We’re Getting To The Juicy Part!

THOUGHT OF THE DAY: If you sleep with a girl without protection, you’re having sex with everyone your partner had sex with before. So, if your girlfriend slept with a guy, who slept with your ex g/f, who you slept with, technically you could be screwing yourself.


We are definitely getting to the juicy part in Savannah’s story. Look at this next segment, and tell me what you think:

It was approximately 11:58. This was according to my watch – a watch that had been designed to work to the bottom of the ocean, giving a whole new meaning to waterproof. Apparently, it would work in the vacuum of space as well, but I planned on never being able to say, “Yup. I was there. In space. It worked like a charm …” My dad has it automatically synchronize with his every night, so it was never wrong – because, clearly, time revolved on what my fathers watch said, and not on how fast the Earth rotates and revolves but, in Lavaloto, it kind of did.

The opener bouncies must have partied last night or something, because they were too exhausted to even check their watches when I said it was time for my shift to end. I bet that I could have asked an hour earlier and they wouldn’t have noticed.

Currently, I was about halfway to LAVA On The Rocks. And since it was 11:58, no, 11:59, I had a minute to get there. Obviously, I would be late, but I believe that my dad was slowly, very slowly – very, very, slowly – getting accustomed to the fact that the world hasn’t invented instantaneous teleportation yet and that it actually takes time to get places.

But, then again, probably not.

Once more, Winston was holding open the ropes for me, and ran faster than a horse in the Kentucky Derby. A mere eleven-point-two seconds later – according to the watch – I was standing, yet again, in front of that damn door. One deep breath, a quick straightening of my funky orange dress and putting on of my lemon-wedge shoes later, I was opening the door.

And … and … and …

He was in his chair. Again. Clack. That was the sound of my heart chipping away.

Stood there, waiting for him to invite me to sit down, like usual. He didn’t, for once breaking his routine.

“Hello, Savannah. Did you have a pleasant morning?” I stood there, in a state of shock, for a moment before getting myself together.

“Yes, Father. Thank you for asking.” I smiled just a tiny bit. Was this the beginning of the end of the dictatorship? But then, I looked into his eyes. Something I hadn’t done in a long, long time. They were a pale blue, almost gray, like mine. There was something off, though. Something was wrong …

Yes! That was it – the moment I had smiled, his eyes had given him away. I saw his emotions flash before his face – anger, fury, frustration, and then the mask that he wears when there’s company- company. My mother. She was here. On my birthday. That hadn’t happened since before they had split up, when I was one. Quickly, my eyes darted to his left. About halfway down the table sat my mother. She was wearing something cheap, probably from a chain department store. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun that was obviously not messy on purpose, for style reasons, but actually messy. It was the same wispy white color as mine. It wasn’t white like an old persons, more like a platinum blonde that was too platinum. I always loved this color, and I had this one streak in the front that I dyed depending on what I was feeling that month. She never dyed it, but more just let her hair hang there, limp. I must have been staring for a second too long, because my father spoke again.

“Darling!” Darling?! He has never called me darling before in my life! “Why are you just standing there, dear?” Oh, and now with the dear?! “Come sit!” Then he smiled.

Well, he tried to. But it looked like he was in pain.

When I started to walk to my usual seat, at the end of the huge, twelve-person table, my father seemed to insist on giving me a heart attack. “Sweetheart,” Sweetheart?! Holy mother of- “Come sit at your usual seat.” When I turned around, he was motioning for me to sit next to him. Barely maintaining composure, I sat down gently into the seat. “Well, don’t be shy!” I stared at my father, my eyes boring into his soul. Who are you and what on Earth have you done with my father?! “Say hello to our -“ He stuttered for a moment. “Our guest.”

I revolved slowly in my seat, and nodded. “Mother.”

“Savannah.” We stared at each other for a moment, as if trying to tell if the other was counterfeit. My father obviously sensed the tension.

“Well, now that we’ve all said our …” What? Our hellos? “ Our greetings, lets dig in! Marty, we’re ready for the food!” He called over his shoulder.

Oh, he ordered for me again, did he?

A moment later – a moment to late, as far as my father is concerned – Marty, one of my father’s private waiters, rolled out a cart with three plates. He put down my mothers plate first, obviously on my father’s request. Then my father’s usual order –  two steaks, rare, with a single mini scoop of mashed potatoes on top of a baked potato, assorted spices on the side – was placed in front of him. Last was mine. Marty put it in front of me gently, then lifted the plate cover with a flourish.

It was all I could do not to groan aloud – my entire plate was green.


Yet, everything seemed to be different tonight. My father was eating before everyone else, my mother laughed twice – twice! – during dinner, and they talked almost like normal human beings, and not a) a devil bent on transforming me into a slave, or b) an inmate that has been on parole for various offenses, for the past five years. One time, when my mother was laughing, my dad laughed too. Their joy only overlapped for a moment, but during that moment I finally, finally experienced  absolute peace.

However, all things end, and great things end faster than good things. The lunch was amazing, but I knew that I should start getting back to reality, off of Cloud Nine before the inevitable after-meal drink. When Marty rolled in with a cart that looked like it was about to snap from the pressure of so much wine, I promptly yanked myself off of “Mount Bliss” and came back down to the valley of reality just as my father started to talk again.

“Savannah, angel,” Angel?! This is taking it to a whole new level … “Would you be okay with swimming a bit after we finish our glasses?”

I was beyond shocked at this point. My father, calling me terms of endearment? Asking my opinion on things? Making small talk? I’ve seen it all at this point – why not? “Of course, Father. Whenever you wish.”

A solid ten minutes later, they had finished their drinks, and we went to one of the changing rooms to get into swimsuits. A mere five minutes later, we were on our way to the waterfront, and I started to sprint. I don’t care what any of the A-list, or the rich, or the privileged thought of me. And why should I? I doubted I was ever going to know them more than, “Hello, enjoy your stay!”, and “Goodbye, have a safe journey home!”.

Now, I had always loved the water. It seemed to calm my family whenever we were all together there, and there was considerably less fighting. Everyone seemed to be more understanding in the water, and if I was having a really horrible, rotten, no-good-very-bad day, I would completely blow off work and go for a nice, long, peaceful swim. Today, though, the waves were rougher, the sea seemed darker, and I swore I’d never felt an undertow current that strong. We were able to stay in the water for no more than ten minutes before the lifeguards insisted, for our own safety, that we get out.

We were all sitting underneath a private cabana when it started.

“Savannah, sugar, we both need to talk to you.” My mother, saying to me a fully constructed sentence. This. Is. Epic. Suddenly, they both seemed to sit taller, smile wider, and lean forward to the point where they were about to fall off of the couch they were on. “As you know, not one of us can keep you forever -“

“Though we would certainly like to!” my father jumped in.

She glared at my father, but ultimately decided to continue. “And, well you’re turning thirteen today -“

“Right! Happy birthday, dear!”

“- And today marks the day you can give us your input as to who you would rather stay with.”

Ah. So this is why my mother had came for my birthday – custody. “Right.” I replied. It wasn’t fair for them to jump me like this. I needed to think. “Look, I have a lot on my mind right now, and you’ll still spiral into a legal battle anyway, so can I get back to you later?” It was ballsy, yes, but my father wouldn’t do anything in front of my mother, and vice-versa.

My father, evidently, saw that as an opportunity to go for my mother’s jugular. “Well, dear, I always listen. It’s this … thing … that ignores your wishes! I always listen!”

My mother, apparently, couldn’t let that slide. “What on Earth are you talking about? I talk to her every week on the phone!”

“Yes, and she lives with me and talks to me every day!”

Whoa. They both really wanted custody. I’m not sure why, because my mother and I hadn’t talked since her last visit and my father hasn’t done much blabbing beyond a “Hello. Sit.” and “Dismissed.”

Tempers continued to rise. “Well, that’s about to change, isn’t it!” my mother spat.

Okay, I’ve been through a lot. Problems as a kid socially, problems as a teen academically, but I had always had a constant throughout all of it: I had a place to come home to tonight. There would be no screaming there. A nice, calm place to get my work done and focus on what I love to do – acting and dancing.

I only had one constant – that peace and quiet – and now it was all changing. As their voices reached a volume that can only be compared to my father’s private jet, I had took enough. “I’m done!” I shouted at them, though I’m not sure if they even heard me. Dropping the towel as I went, I practically dove into the ocean. At least it would be quiet underneath that water, with only peace surrounding me.

At least, that’s what it was like on a regular day. Today, though, the ocean can only be described as feisty. Before thirty seconds had passed, I found myself a slave to the current and I couldn’t get up.

The lifeguard was on his way, for sure. He had already been jumping off the stand where he patrols when I had started to run. But, even though I knew help was on the way, I let the ocean take me. I stopped fighting it.

It was almost as if some higher purpose told me not to worry when I suddenly felt myself rushing downward, far deeper than the ocean …


What do you think? Let me know in the comments, or even better, subscribe to be notified when I post so you never miss a segment!

The plot’s thickening …

Sincerely, Lemons


2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Freedom, by the way on February 10, 2011 at 11:13 am

    I like it. But please be consistent with Savanah’s character. Up until this segment, I thought she was a college student or at least late teens. (She had an hour commute–I assumed she drove– to an apartment it sounded like she had all to herself–it seemed Dad had his own?) I’ll go back and check. Then today, she’s 13. Hmmm.


    • Oh, I was consistent. In the very beginning, I started talking about her greet, shake ‘n’ wave and how it “had gotten old an hour after I had started. When I was five.” It goes on to say something along the lines of even after seven years and three-hundred, sixty-four days, nothing had changed. (I know, she does seem older, doesn’t she? I had to make her mature for the plot to work, though.)
      Here’s a funny trick my language arts teacher taught me last year: Never assume. You make an ass out of u and me! Ha! I’ll definitely edit it to make it clear that someone drove her – maybe a chauffeur? Thanks for bringing it to my attention. 🙂
      I also mentioned how the apartments were next to each other in the hotel her dad had built. Remember, so he could still use a memo system? They are more like those amazing rooms that only celebrities can afford, you know? They are like apartments in themselves. Savannah just lives in one of those fancy rooms full-time. Is there anything I can edit to make it more clear? What would you suggest?
      Thank you so much for helping me out with all this. I know it’s a mess, but I’m honestly posting what I wrote that day. The only editing I’ve done is the type you do as you go, with typos and spell-check. (Oh, glorious spell-check…)
      Thanks, Lemons


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: