The Move: A Short Story by Natalie Bramer

Many of you know that Natalie is usually very hesitant to share any of her stories that she writes. She doesn't even let Tom or I read them. I looked the other day and she had more than 20 fiction stories on her computer! So we have been encouraging her to complete a story and then share so that people can enjoy them. We also encouraged her to enter a local writing contest. The grand prize is an iPad2! The challenge is that it had to be 2000 words or less. This is difficult for someone who uses 4 adjectives to describe everything! But she finished it and we submitted it. It was a great process for her to go through. And me to go through. I had to keep reminding myself she is only 9 so in her mind boxes can and do "sit blankly"! And now we can finally share. Enjoy!

THE MOVE

by Natalie Bramer 

“We’re moving to Canada?!” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

My dad nodded happily, like we had won the lottery. Ron was pumped, Nina was surprised. I was angry. Ron danced up behind me. “We’re going to Canada!!” He sounded happier about it. I glared at him.

My mom shot me a look. I refused to shut up. “We’re going to Canada?” I asked stormily, looking sulkily at my parents.

My father had a dangerous glint in his eye. He nodded sharply as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

I banged down my hand on the table. “I don’t believe you were so stupid that you took the job offer! How could you?!”

Mom turned to me icily. “Camarina, room. Now.” she pointed a finger at the staircase. I glared at her and stomped up the stairs, then slammed the door to my room.

For a while I lay on my bed, staring at my endless amount of posters that were pasted to my wall. “We’re moving.” I whispered. The reality hit me with a bang.

 “Have you got the snacks?” Mom barked at Ron. He nodded.

“Your pillows?” Mom snapped at me. 

“Yes.” I snapped right back.

Mom rounded on Nina. “Got the drinks?”

Nina nodded blankly.

Mom nodded approvingly and ushered us out the door.

Dad was loading the last of the luggage into the trunk, where thousands of suitcases and bags were scattered in the back.

“Ready, troops?” Dad asked.

Nina and Ron nodded eagerly. I just crossed my arms.

Dad ignored my stormy spirits and started helping us into the van. As soon as I got in, I stared out the window, although all I could see was the dirty blank wall of our garage. Nina was sitting next to me, and Ron squeezed into a tiny seat in the back, where all the luggage was.

I took one last glance at our house. The dead trees shifted in the wind, waving at me as if to say ‘goodbye!’.

The world was a blur of snow: at least outside the window.

It had been about six hours since we left; we had entered Canada and arrived at our home in Toronto.

Dad’s eyes twinkled as we pulled into the snow-coated driveway. “Grab your suitcases and go!” he announced as he parked the car. “We have arrived!”

The next day was busy. The boxes were still sitting blankly in all of the rooms. Occasionally, someone would slip something out of them and place it in its correct spot, but the house did seem to stay bare and cold.

I, myself, had more worries to attend to. Today was the first day of school.

As I undressed and pulled the uniform of the shelf, I pondered the question that had been in my head for days. ‘Would I make any friends?’ I slipped on the uniform. It had a skirt in it. I groaned inwardly. I hated skirts.

I emerged from the bathroom moodily, swinging my arms at my sides.

My mom was waiting for me in the hall. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight of my hair, and sent me to Dad for a brush.

“Here you go, sport.” He handed me a brush wearily. “I swear, the boxes are multiplying.” He sighed and ran a hand through his messy black hair.

I jogged down the carpeted hall into the kitchen, where utensils, cutlery, boxes of frozen food and plates were strewn all over.

Nina was rooting through a box of Easy-To-Make Pancakes, a gooey mess of sour tasting mix, all ready to go. Nina knew nothing about cooking. She could barely make anything. But one of the things that she did know how to make was boxed pancakes.

I watched Nina pour the batter into a pan she had managed to find. She adjusted the temperature and pulled out her phone as the pancakes sizzled.

I joined Ron, who looked both tired and hungry. “We get to have pancakes.” I jammed a finger in Nina’s direction. I smirked as Ron’s hungry look vanished.

“What is that smell?!” Mom gagged as she entered the room.

“Nina’s making breakfast.” I said matter-of-factly. Mom nodded in recognition. “Pancakes?” she asked, taking a long sniff in the smoky air.

Nina entered and handed us each a charred pancake. We ate in silence. Well, we didn’t really eat.

Soon, a bus honked outside. Our cue to go.

I slipped my coat on, then threw away my pancake, snatched my bookbag and raced out the door into the chilly winter day.

The school bus for Toronto Eons Public School was much bigger than your average one. A lot of windows were lined down the bus, with faces studying me critically from each and every one. I stepped toward the front of the bus.

The bus doors opened automatically, and I stepped in to find thousands of eyes staring at me. I uncomfortably nodded and slipped in the only empty row left, the one right over the wheels, the ones that get the biggest jolts. I scrunched myself into the seat, trying to make myself look smaller as the occupants of the bus stared me down, some as young as five.

Ron had to sit next to me, and Nina sat with another girl who was texting away on her phone.

The driver shifted gears. He pulled his orange cap tighter on his nearly hairless head and started the engine. The bus vibrated when it was moving, so I felt extremely uncomfortable throughout the ride, with my insides scrambling around. Not just from the bus.

When the bus reached the school, I felt sick all the way to homeroom. The door to my classroom was littered with signs saying Ms Sterner, so it was easy finding my class.

I was really hoping that the teacher was not like Mrs. Paddington, my fluttery teacher I had in second grade.

Just my luck, my teacher Ms Sterner waddled up to me and took me by the shoulders. “Why, hello Camarina!” she said loudly. Several classmates looked up.

“Uh, you can call me Marina.” I said. I snuck a look at my classmates.

Most classmates stared blankly at me. I tried to smile as the knot in my stomach squeezed tighter. A girl with blonde hair smiled back kindly. “Hi, I’m Marina.” I managed to get out.

The girl smiled at me more, than gave a shy, small wave. I didn’t wave back.

Ms Sterner started a speech. When it was done, she asked “Can we have a volunteer to help Camarina out? What about you, Jessie?”

The girl who had waved nodded vigorously. “You can sit next to me!” she said excitedly.

I nodded numbly.

Jessie smiled at me again. I kept my head down, staring hard at the circles expanding from the wood.

A shrill whistle pierced the air. A teacher shook his finger at the boys playing soccer. I snuck a look as I skimmed the field. Nothing interesting.

“Hey Marina!” a cheerful voice said behind me. I turned to find Jessie standing behind me, grinning like a lunatic. “Whatcha doin’?” she grinned.

I shrugged. “Nothing, really.”

“You wanna jump rope with me?” she asked.

This was my chance to make a new friend! “No thanks. I’m fine on my own.” The words came out of my mouth without me thinking about it.

Jessie looked taken aback for a second, than said in a surprised tone. “Uh, okay.” She walked off towards her waiting friends.

I buried my head in my hands. My only chance to make a friend and I blew it!

Nina flagged me down after the bus rumbled away. “Tell Mom I’m going to Lilly’s house.” she told me, then set off towards the park with a girl.

I nodded. I already had to tell Mom that Ron was going to a kid named Matt’s house.

I trudged home, my feet unusually heavy against the light coating of snow. As I passed the park next to our house, I saw Ron and his friend engaged in a game of soccer with some other boys. Nina was still in sight, chatting with Meghan as they walked across the street.

My mom was waiting for me as I opened the door.

“Hey sweetie. Dad’s at work.” She looked up from a cardboard box that she was unpacking. “How was school?”

I responded by trudging over to the table, leaving my coat and bag in a heap at my feet and crossing my arms as I sat on one of the chairs.

Mom leaned away from the box. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, sitting down beside me.

I shook my head and crossed my arms even tighter.

“Oh, don’t be such a bad apple.” My mom persisted, resting a hand on my shoulder. I hesitated for a moment. Then the story tumbled out, from the second I walked outside to when I walked home.

My mom listened all the way, twisting a strand of her hair in her finger. “So Ron and Nina made new friends and you didn’t. Do you know why?” she asked softly, looking deep into my eyes. I didn’t move, just stared down at the tablecloth.

“Because,” Mom continued. “You didn’t try.”

I looked up and Mom stared back at me. “Well, I guess I didn’t try too hard.” I admitted.

Mom placed a hand on my head. “Tomorrow, you are going to go up to Jessie and ask her if you could jump rope with her.” She insisted, eyeing me apprehensively.

“All right, all right.” I put my hands up and gave a laugh. It felt nice to laugh, like I had been holding it in.

My mom smiled and stood up. “Now, dinner isn’t going to make itself. You can start with the salad…”

The sun was warm on my back as it drained the little amount of snow left. I was standing beside a large bush, trying to gather my courage. I could see Jessie and three other girls hopping as the long jump rope swished over their heads. I took a deep breath and emerged from the bush, slowly making my way to where the girls were skipping faster and faster.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around, teddy bear, teddy bear, touch the ground!” The rhythmic beat matched the speed of my thumping heart. I watched as Jessie touched the ground as the other girls repeated the chant.

One girl messed up. She was handed the end of the rope, the other gladly joined the middle. This was my only chance…

“Hey Jessie. JESSIE!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs. Jessie turned, looking surprised.

I ran towards her. “Can I play?” I panted, sweat pouring down my forehead.

“Sure.” She beamed at me. But it was more than just a smile. It was an act of kindness. A smile of relief.

Maybe even a sign of things to come.

The next day found me waiting in line to be a jumper. Slap…slap…the rope worked out a beat as it slammed into the stone ground. The spinners of the rope, who were named Meghan and Josie, were chanting a beat, spinning the rope faster and faster.

As I waited, I reflected on the day. The sun poured on my back as I stepped to the front of the line. I had had lunch with Jessie, Meghan, Josie and their friends, and Jessie invited me over to her house!

After the talk Mom had given me last night, I realized I really did act like a bad apple. Cranky, rude, and all the rest of that stuff. And when I had been more open to the situation, wham!, I made a friend. I listened to the chant for a few moments.

Then, smiling, I joined Jessie and her friends, jumping to the beat of the rope.

READ Different?

So today I read to so VASTLY different views on "publishing" books that I began thinking about what has changed for me in terms of publishing and reading. I wondered if my own needs, as a CONSUMER had changed. In fact, I know they have.

I started the day reading my Domino Project newsletter from Seth Godin. I am a huge Godin fan and rarely feel his commentary is far off the mark. He is a writer. He is a publisher. More importantly he is passionate about getting his messages into his customers hands. And now he has partnered with Amazon, who like it or hate it, has had a huge impact on our world of books and reading. Today he commented on pricing. Along the way he made some interesting about books and how as consumers, we have always had to bend to the "will" of publishers. Very satisfying quick read.

Finished my daily mandatory reading and went on the big newspaper headline perusing. And, aha, another article on publishing in the New York Times opinion pages. As I read through the article, Read On, I was astounded at the contrast in CONSUMER perspective of the industry in the NYT commentary to the Godin view. In this case, the CONSUMER is the reader. Sure, the article does point out that the industry has done much better than the recording industry at managing the move to "e-", but not sure the additional patting on the back is warranted. Let's admit it, another industry would be hard pressed to fail as big as recording companies did.  This tone from NYT should probably be no surprise. It comes from a media giant who publishes a Bestseller list for the very objects that are produced from this industry. [Interested in how The New York Times Bestsellers REALLY are or are not determined? Read this...] I am dissapointed that I read the whole article on how much better the the industry is doing, and yet the writer shared no opinion on why it exists in the first place? Instead we get this:

The resilience of the book business may be because of demographics. Like jazz, which is less prone to illicit downloads than hip-hop, books cater to older, less Internet-savvy customers. Publishers also avoided the recording industry’s mistake of wasting precious time suing customers and have rightly focused on promoting cheap and easy ways for them to download books legally.

So publishing is working because my mom buys books? Because she can't figure out how get the free versions of bitTorrent I guess! And then there was this:

Some argue that the short texts usually found on the Internet are changing readers’ habits, perhaps reducing our attention spans.

I read Ken Follet books and I am pretty sure that it's required attention span of 120 hours is a bit excessive. Why are full size novels more popular than short stories? You can never just buy a single short story either. Remember Stephen King's foray into the small, bite-size, publishing world? Everyone loved it. Of course, it was a return to the "serial" style. I agree that blogs, news readers, and other internet tools have faciliated readers in quickly covering many topics with a short amount of detail. But most of this reading is non-fiction. SO the observation might only apply to readers who read a larger % of non-fiction as oppossed to fiction-generally readers.  Al this makes me wonder if the experts at The Times includes anyone who has actually been buying and consuming books in the last 14 years.

Do we read different then we used to? As a CONSUMER, have I changed? I have been a user and fan of Amazon's recommendations for a very long time. I placed my first Amazon order in 1997 (bought The Grotesque by Patrick McGrath) . I have rated 889 books. Was poignant to see Brown Bear, Brown Bear marked with 5 stars in 2002. Year Natalie was born. Cancer Vixen in 2003. (Love you Julie!) Did I really read all of those Jean M. Auel books? And yes, I did give Middlesex a single star. First book that as an adult I did not finish. But what really strikes is how many of these books would NOT have been books that I would have bought at a traditional bookstore. Joyce Carol Oates? No way. Loved Carl Hiaasen, but had never heard of James Lee Burke. Had a rule about reading Oprah's Book Club (I didn't, it was the principle), but finally read She's Come Undone after it stayed at my number one recommendation for three book orders. Turned out it was one of my top 5 books. So Amazon expanded my base of books, though I may or may not have read more. Browsing recommendations versus browsing by the covers seems like a way to improve the overall quality of my reading. And it did. I tried new things (Naked by David Sedaris in 2000) and while not all were hits (didn't I mention Middlesex?) I certainly changed from my mostly Science Fiction genre to a broader swatch of literature. I get that I probably would have changed my reading materials without Amazon, I mean how many times can you read The Hobbit after you turn 30? But Amazon pushed me a bit out of my comfort zone. For that I am appreciative. [On a side note, it was weird to see that I only placed two order with Amazon in 2003. A new vacuum and Middlesex. I'm just sayin'...]

I was not ready to go to eBooks. Tom had one way before I did. I didn't like the idea of giving up the tactile experience of reading. I've always associated good book reads with the experience in which it was born. Reading The Reader by Bernhard Schlink in a Florida hotel room waiting on Y2k to hit? Contextual. Imagining Argentina by Lawrence Thornton on a deployment visit to Argentina? Realistic. The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell read in little snippets during "lunch at the desk" years at CareSource? Life changing.

But, I took the plunge. And I am amazed at how quickly I adapted. I love that all my favorite books can be with me (note this is only the case since the Kindle was upgraded to allow folders). I can mark up and highlight to my hear's content. And the convenience of using the device for reading technical text files for computers and photography subjects is fabulous. I now can read 3-4 books at the same time. I used to max out at 2. But since they are with me, I can switch from my only-when-I-have-10-minutes book to my read-each-night-until-I-fall-asleep book. And that topic-for-which-I-should-have-paid-more-attention-to-in-high-school-government-class can be easily traded for the wish-i-remembered-if-I-liked-it-the-first-time book. And it's still as tactile as it used to be. I don't use a kindle cover except when I pack it in a bag. So my reading in bed experience is still the same really.

I am positive that I am reading more than I used to. And yes, some is short, which is great when my attention span will be short such as when I have 10 minutes until the microwave timer goes off. But I just re-read Watership Down by Richard Adams in about 10 little sessions. I think I was able to discern the main points regarding teamwork and leadership. In fact, it kept my frustration of reading about yet another bunch of males who don't recognize their need for females until it is too late. Ah, but I digress...

eBooks are here to stay. But what will it mean to the publishing world? What value does a publisher add to the acquisition process? Can they assist me in finding new and interesting things to read, or can they only direct me to the books they want me to read because THEY determined they were good books (again, Middlesex????)? I have a friend who is a fabulous writer (you know who you are!) and it would be great if she could easily be published. I am sure she aspires to have a NYT #1, but wouldn't it be even better to publish a book quickly and cheaply so that it can be priced and sized for us to try it? Then, when we love it, we can move on to her tomes!

Whatever happens I know that I continue to be a book lover. And I love that my daughter is a book lover. So here is to books:

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry --
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll --
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.   ---Emily Dickinson