lawn, in her favorite white cotton top and jeans, her legs crossed to make a table for her to write in the spiral notebook she took with her everywhere. Lying on his back beside her, the cat that thought he was a dog. Frail and a bit taller than other girls her age, she was gangly. Her hair was cut short, but not stylishly, its blonde color the most striking thing about it. She wrote, pausing only, every few minutes, to push back the wire-rimmed glasses that never seemed to hold onto the bridge of her nose. Alone, except for the company of the strange street cat she had befriended, she let her mind go to find the Elizabeth she wanted to be, and might someday become.
“She’s always writing,” her father commented. “We really need to get her a computer, maybe a laptop she can take to college.”
“When we can afford it,” her mother answered back, not taking her eyes off the two of them out back. “She’s been saving the money she makes working part-time at the newspaper – filing, going for sandwiches, looking up stuff for some of the reporters. She may just buy it for herself, before we get around to it.”
“What do make of that cat?”
“Oh, he’s okay.” Her mother was actually glad Elizabeth had someone, or something watching over her. “Oddly large,” she smiled, “don’t you think?”
“...with almost canine behavior. Actually holds his ground. Have you ever seen him do that?” her father asked. “It’s really.. unexpected.”
“Sure I have, like a wolf, spreading his stance for balance, growling and barking, not as loud, but plenty intimidating.” She smiled again, turning toward her husband’s face to see him still looking out the window at their daughter and her friend.
“Whenever they go somewhere, have you noticed, he’s always at her side, sometimes even walking in front, never clinging or hiding behind her like most cats would.” He’d seen Rollo other times, too, flying from Elizabeth’s upstairs window, across their roof and into the trees in the yard. “And he’s fast. Like lightening, with fur.”
“I suppose it’s good to have a friend,” her mother worried about their daughter, “whatever the species.” They both thought that was funny for some reason, and giggled, mostly because of the awkwardness of their moment together, because sharing a lighter moment wasn’t something they’d done for a while.
Just then, Rollo rolled over. Even from the house, Elizabeth’s parents could see an almost bleeding fresh tear and missing fur on his side, probably from a recent fight with another animal, or from crawling under a fence somewhere. No comment. To them, “Rollo,” which is what she called him, was an odd thing, of no particular value. A mangy, but low maintenance pet to entertain their daughter. To Elizabeth, he was courageous and deserving of her respect for surviving on his own, and for the unspoken commitment they had made to each other.
She had no other friends really, no close ones for sure. She liked Bobby, the good looking boy down the street, not attracted to her plain looks, and put off by her awkwardness. Bobby and his friends would walk by every so often, one of them riding slow on his bike, another sometimes spinning or dribbling the basketball he took with him everywhere. The Coleman’s had a corner lot and she could see them from their yard, looking up from what she was writing. She would wave a quick “Hi” and smile at him, only to see him almost ignore her, when the other boys were watching, or hear his friends mocking her and him not coming to her defense.
Still, she had a surprisingly pleasant smile and green eyes that disguised a fierce determination that her parents and acquaintances never suspected. The nerdy, stuttering Ralph who lived around the corner would stop over now and then, but didn’t talk much, at least not when her parents were around. And there was the old man from the house on the corner who walked with a cane – and his granddaughter, Eleanor, who visited him now and then. Elizabeth would go over there occasionally. She liked talking to the old man, a Russian immigrant years ago who had made his money out west before moving back to be closer to his family.
“All this writing she does in those notebooks, is any of it any good?” Her father regretted not spending more time with her. It was a question he knew he should have been able to answer for himself.
“She’s read a couple of things to me. Highly imaginative, adventurous stuff, some of it about a future when she’s in college.” Her mother paused for a moment to stretch her back, rubbing the bottom of it with her right hand. “At least her English teacher thinks she’s got potential, enough to give her some catalogs for state schools that we might be able to afford, schools with good creative writing programs. As bright as she is, she might even be able to get a scholarship.”
“Good.” And he meant it, hoping they could help their daughter become whatever she could and wanted for herself. “It’s early, but…”
“I know. It gives her something to dream about. Something she can look forward to doing in a few years.”
“Yeah, that’ll be good. A new place, lots of new people to meet.” He was feeling optimistic, for Elizabeth of course but, inexplicably, also for the two of them there on the bench. Turning toward his wife, he saw her smile and say what they had both been thinking.
“…and ‘an adventure around every corner for me to write about.’ Isn’t that what’s she’s always telling us?”
They sat there, both of them quiet for a while, watching their daughter write, and the cat lying on his back next to her, swatting playfully at gnats that wandered by now and then.
“I wonder where she and that cat go all day,” her father smiled lovingly at the vision of the two of them, out there in the light coming through an opening in the trees. He was so proud of her, without really knowing why, certain only that he didn’t tell her often enough.
“I suppose,” her mother had the answer, “it’s wherever her imagination takes her.”
# # #
“So, how ‘bout them apples?”
“What apples?”
“Are you kidding? It's an expression. ...As I was saying, did you get it, the ending? Did you like it? Do you feel like you got your money's worth?”
“It was free book. How could I not have...”
“Right. I'll take that as a ‘Yes.’ If you did, enjoy reading YE&R that is, tell your friends...”
An unintelligible, mumbled reply.
“What? You don't have any friends? Hmm. ...Okay, tell other people, boys, girls at school you'd like to get to know, anyone who will listen. Use it as a conversation starter... ‘Excuse me, but have you read Young Elizabeth and Rollo, the...’ Something like that. Try to look intelligent, but also friendly. ...What's that?”
"I'm not sure I can do both.”
“Really? ...Okay, to be honest, I have the same problem. Friendly I can do, although I still have a slight, nervous giggle when I'm around girls. (Actually, it's more like a tic.) It's the looking intelligent part I have trouble getting just right. ...And don’t hesitate to go to my website and write a wildly favorable a review. While you're there, be sure to let me know if you’d like to read more about Young Elizabeth and find out what’s going on with her, Rollo of course, their friends and Elizabeth when she’s in college.”
Yet another barely audible response.
“Listen, I'm sure you'll make friends eventually, but let's focus on me right now. (I don't h
ave any friends either and you don't hear me complaining.) ...On the other hand, if you didn’t like it, reading Young Elizabeth, don't bother with the review. …Just kidding. No, seriously. Favorable reviews only. …Just kidding, really. Say whatever you like… as long as it’s good. By ‘good’ I mean really impressive, jaw-dropping favorable. ‘On a scale of one to 10, this book is a 12. Maybe a 13.’ Something like that.”
“No matter what, thanks for reading my book.”
Les Cohen
Elizabeth’s Dad