White Dress (Part 3)

Carefully stepping out of the car in her bare feet, Elizabeth watches as the silhouetted figures scramble and stumble over to the water’s edge. It’s always darkest before the dawn, she reminds herself and wonders how much of the stumbling is caused by the roots and rocks hidden in the deep darkness of midnight and how much of it is caused by the alcohol. Then again, walking on sandy roots and rocks can’t be easy in heels, she thinks, suddenly feeling glad that she left her shoes in the car.

Passing between the thick oak trunks, she smells the woody aroma of the rough bark and smiles, glad to be away from the lights, smells, and sounds of Atlanta. A cool summer breeze whispers through the trees, plays in her hair, and drags away the stagnant heat of Georgia summers. Elizabeth takes a long look at the bright stars, grinning as she finds Hercules and the Swan, usually hidden by the bright lights of cities. She looks around her and feels at peace when she sees the lake is surrounded by tall oaks like a mighty green wall protecting the lake from outsiders. She is shaken out of her reverie by the loud hooting and hollering of her companions.

            The crowd of spontaneous strangers begin stripping and ripping clothes off, clinking bottles and stumbling their way into the rounded lake. In nothing but their underwear, the five foreign strangers and Elizabeth's three new hall-mates wade in the still-warm lake. She stands on the sandy shore, staring down at her feet digging into the soft sand. Surrounded by the strong oaks and the owls hooting midnight like grandfather clocks, Elizabeth keeps forgetting the lake ebbing and flowing in front of her was made by man instead of nature.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” Justin says, his words slurred together by an endearing Irish accent.

He patiently waits for her in the shallows while the rest wade further away from the shore. She nods yes to his smile and begins to walk toward the lake. In the distance, a group of nighthawks warble their songs into the quiet of the night.

“Aren’t you going to undress?” he asks, gesturing to his green-striped boxers.

“No, it’s okay” she says, one foot hovering over the water, not quite sure why she is here.

            This isn’t like me, I don’t know him. I don’t know anyone here very well, and tomorrow he’ll be gone and...but it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen because we’re just going to talk and swim. I bet the water’s divine.

“Wait, what about your dress?” he asks when she is already knee-deep and the water has begun to lap alluringly at the hem of her little white dress.

“No, it’s okay; it’ll be fine.” She flashes him a smile to soothe his worries.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine. It’s an old hand-me-down, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you sure you want to swim in your dress? It might be uncomfortable.”

            She runs past his wading body and dives headfirst into the chest-deep water. Under the water, Elizabeth releases every stress and anxiety about this evening and reverts to her childhood self for a second. Giggling and blowing bubbles, she resurfaces a few meters away and stands on one of the moss-covered rocks that litter the lakebed.

“How’s that for being sure?” she challenges him and swims out further.

“No fair, wait for me,” he says and grins, already swimming after her.

            Elizabeth swims past the others with their clinking bottles and slurring lips. She swims past the little island with the fallen tree trunks and looks behind her, hoping that she’s lost him and that he found a more interesting girl to chase. Maybe he likes girls who drink. Feeling her heart dropping, she frowns and finds herself hoping that he has come after her because everyone wants to be liked and sometimes chased. A late summer breeze sends a chill down her spine, and she sinks a bit further into the comforting water, holding her dress down around her.

“AAAAHHHHHHH!!!”

“I’ve got you,” he jokes, his head suddenly emerging from the black depths, his hands still on her calf.

“Justin!!! You... you... scared me” she says, gasping for air, slapping at his arm playfully, and he keeps laughing.

            She notices the way he laughs so wholeheartedly, his head thrown back. The others are too engrossed to even ask if she’s okay. For all they know, I could’ve been eaten by a gator, and they would’ve been too busy drinking and talking about sex to notice. Justin would’ve saved me... right? Justin’s laughter quickly becomes infectious, and soon they’re both laughing. She splashes him while he isn’t looking.

“Where did you learn to swim like that?”

“Like what, Justin?”

“So fast, so well, under water? I’ve never been able to swim well.”

“Oh. Well my parents taught me when I was really young. They decided I had no choice but to be a good swimmer.”

“And you are.”

“Did you never learn to swim?”

“Only well enough to doggy-paddle. It’s one of my few regrets.”

“Oh...”

“So,” he says, “what’s it like to swim in a dress?”

“I’m free,” she says, smiling, and disappears below the surface, self-conscious of his near-nakedness and her white dress clinging to her body while reveling in the rush of water making its way between the fabric and flesh.

            She surfaces, giggling, only to find her dress trapping air bubbles and rising above her waist. Quickly, she smooths it down and allows the bubbles to escape, hoping her lack of underwear hadn’t shown when she was swimming.

“Right, well, that was a lot more of Elizabeth than I thought I’d see tonight,” he smiles and pretends to cover his eyes.

“So, is that why you didn't want to take it off?”

            She blushes sheepishly, and he smiles. 

“Don’t you worry, you have a lovely body and tan. I’m this pasty white everywhere all year.”

He wades closer and flashes a captivating smile. Panicking, Elizabeth looks away, forces a laugh, and splashes him. He tries to dunk her, and she swims away, trying to catch him off-guard to dunk him. If he’s noticed her shying away from intimacy, he hasn’t let on.

            Giggles and laughs become inevitable as the splashing becomes more childish. 

            Splashing and trying to dunk each other is harmless play; maybe then you’ll stop thinking about how nice his lips are. Why do I keep blushing? If you kiss him... well, just don’t. I have to remember to keep this dress down... But his lips look so inviting...

White Dress (Part 2)

          Speeding down I-75, Janet turns up the radio and blasts some pop song from the speakers. The band follows the girls in a van, and the Irish boys fist-pump to some song with too much bass. Elizabeth covers her ears as some whiny voice escaping from Janet’s stereo pleads for her to “Call me maybe.” She stares out the window at the passing cars and diminishing city lights, wondering at her inability to say no to the girls she was beginning to consider her friends. Maybe they are right. Maybe she does need to get out more, but what do they know about what she needs in life? Why on earth is Janet insisting that she “hook up” with Justin? 

          She and Justin had gotten to know each other fairly well after the band finished their set, but that didn’t mean Elizabeth was looking for a relationship. She especially wasn’t looking for a relationship with a man who was leaving in the morning for another city and who was eventually returning to Ireland. She had honestly just been interested in learning how a rock band from Ireland ended up touring across the East Coast. 

          Somehow, he never answered the question, but she remembers how his eyes lit up as they discussed favorite directors and authors. Elizabeth would have never thought a rock and rolling guitarist would know so much about Shakespeare, Yeats, Christopher Nolan, and Helena Bonham Carter. He is very talented and well-read; Elizabeth has never heard anyone call T.S. Eliot a “pretentious twat” while singing his praises.

          “Elizabeth, girl, why are you so quiet?” Janet asks.

          “I don’t know this song, Janet. You know I don’t really listen to this genre. Besides, why would I want to ‘call her maybe’?”

          “But it’s such a fun song, just give the music a chance. Also, you guys are going to get in the lake, right?”

          Addie and Katie’s blonde heads perk up, and they turn around with wide eyes. 

          “You mean we’re going to get in, like in in?”

          “Addie, why would we go to the lake and not get in?”

          “You mean, like, skinny-dipping?” Katie asks excitedly.

          “Oh no. No no no, take me back now, I’m not getting in that lake; no one is seeing me naked.”

          “Calm down, Elizabeth, you can keep your clothes on and still get in.”

          “But Janet, I’m wearing white.”

          Elizabeth groaned and let her head rest on the window. This did not sound like fun anymore. Oh, why didn’t she stay at the dorm and do homework like she wanted in the first place? She turns her head to look at the passing cars and the blurred lights of the highway.

          As if the conversation had not taken place, Janet turns up the radio and flips her hair, singing something about “You don’t know you’re beautiful.” 

          “Janet, this song makes less and less sense the more I think about it. If the girl in the song is beautiful because she is unaware of her beauty, then isn’t the fact that they are singing to her and making her aware of her beauty contradictive?”

          “Elizabeth, you’re doing it again.”

          The Mustang speeds toward exit 4 and turns left on Bells Ferry, slowing down once the cement roads turns to dirt. 

      

          “You guys should know my parents are out of town, so no worries about being loud or anything. There are drinks in the fridge, if y’all want. Oh and towels - I’ve got lots of towels in the house for the ride back.”

           Janet eases the car down the dirt drive and signals for the band’s van to follow her slowly. The dirt crunches under the wheels, and the cars stop at the end of the drive, the front wheels sinking a little into the smooth sand. The headlights turn off, but they’re not needed; the full moon and its bright reflection in the lake illuminate the night.

White Dress (Part 1)

            Elizabeth Blys closes the door to her newly decorated dorm room and sighs in the aftermath of the night; she notices her roommate hasn’t returned from her date yet. She considers herself as open to new ideas and fun as much as the next person, but attending that rock show put on by the college is not exactly her idea of a good time. Hearing another door close, she presses her ear to the thick cinderblock wall she shares with the two girls next door. She wonders how the new girls have become so close in the two weeks since they moved in and feels a twinge of jealousy deep in her stomach because she is still the outsider, even after three years of attending this college. 

          She looks around and notices her roommate has put up more pictures of her family and friends on the walls. Elizabeth reminds herself to put up her posters; the oppressively bare white walls can squeeze the life out of any creative muse. Paired with the white ceiling and floor tiles, the dorms could have been asylums in a past life. She swore the screaming girls dancing in the room above hers were practicing for the next rendition of STOMP.

          “Mr. Darcy, you like me, right?” she says, bending over to see the beta fish in the small fishbowl. 

          He swims out from under his plastic bridge and toward the glass. He flicks his tail hello. Mr. Darcy floats almost to the surface, waiting for food and nipping at her fingertips affectionately. 

Elizabeth smiles at her blue companion with the red-tinged tail. One day, she hopes to have a romance like the ones Jane Austen writes about. Or, at least, she hopes to find someone who will like her as she is so she doesn’t have to confide in a fish.

          

         “You’d never think me annoying or bookish or boring. If only you could talk back; it’s not the same if you don’t speak because then I look crazy. Oh, Mr. Darcy, what shall we do for the rest of the evening?”

          The little blue beta flicks his tail goodbye and swims under the plastic bridge in his fishbowl. Elizabeth straightens herself and walks back to the shared cinderblock wall.  

          Overhearing the giggles next door getting louder and louder, Elizabeth feels glad that they convinced her to go to that rock concert. She had planned to stay in her dorm and reading her books. She had had a surprisingly good time, but it is nearing 11, and now it is time for the homework she put off in order to enjoy the concert.

          Turning to sit at her neatly arranged desk, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She tucks her straight red hair behind her ears because it refuses to behave in this Georgia heat and humidity. She smoothes her white dress over her curves in the mirror and obsesses over the person she sees staring back.

          Thick thunder thighs sit atop the calves of a postman or a streetwalker; “wide child-bearing hips,” as Grandmother Blys used to call them, leading to abs hidden somewhere underneath “that fat.” Too small breasts dwarfed by these man-like broad shoulders. I hate mirrors. But Mama said there was always one redeeming feature. She always said I had a “pretty little face” composed of two sparkling blue eyes, two full red lips, creamy skin freckled just right, all encased by flaming red hair resting on freckled shoulders. I don’t see it. Ugh, I hate mirrors.

         “Girl, stop admiring yourself and come get in the car. Addie and Katie are waiting for us.”

The door slams shut, the loud bang resonating through her room. She should probably start locking that door.

          “Janet, you scared me! Wait. Car? But we just got back.”

          “The band’s leaving tomorrow for the next city in their tour. We’re taking the hot ones to the lake behind my parents’ house. It’s party time, and you’re going to partay with the best of them,” Janet said, shimmying and shaking her hips for added effect.

          “Well I’m sorry. I don’t ‘par-tay,’ and I need to do my chemistry homework.”

          “Girl, you need to get out. It’s Friday night, you’re already dressed, and that Justin guy was so into you.” Janet pauses to check her hair in the mirror and then turns to Elizabeth as if she had just thought up the most brilliant idea. “You could totally hook up with him.”

         “Oh, please, why would he ever notice a girl like me when he could have Addie’s busty little figure? He probably just felt sorry for me, I probably talked too much--”

          “We so don’t have time for this right now; girlie, come on!”

          Janet grabs Elizabeth by the hand and excitedly pulls her down the cinderblock-lined walls of the hallways, out the squeaky front doors, and into the idling Mustang.

Fit to Run

          Beeping alarms and rising suns are not enough to rouse a roommate, but pre-sunrise 7 am is the perfect time to join droopy-eyed friends still rubbing sleep from their eyes. They have already begun stretching and putting on their headphones, adjusting sports-bra straps and retying their shoe laces. Charlotte complains  that it is much too early, but once we begin running she won't stop smiling.

        

         The sun rises slowly over the buildings as we make our rounds around the trail, legs pounding the pavement into submission. Sarah's hair whips back and forth in the wind as she sprints past me, knowing full well that I must chase her until I win. 

          Turning the corner and finishing mile one, I gain speed and zoom my way past her. Flashing her a smile, I notice the grin spreading across her face as she tried to run past me.

          Joyous in my victory, I remind myself that a month ago I couldn't have run this fast or this long. The knowledge of my progress excites me and I get my second wind - it's time to run past Sarah and the rest of the group. MyLeah and Charlotte have gotten ahead of us, but not fot long as we all strive to sprint to the end of mile two. Sometimes we make it through mile three, but..

           Can I do it? 

          Am I in good enough shape yet?

          Chests heaving and sweat dripping, we stop to refill our water bottles and catch out breath. Charlotte and Sarah are done for the morning; exhausted, they have dropped to the ground in mock-defeat. MyLeah and I, standing victorious, are already making our way towards breakfast. It's time for a breakfast fit for champions.

Faith Restored

When you live in a world where people take you for granted, speak to you condescendingly, and more often than not simply forget you ... it's hard to have a little faith in humanity. Or at least, that's what Ms. Evelyn said when she offered me tea.

Earlier that day, Ms. Evelyn had gone out on her daily walk to get the newspaper at the end of her very old and cracked driveway. She sweltered under the stifling Georgia heat and regretted donning her thick bathrobe; even if it is her favorite one because of the embroidered blue and green flowers.

As she bent down to pick up her newspaper, her foot gave out from under her and she lost her shoe. Ms. Evelyn screamed as she fell and gasped, thinking she had broken her already fragile hip. She felt the familiar and embarrassing trickle down her legs. Her elbow scraped the ground, her glasses fell off her head, and her bathrobe slipped off her shoulder. A small gash on her elbow dripped blood onto the concrete and she stared as a car drove by her.

"Maybe he was going too fast... Maybe he didn't see me..."

Ms. Evelyn despaired as the time passed and car after car passed her fallen form. Her bright blue robe was not hard to miss amidst the drab grey concrete. Minute by minute, more beads of sweat collected on her brow as the midday sun beat mercilessly on her aching body.

She could see her neighbors sitting on their front porch but could not call out to them. Her voice would not come but she wondered if, just maybe, they were ignoring her.

One car after another, the misery and pain began to set in. Despair and a headache set in as a white pick-up truck and a red mini-van passed her fallen form. Would no one stop for her?

But... wait. Wasn't that the same pick-up truck and mini-van again? Relief washed over her when the cars pulled over and doors began to open.

A man and his daughter.

A woman and her son.

"They stopped for me... They're asking me if I'm ok... They're helping me up"


"I'm ok, I bent down to pick up my newspaper and my foot must have gone out from under me. No, no, nothing's broken. Oh no, nonononono I'd rather not call anyone. My daughter's busy at work, I don't want to bother her."

Ms. Evelyn was so glad to have someone talk to her, notice her, and just touch her hand. She couldn't remember the last time any person had been so considerate. A registered nurse and her strong son. A sensitive man and his caring daughter.

"Such a lovely girl, is she stooping down to place my shoe back on my foot. She didn't have to do that. I feel so bad for getting blood on her hands. God must have sent these kind folks to me, what would have happened? Why did no one else stop for me?"

"Do you know that I make this walk every day? Just to get the paper."

The young ones helped her to the door; the strong man lifted her into her favorite chair; the nurse and the young girl cleaned up her bloodied elbow and hands. Could they tell she had soiled herself in her fear?

Would they leave her so soon?

"Young lady, would you like some tea? would you like to hear what happened before you found me? Would you like to know how you restored my faith in humanity?"

Magic Ruined

A child's first trip to Disney World should be a magical experience full of wonderful memories and new adventures. An adult's nth trip to Disney World should still be a magical experience that brings out the happiness and peace of the inner child. I'm sorry to say neither was the case for my Fourth of July Disney experience. I was hoping to see Magic Kingdom through the eyes of a 6 year-old girl on her first trip to the most magical place on earth, but was instead appalled at the entire experience.

Waking up a dreaming Alexandra at 5 a.m. did not go as expected when she kicked my stomach and punched my arm in protest to being awakened. She grumbled and rolled over, trying desperately to go back to sleep as I tried to yank the bedsheets away from her vice-like grip. Desperate, I dressed her and brushed her hair while she was still asleep. I even put her shoes on and proceeded to get myself ready. When I accidentally dropped my toothbrush in the bathroom, I apparently made enough noise to wake up the sleepy Alexandra.

Once awake, she scarfed down her breakfast of choice: cookies and creme Pop Tarts and Sunny D. Was that a comment on her mother's parenting style? No, not at all, why would you think that?

As tough as it was to wake her up, it was even harder to get her into the car because she kept forgetting items. Alexandra cannot ride in the car without one specific pink blanket and three specific stuffed animals. She fell asleep almost immediately when the car started and did not fight me during the hour-long car ride to Magic Kingdom. 

I wish her parents had slowed down the car so Alex could have seen the entrance gate to Magic Kingdom, but her sleepy eyes hadn't opened yet and she missed it. She did, however, catch the giant Donald Duck statue and wondered why he was there. I learned that morning that Alexandra had not only never been to Magic Kingdom but had not seen any Disney movies except for Cars and Tangled. The child had no clue what to expect or what the stories behind the park's attractions were or who half the characters trying to hug her were or why there was a giant castle and parades.

I thought that was enough and tried to give a rundown of what was happening so she could have more fun. I tried to slow down so she could look around at the buildings and parts of the park which were obviously grabbing her attention. The buildings in Adventureland are a cross between the bazaar in Aladdin and the pirate world of Jack Sparrow. I was entranced and Alex was so excited to take in all the details, but her mother and father kept walking faster and faster, pulling her along so she wouldn't get lost in the crowd. Why? 

We had all day to explore the park and they were so paranoid about little Alexandra getting lost in the crowd - but she wouldn't have gotten lost if they hadn't been running from place to place without enjoying the experience of Magic Kingdom. Alexandra didn't even get to explore Fantasyland's replicated French architecture from Beauty and the Beast or the little cabin-like shops straight out of Snow White.

I'm glad I was there to take care of Alexandra because her parents refused to get on most rides and little Alexandra would have missed out on spinning teacups and racing cars and roller coasters and magic carpet riding and haunted mansions and jungle cruises and target practice with Buzz Lightyear. Standing in lines and eating mickey mouse waffles while Pooh and his friend hug you are part of the experience. An experience that Alexandra will probably never revisit as long as she lives with her family.

I only say this because after having a magical day with me and waiting in line for It's A Small World After All - it began to downpour and thunderstorm. The day was apparently ruined, at least according to Alexandra's easily upset mother who saw nothing but the negative in that day. But Alexandra and I were having a grand time in the rain and waiting inside a gift shop. I even bought her first pair of Minnie Mouse ears. She wore them for the rest of the week.

So with a "ruined" day, we went to wait in line for Space Mountain. Because of the thunderstorm, the Fast Pass machines were down and we had to wait in line for over three hours. Thankfully, Alexandra was asleep in my arms for most of it and her older brother was busy reading his book. Three hours of listening to Alexandra's parents complain and bumping into the couple making out in front of us. Three hours of aching feet and the dead weight of a six year-old child.

Snaking up to the front of the line, Alexandra woke up just in time to find out (yet again) she was tall enough for the ride and get inside her rocket. She is measured three or four times at every ride because she is exactly 44 inches tall but deceptively small. She was so happy to get going and throughout the entire ride I heard her excited screams and giggles of terrified delight. Whooshing and whipping around corners while the stars and constellations whizzed past us, Alexandra and I screamed in joy. Space Mountain is my favorite ride and I was ecstatic to share the magic of it with Alexandra. As the ride comes to a stop, she bounces in her seat and squeals "again! Again, Ana, again!!!"

Her mother put a stop to the "nonsense" by dragging Alexandra out of her seat and rushing to the exit of the park, mumbling and raving about never coming back to the park again because she had had such a horrible experience. Alexandra's mother sat through the incredibly spectacular Fourth of July fireworks begrudgingly, smoking cigarette after cigarette, nervous eyes darting around, impatient to get back in the car and leave the "horrible" place. I don't think we were in the same park at all.

For the next few days, Alexandra couldn't stop talking about Magic Kingdom to every person she met asked me to relive the memories, begged to look at the pictures on my camera, and pleaded to rent The Little Mermaid or Cinderella. Likewise, her mother couldn't stop complaining about Magic Kingdom to every person she met for the rest of the week. I do hope she changes her mind and doesn't ruin the rest of Alexandra's magical and innocent childhood or any more theme parks with her negative attitude and nicotine-induced paranoia.

Sometimes, I really wish I could take kids away from incompetent parents and fix their childhoods. If I could, I'd have a house filled with all the children from my neighborhood and many more that I meet in stores. Some people... should not be parents. And some people should not be allowed to ruin magic for children.

Climbing to the Top ... Well ... Almost

As the sun finished his climb up the sky and high noon heat hit my bared shoulders, I led my siblings and my over-excited dog into the car for a field trip to Kennesaw Mountain. While it took a while to herd my parents into the car, Phoebe rushed excitedly around the compact insides of our minivan and climbed all over my legs, leaving scratches and hair on every surface she touched. As the car started, she quieted down and sat patiently (whining) while trying to look through the window.

With ever passing car, Phoebe tried her hardest to "escape" and find new people to scratch her belly. She whined as if it was some malicious intent on our side that kept her from sniffing the blurring magnolias, oaks, birches, and pines. My mom tried to calm her, but Phoebe only took her kindness as a welcome to join my mom in the front seat.

Ignoring everything, my father kept driving and turned up the radio to drown out Phoebe's whining. Song after song, my sister and I belted the lyrics to the tunes on the radio; we shared funny faces and even cajoled our brother into an odd rendition of Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe," a rendition which garnered funny looks from our parents. Phoebe, on the other hand, did not care for singing as she was only trying to escape into the fields of grass just outside the parking lot of Kennesaw Mountain.

Phoebe leapt out of the car once the door opened and the leash nearly slipped out of my hands as she scrambled to sniff the feet of a toddler waddling by on the sidewalk. The toddler giggled in glee and allowed Phoebe to enthusiastically lick his face. Suddenly, both Phoebe and the toddler were shocked still as a cannon went off in the distance. It would appear that we had chosen the annual celebration of the Battle of Kennesaw as our family outing day.

Enthralled by the cannons and volunteers in Confederate uniforms, my brother veered off the trail and walked straight into a reenacted campsite where a lovely woman in a layered hoop-skirt and bonnet was washing clothes in a bucket and another hoop-skirted southern lady was cooking rice and salted pork in a big pot over a fire for the tired soldiers. Some women even offered us tea they had just brewed outside. My sister even let down her guard to enjoy looking at the lovely lace gloves and shawl a woman was wearing. My father and I were driven toward the muskets by our shared love of antique guns. My mother laughed and took pictures to commemorate the impromptu dive into history.

The Union soldiers also had a camp and showed my brother how to clean shoes properly. Their tents were cleaner and they had a small band. Two drums and a few unknown wind instruments played various songs for our enjoyment but were interrupted by their instinctive need to pet Phoebe. Soon after, the Union soldiers marched in formation and put on a brief show of marching and haphazardly throwing their muskets into the air. They needed more practice... or maybe they were trying to be historically accurate.

When the over-heated soldiers took a break from fawning over Phoebe, we finally took off in the direction of the trail to begin our much-awaited trek up to the top of the mountain. That is, we tried. Until my father's still-recovering knees began to give out, so he turned around and told us to keep walking. My mom and I walked ahead, deeper into the surrounding oaks and pines; we took comfort in the shadows of the canopy of leaves. Five minutes into our walk up to the top of the mountain, my mom's cell phone begins to ring and my father's voice booms and crackles from the little speakers. The Confederate soldiers are putting on a cannon show.

My brother had never seen cannon fire so we began to turn around in order to head to the Confederate camp. That is, we tried. Until my sister began throwing a temper tantrum about "this isn't hiking" and "exercise is supposed to be continuous and I just want to walk up the mountain" and "we never get to do what I want because no one asks for my opinion" and "we took so long to get in the car and all I want to do is hike."

So my mother offers to stay with her and hike. Which, of course, my sister defiantly turns down and decides to punish herself by saying she'll just go and watch the cannons. Having irritated every one of us with her tantrum, she huffs and tantrums her way over to the Confederate camp. Stomping on the dirt path, she created small puffy clouds around her feet and scared off a few chipmunks. We all sat on the soft grass to enjoy the history lesson and cannon show.

The Confederate soldiers line up behind their cannons and begin to prime the cannon and loading it with powder. The other soldier held the cannons to prevent some of the recoil, but, even with their help, the cannons would roll back at least six feet with every firing shot. When the "General" shouts "fire!" his soldier light their weapons and the cannons boom. The ground shakes and a cloud of smoke lingers over the air, the smell of ignited gunpowder mixes with the smell of burning coal back at the Confederate campsite. When the smoke cleared and the show was over, we all stood up to go hiking again. That is, we tried.

My sister does not want to. After her irritating tantrum, she has decided she does not feel like walking now. Of course, of course. My father talks her into walking for a little while. Smiles on every face, except for a scowl on my sister's face, we once again take comfort under a canopy shade and enjoy the beautiful trees ascending to touch the sky. My brother stomps through the woods, snickering as he breaks sticks with his feet and stopping to look at the interesting rock formations. I indulge in the simple pleasure of looking through the trees and searching for wildlife. Butterflies and chipmunks abound while a doe leaps over a fallen oak. The hole in the canopy is easy to spot as the bright blinding light shines through a large round opening.

After ten minutes of semi-peace, my brother begins to complain because his feet are tired and my sister chimes in about her aching legs. He's thirsty. She's hungry. My dad's knees aren't ready for this hike. This last one I can understand, so they begin the trek down the mountain for water and shade. My mother and I keep walking up the hill, passing tourist groups speaking a myriad of languages and serious hikers in their lycra, until we reach a beautiful lookout spot.

My camera did not do the view any justice. From this spot between the trees, we could see every building in the Atlanta skyline outlined against a clear blue sky. The King and Queen, the Bank of America Plaza and SunTrust Plaza, and the Westin Peachtree Plaza Hotel. All surrounded by lush green foliage. It's odd how man often forgets that nature was here before us and that it is all around us - even in a city like Atlanta. The city has lush green on every side and mountains are seen in the distance, but whilst in the city, one cannot help but feel that city is all there is to the world.

It had only been ten minutes and we had in no way reached the top of the mountain, but we resigned ourselves to joining the rest of the family. We didn't want to keep them waiting, so we began the trek down the path. We passed the same tourist groups, still speaking their myriad languages, and different hikers and runners, still in their tight lycra outfits. Two emperor butterflies later, we arrived at the bottom of the mountain to find that not only were the soldiers gone by so was our car.

One phone call revealed the family to be at KFC buying lunch for the hungry children. We waited for their return and I mourned the passing of a strange hiking day. My sister was in the car, in a jovial mood, and when pressed for a reason for her new mood... she replied simply and succinctly.

"Chicken."

So there we have it, folks. When your child gives you a hard time and throws at tantrum at age thirteen, all you have to do is give them some chicken.