Fire!

From my point of view at 9 years old:

My parents are leaving me to babysit AGAIN.  I swear they're never here at all.  What's the point of having parents anyway if they're never around?  And Mom expects me to fit all this bread in the oven when it's done rising.  It's never going to fit...

There, I knew these loaves of bread wouldn't all fit. Half the time she can't get them to fit with the oven door closed.   Well, that's the best I can do.  The oven door is just not going to quite close, and they'll just have to bake that way.  I'm done messing around with this, and I need to use the bathroom anyway. Where's my book?

Okay, now that I've had a little break, what are the kids up to.  THERE'S A FIRE IN THE OVEN!  What should I do?  I know we're supposed to leave the house, but it's not a very big fire, and I think I can put it out.  It would be so embarrassing to call the fire department over this, and I can get it out before they even get here.  "Quick, Bekah and Benji, go wait outside.  Reece, grab that bucket and help me put this fire out.  If we can't get it out in just a minute, we'll go out and call the fire department."

Good news--I saved the house.  It turns out that one of those stinking kids (none of them will confess who) decided to try to rearrange the bread so that it would all fit in the oven properly.  They were successful, but left the hot pad in there.  I save the bread, but the hot pad is a dead loss.

My parents are so unfair.  First, they leave me to babysit all.the.time.  Then, just because I had to use the bathroom, so I didn't stop the hot pad incident, now I am in trouble.  Since no one admits to leaving the hot pad in the oven, we're all being punished, but me most of all because I was "in charge and should have known better."  What the heck?  I can't use the bathroom while I'm babysitting?  They seem more upset about Mom's best hot pad being destroyed than about the fact that the house almost burned down.  And I saved it!  With just a little help from Reece.

From my younger sister's point of view:

Hmmm...Lauralyn left this bread all weird in the oven.  I bet I can make it better.  Turn this one.  Put this one over here.  I'm being so careful; I won't get burned.  Mommy always says that I'll burn myself if I get too close to the oven, but I won't.  Look, I did it!  I can put the bread in the oven better than Lauralyn...

Lauralyn is screaming and making me take Ben outside.  I think she's mad about the bread cause I did it better than her...

Mom and Dad are really mad because somebody left the hot pad in the oven, and it started on fire.  No one knows who did it, except me.  I left it in there when I fixed the bread, but I'm not telling.  I'm not getting in trouble for this.

(Rebekah finally confessed twenty years after the event, so now we all know who is responsible for the great hot pad fire of 1983.)

Football (The following events are not real I hope that's ok...) (The following story has a lot of football terms)

 Running Back's point of view. 
I am the Running Back. lined up behind my Quarter Back. I look at the play clock, 1;00 to go. We are down 24 to 28 and on the 50 yard line. Focus on the play. I will run to the left side of the Quarter Back he will pitch it to me and I will just run just out side the pocket and book it as far as I can towards the end-zone.
Wait the ball has been snapped! I run to the left side of the Quarter Back. He pitches I catch it! Thats a start. Ok run to the outside of the pocket. Wait! Theirs a defender there! I cut to the left quickly, That seemed to throw him off. Good. I sprint towards green field. A Corner sprints at me from the right. I fake I cut to the right than sprint left. He jumps at me and try's to trip me up but I stay on my feet. I am right against the sideline now, nothing but open field ahead of me. I dash towered the end-zone. Right from the corner of my right eye I see the safety headed right towered me. I cant cut to the right he'd crush me. He's going to try to push me out of bounds. There's only one option. I lower my shoulder and hit him as hard as I can with it. The impact forces me backwards a little so I spare a glance at my feet. I'm still in bounds! The Safety is on the ground. I sprint with all I have left toward the end-zone. I don't see anybody a head of me. I make it! Yes!

Safety's point of view.
Is everybody In position? Look's like it. We just have to stop these guy's for one minute. He snapped the ball! The play is on. He pitches it to the running back. Look's like he's headed for the left side of the pocket. Yes! We have a guy there! No! He just cut to the out side. Micky our corner is chasing him down. The runner try's to juke him and halfway succeed's. Micky jumps at his legs will he trip him? The runner shakes him of. It's up to me now! I dash towered him! I just have to push him out. BAM! Ouch. What just happened... I look towered the end-zone. No! Touchdown. Crud!     

      

Baptism Day :)

My point of view:

It is time. I am so excited to finally be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints. I have been waiting for this day for a long time and preparing for it for almost a year. As the 1st counselor in the bishopric starts the meeting I start to feel a little nervous. I'm sitting next to my uncle Timothy, we are both dressed in white jumpsuits. My uncle is the one I asked to baptize me.  I want my baptism to be special and memorable so we arranged for me to be baptized on the very day of my 8th birthday. It is Sunday, June 17, 2007. Along with it being Sunday and my birthday and my baptism it is also fathers day. All the cousins in my family before me were baptized by my uncle Tim, and so I am continuing the tradition. My dad will be confirming me after the baptism.

Now it is time for the baptism I smile excitedly at my uncle who is standing in the font holding his arm towards me. I take his hand and I walk into the warm water and my uncle proceeds the baptism, just the way we practiced. I come out of the water and I am all smiles. I step out of the water into the freezing cold air as my mom helps me change into a beautiful white dress-my birthday present. She also got me necklace and matching hair-piece. I feel so beautiful and clean. I walk outside where my dad is waiting. He smiles and offers me a chair. I sit down as priesthood holders surround me and place their hands on my head. The spirit is so strong and I never want to stop feeling this way.

Moms point of view:

It is time. I am so excited for her, she is turning 8 and she has made the decision to be baptized. My oldest daughter seems to have grown-up over night, it seems like yesterday when she was a little baby girl learning how to walk. She has grown a great deal this past year as we have prepared her for baptism. We tried to make this a very memorable day for her. We asked the bishop for special permission to baptize her on her birthday which happened to be a Sunday as well as fathers day. Is it a special day for everyone.

I walk with her over to the font, she is very excited. I help her into the water with my brother Timothy. When she comes out of the water she is smiling brightly. I help her out of the water and into the white dress I bought her. I quickly smooth her hair down and get her ready. I'm trying to work fast because I always hate waiting when I am at baptisms. She comes out of the room, shining brilliantly. She is now a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints, I cannot wait to she what she will do.

A not fun morning.

I wake up. I can hear a buzzing and loud noises. Stupid clock. I get up, resisting the urge as best as I can to get back into bed. Switch off the alarm clock. My head feels a little light, so I lean on the chair next to my desk.

I wake up. I’m on the ground. My head feels foggier than the High Court of Chancery in November.* My face is pressed against something hard. What in the world? What just happened? My back is hurting like someone took a hammer and landed a good one on my ribs. I get up. I fell next the desk in my room. I realized that I’d passed out. Odd, I thought to myself, you’ve never passed out before. What would make this morning different? I stood up, my side burning, and walked carefully over to the shelf next to my bed to get ready for the rest of the day. As I pick up my wallet to slip into my back pocket, I pass out again.

This time I fell onto my bed, luckily. Not forward onto the book shelf. My side is aching still, andI can’t seem to think very well. I don’t move, trying to think what could be making me feel like a drunk duck. I end up staggering to the bathroom to drink some water from the sink, then rushing back to my room and lying down on the ground before I get unconscious. When I wake up again, I manage to walk to the stairs leading up to the kitchen. My head feels clearer. I’m able to start the morning routine of breakfast and getting ready for class.

My side still hurts though.

I need some aspirin.

*That's right. I put a bleak house reference in my story.

"North and South" by Elizabeth Gaskell (a piece of chapter three)

(This book is written in third person, but sort of on the side of Margaret's mind. You occasionally also get pieces of others' minds, but, I'm writing it in first person on Margaret's side)

'I could almost wish Margaret-' he stopped and hesitated. I looked up, confused. He was such a fluent man, and hardly ever stuttered. I almost wished I hadn't. He looked at me in such a strange way, I only wished I could have been back where mother and father were! There I could be safe. With him? I thought I knew him! This was so unlike him! And that look...

'Margaret,' he said. He took my hand, taking me by surprise. My heart was fluttering. Why was it fluttering? Why couldn't I move? 'Margaret, I wish you didn't like Helstone so much - did not seem so perfectly calm and happy here. I have been hoping for these three months past to find you regretting London - and London friends, a little - enough to make you listen more kindly,' What was he doing? I thought I knew him, what is he doing? I tried to extricate my hand. No. His grasp was firm.

'To one who has not much to offer, it is true - nothing but prospects in the future - but who does love you, Margaret, almost in spite of himself. Margaret, have I startled you too much? Speak!' My lips started to quiver, I felt as if I were soon to cry. Startled me too much? Yes he's startled me! We are only friends! What is he trying to do? How can I speak? I tried to calm myself as much as I could before I answered.

'I was startled. I did not know that you cared for me in that way. I have always thought of you as a friend; and, please, I would rather go on thinking of you so.' Oh why did he look at me in that way, as if his heart would break? We're just friends - we were just friends! Oh why? But I had to be firm. I could not marry him. No, I could never marry him. 'I don't like to be spoken to as you have been doing. I cannot answer you as you want me to do, and yet I,' Oh his eyes! 'I should feel so sorry if I vexed you.'

He loosened his grasp on my hand. Was that a good sign? Could we still be friends? Oh why couldn't we just go on being so. And then he looked into my eyes - oh why do his eyes look so mournful?

' Margaret,' he said. I looked him back in the eye, with the firmest and benignant look I could manage at that time. 'Do you-' he stopped again. This was so unlike him! He seemed almost sorry...

'Forgive me! I have been too abrupt. I am punished. Only let me hope. Give me the poor comfort of telling me you have never seen anyone whom you could-' again a pause. It seemed he could not end his sentence. Did he think I loved anyone else? And why would he care?

Why are you causing him so much distress? Can you not just say yes? But I couldn't! No. I could never love him, not as anything more than a friend. I hesitated, not wanting to cause him any more pain. But it had to be done. 'Ah! if you had but never got this fancy into your head! It was such a pleasure to think of you as a friend.' His eyes fell. Those eyes!

'But I may hope, may I not, Margaret, that some time you will think of me as a lover? Not yet, I see - there is no hurry - but some time -' No. I was sure I could not. Henry had been a good friend. Why could he not just stay as a dear friend? But would it be so bad to marry him? To say yes? No. No, I could never think of him as more than a friend.

'I have never thought of - you, but as a friend. I like to think of you so; but I am sure I could never think of you as anything else. Pray, let us both forget that all this-' I almost said 'disagreeable'. For it was disagreeable indeed! But I could not cause him more pain than necessary. He is still a friend. '-conversation has taken place.'

A silence. We looked at one another in the cool evening air. The light from the setting sun shone on the left side of his face. Those eyes could not get any more upset. Why couldn't I just marry him? I would be happy, living with a good friend. I would be well provided for, and I'm sure I could visit Edith in her travels - perhaps even travel along with her! Why couldn't I just say yes?

But how can you marry someone you do not love? I did not understand those stories I heard about royalty - having to marry someone they don't even know. How could they do that? And though I knew Henry, I knew I could never do that. I could never think of him as dearly as he thinks of me. And that would be an injustice to him as well as I. No, I could not marry him. When you marry someone without love in your heart, it will only make matters worse. I could never live my life out with him. My life would be a lie. And that is why I had to say no. Even to those pitiful eyes.

But then the eyes turned hard and cold. He looked me straight in the eye, with a strong gaze. Oh, those eyes!

'Of course, as your feelings are so decided, and as this conversation has been so evidently unpleasant for you, it had better not be remembered. That is all very fine in theory, that plan of forgetting whatever is painful, but it will be somewhat difficult for me, at least to carry it into execution.'

I felt tears starting to sting my eyes. I fought to hold them back. Why did this conversation take such an unpleasant turn? It was so pleasant to think of him just as a friend! But now I fear he could never be that again. I calmed my voice down as much as I could before I spoke.

'You are vexed,' my voice caught; 'yet how can I help it?'

I fought to hold back the tears that pushed to the front of my eyes. I could not cry in front of him.

(I'd LOVE feedback! I felt like I kept jumping back and forth with tenses. What did you think? Was it understandable enough?)

"Charly" (Chapter Three) from Charly's Point of View

I don’t know what was up with that old stick-in-the-mud. I wanted to marry him, but Sam seemed to take his sweet time making his mind up. One day we went to the department store together. We passed the maternity section and I modeled one of the dresses.

 “How many children do you want, Sam?”

“At least six.” Holy moly! And here I was thinking two would be a lot.

“How come? Religious reasons?”

“That’s right.” My parents had warned me that Mormons had a million kids, but I hadn’t believed it till now.

“Six kids. Nearly a baseball team,” I tried to lighten the mood a little.

“They come one at a time. That way you can make all your mistakes on the first one.”

“Easy, fella, I was the first one.”

I tried again later when we passed the toy department. I tried to carry six dolls, but one fell to the ground. “I can’t get six, Sam,” I said. “I’ll be good mother, Sam. As good as if I’d grown up in Utah.” I was earnest. Well, maybe I wouldn’t be the perfect Mormon mom, but I would try. He didn’t respond.

We had gotten everything we needed when Sam remembered some hose piece he’d forgotten. We decided to separate and—I suggested—meet up at, say, the jewelry counter.

I wandered over to the CD section, idly browsing the music selection. I finally picked out a Bach CD to give Sam. I went to the jewelry counter, browsed the rings, and waited. And waited. Seriously, how hard is it to find a coupling or whatever he was looking for anyway. Where on earth did that knucklehead go? I got some popcorn and checked out without him.

That was when a brilliant idea popped into my head.

I went up to customer service.

“Excuse me,” I said, “But could you help me? I’ve lost my son. He won’t know where I am.” I smiled a shaky smile at the large man behind the desk and blinked false tears out of my 
eyes.

“Of course, ma’am,” He said in a sympathetic tone. “Just use our P.A. system.”

“Thank you so much!” He offered me a tissue and helped me use the P.A. system.

“Sam, Sammy, do you hear me? This is Mommy. The nice men in the store let me use their big radio. Sammy, wherever you are in the store, stop and listen to Mommy. Sammy, darling, if you can hear me, listen carefully. Remember when Mommy bought you a big bag of popcorn last week? Sam, go to the popcorn machine and Mommy will be there. Do you understand? The popcorn place. Mommy has a big bag of popcorn for you. Mommy loves you, dear.”

I thought it was a clever idea. It would certainly get his hiney over there. I went to the popcorn machine and waited for—sure enough—only a minute before he came over, eyes blazing, with that stupid coupling in his hand. I smiled my sweetest smile at him.

“I got a Passion for you,” I presented the CD. His only reply was to forcefully take my arm to rush me out of the store. Talk about taking things too seriously.

“Did you find your boy?” a security guard asked as we rushed past.

“Big for his age, isn’t he?”
Sam was obviously not amused.

“Why don’t you grow up?” He said after we’d gotten in the car. “You think the world is made for your amusement?”

“Is that a rhetorical question or do you want a real answer?”

“What if there had been an emergency? You think you can tie up their P.A. system for your own amusement?”

“‘Attention, shoppers,’” I imitated the computer-like female store announcement voice, “‘there’s a blue-light special this hour on shredded muslin at two dollars a yard.’ You call that an emergency?”

“There’s such a thing as responsibility.”

“I’m sure there is, and there’s also such a thing as being a stuffed shirt.”

He was angry. You could tell by the insane way he drove—almost resulting in several accidents. He slammed on the brakes as soon as we reached my house.

“You talk about marriage,” he said. “Well, I’m not ready to get married to someone who hasn’t grown up yet.”

“Why do you have to be such a self-righteous bore?” I stomped out of the car and started up the porch. Maybe I really shouldn’t have been so hard on him. I turned back. “Sam, I really should apologize.”

“Okay.” I couldn’t do it. Not with him looking so... well, so self-satisfied.

“I didn’t offer you any popcorn, did I?”

I dumped the bag of popcorn onto his head and ran into the house.

I thought that when he called to apologize I would forgive him and all would be well. But he didn’t call. So I decided to let him go.