Er...Help?
Nov. 6th, 2006 10:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charliesmumAnyone out there know any Welsh?
See, the thing is my character in my NaNo story is called Carys*, which is a very Welsh name. Her father is from Wales, although his family now lives in Newcastle. I just had Carys and her dad have a conversation on the phone, and he says I love you to her in Welsh. I tried to look it up, and I found this: 'Rwy'n dy garu di”.
The internet being what it is, however, I'm not really sure I'm saying what I want to be saying. For all I know it means 'Shut up you moron.'
And here's the first chapter It didn’t really hit me until I was standing at the top of the escalator that led down to the baggage claim. When it did, I just stopped walking (causing a businessman behind me to curse at me under his breath before pushing past) realizing, with an unsettling certainty, that my life as I had known it for fifteen years was gone.
I wanted at that moment to turn around and run back to the plane and beg the pilot to take me back to California and my father or, better still, back in time to when my mother was still alive and we were happy.
Both scenarios were, of course, impossible, so I readjusted my carry-on bag to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder, and headed down the stairs toward my new life.
The baggage claim was its usual chaotic self but I’d gotten used to it in all my years of travel, so I was able to snag my bags from under the arm of, coincidentally, the same businessman who’d cursed me at the top of the stairs, and then moved out toward the lobby area, looking for my aunt and uncle, once again vaguely, and vainly, hoping they wouldn’t be here and I could go home.
Before I could spot them, however, they spotted me. I heard my Aunt Judy shriek my name across the room and before I knew it I was enveloped in a bone-crushing, lilac scented hug. “Oh, my dear, dear girl,” my aunt said, rocking me back and forth like I was a four-year old, “We are so happy you are here. How are you doing? You must be exhausted. Are you hungry? We can stop somewhere if you’d like, or just get on home.”
“Judy, let the girl breathe,” said my uncle, and I could hear the grin in his voice.
My aunt let me go and I smiled gratefully at my Uncle Henry. He was my mother’s brother, and I’d always liked him, even though we didn’t see each other terribly often. “It’s good to see you both,” I said, hoping my voice sounded sincere. I mean, I was happy to see them, I just wish I didn’t have to be. “I am a bit hungry, but I’m more knackered than anything.”
“Knackered?” My aunt looked puzzled, and I stifled a giggle.
“Sorry. It’s a British term. Mum always says…said my English was showing when I did that. It comes from spending all my summer hols with Dad’s family in Newcastle.”
“Right,” said Aunt Judy. She looked a bit like she wanted to offer sympathy; I guess mentioning my mother made me look a bit like I was going to cry, but she didn’t, for which I was very grateful. “Anyway, let’s head on home.”
Home. That was a loaded word. At any rate, the home she meant was their house in Doubleton, a small town in Pennsylvania. Not exactly the culture center of the universe or anything. I’d hardly ever been on the East Coast, unless we were meeting my dad in New York, and the last time I went to Philadelphia I was seven and threw up in the line while waiting to see the Liberty Bell. Not my favorite memory.
“Henry, help Carys with her bags.” Aunt Judy said as we headed for the door.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I’m used to lugging this thing around.”
“Oh, come on,” said Uncle Henry, “let me be a gentleman. It’s not often I get the chance.”
Smiling, I relinquished my hold on my bag and stepped out into the night air. It felt like I was stepping into a sauna. “Oh, my God,” I said, “It’s bloody hot out here.”
“Welcome to Philadelphia in August,” said my uncle. “You’ll get used to it.”
Great. One more thing to get used to. I struggled gamely through the heat, hoping I wasn’t looking as pouty as I felt, and before long I was ensconced in the back seat of my aunt and uncle’s luxury car and heading towards my new home.
I was beginning to feel tired, despite the fact my body thought it was three hours earlier than it actually was, and was grateful for my aunt’s steady stream of chatter as we drove. It meant I didn’t have to make any more conversation past the occasional murmur of interest.
“I think you’ll like our town,” she said at one point. “We fell in love with it the moment we set eyes on it two years ago. It’s so quaint and historical, full of interesting stories. Your mot…father told me how much you enjoy history.”
“It’s okay, you can say mother,” I said, despite the lump in my throat. “I’m okay. Tell me about the history.”
“Well, it was founded in the beginning of the 1800’s by two brothers, William and Harrison Woodlawn, who became embroiled in a bitter feud not long afterwards, and wound up never speaking to each other again.”
Despite my general grumpiness over my situation, I was intrigued. “Really? What happened?”
“Same old story, “said my uncle. “It was a woman. They both were in love with the same person. Harrison, the younger brother, won her, and William never forgave him for it. They literally divided the town, with William’s house on one end, and Harrison’s on the other. Not only that, both brothers refused to speak with anyone, or do business with anyone who did business with the other, so shopkeepers would have to choose sides if they wanted their business, which they, naturally, wanted to do, seeing as how the Woodlawns were the richest families in the area.”
I couldn’t help but grin at the picture this made in my head. I envisioned a big, white line drawn down the center of the town, and two brothers glaring at each other from opposite sides. “That’s just funny,” I said. “Imagine getting a whole town involved in your love life like that.
“It gets better. For years, right up until William’s death, there was two of practically everything, which is why the town was eventually renamed “Double Town, and then Doubleton.”
I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, not at all. It’s well documented. Members of each family still live in town, and still carry on the feud, only not in quite so obvious a way.”
“Anyone with the last name of Woodlawn is descended from William, “Aunt Judy said, “and the Woodlawns like to lord it over, well, pretty much everyone in town.
“The Addisons and the Holtons are descended from Harrison Woodlawn,” Uncle Henry added, “And the Woodlawns tend to look down on them as country cousins, simply because they, the Woodlawns are direct descendants where the Addisons and drifted somewhat, and are only distantly related. It’s silly, but that’s people for you.”
“The Addisons, however, hate the Woodlawns for an entirely different reason.” Aunt Judy said darkly. She thwacked Uncle Henry gently on his arm. “Tell her about our house.” Before he could say anything she continued, “Our house has a very interesting and rather romantic part in the history of the Woodlawns and the Addisons. Go on, Henry, tell her.”
“Okay, okay. You see, Carys, our house was built in 1945 as a wedding present for Richard Addison, right after he came back from the war. He and his wife, I forget her name, Margaret or Mary or something, had a daughter probably nine months after their wedding day, if you’re generous with the math”
Here Aunt Judy interjected with an annoyed, “Henry…” I just giggled.
“Anyway, her name was Emily, named for the woman who started that feud all those years ago, and unfortunately she seemed to have the same flair for drama in her own love affairs.”
This sounded promising. “Why, what happened?”
“Well, you see, her mother died when she was just four years old, killed in a car accident.”
“Henry,” I heard my aunt hiss warningly.
“It’s okay,” I said again, feeling suddenly very weary. “Really, Aunt Judy. You can’t tiptoe around everything. I’m not a child, and I’m not going to fly into hysterics every time something comes up that reminds me of my mother.” Any more, I added silently. I’m sure the reason my Aunt was being so cautious was because my father told her of my little vacation from reality when I woke up in the hospital to find out my mother was dead, but I was much better now. “Really. I’m fine. Keep telling the story.”
“As a result Richard was extremely over protective of his daughter, and only child. Would have kept her in a tower if he could. So naturally, she would do whatever she could to get out from under his watchful eye, and one day, when she was out with some friends, strolling through Philadelphia instead of going to the movies like she’d told her father, she bumped into William Woodlawn, her second or third cousin.”
“And they fell in love,” I guessed.
“They did indeed. It was a big secret, forbidden love, the whole show, and eventually, in 1963, when Emily was 17 years old, they decided to elope.”
“17? That’s so young.”
“It is, but that was Emily, full of dreams.”
“Anyway,” My aunt took up the story, “On Valentine’s Day, Emily packed a bag, and climbed out her window and down the oak tree to meet William who was waiting there. Poor Emily. She slipped and fell, and was found lying there in the morning, her neck broken, and William was no where to be found.”
“He left her there?” I was aghast. “Some Romeo he turned out to be.”
“It gets worse,” said Uncle Henry. “Emily had taken from her father’s safe some very valuable family jewelry, and that was gone along with William. Many people think that the jewels were the real reason he courted Emily in the first place.”
“And here we are now,” said Aunt Judy, “How’s that for timing?”
I have to admit the story made me feel kind of excited about moving into this town. I did love history, and spending so much time in England made me really appreciate living in a place where you can be surrounded by it. Our home in Southern California, while nice, didn’t really have any history that went back much further than 100 years. I looked out my window at the darkened town, and was rather pleased with what I saw; lots of beautiful old houses representing various points in America’s history, and was starting to feel cautiously optimistic about my future until I saw a large, forbidding structure whose sign proclaimed it to be Doubleton’s High School, home of the Knights.
My heart sank again. Being reminded of the fact that in two weeks I was going to be facing an entirely new school full of strangers sent me back into my earlier funk, and I wished, once again, I had some sort of magic wand to turn back time.
But, as my mother would be the first to point out, there was no use in wishing for something that can’t happen, so I allowed myself to drift back to the story of Emily and her tragic love affair. I must admit was rather looking forward to checking out the tree she fell from, assuming it was still there. I guess it was a bit morbid, but when you’re fifteen, something that happened over forty years ago seems like ancient history, and to me, Emily was as distant as Juliet, and had nothing to do with my life..
Which goes to show just how wrong I can be sometimes.
*Because there was a character in Torchwood with that name and I thought it was pretty, that's why.
See, the thing is my character in my NaNo story is called Carys*, which is a very Welsh name. Her father is from Wales, although his family now lives in Newcastle. I just had Carys and her dad have a conversation on the phone, and he says I love you to her in Welsh. I tried to look it up, and I found this: 'Rwy'n dy garu di”.
The internet being what it is, however, I'm not really sure I'm saying what I want to be saying. For all I know it means 'Shut up you moron.'
And here's the first chapter It didn’t really hit me until I was standing at the top of the escalator that led down to the baggage claim. When it did, I just stopped walking (causing a businessman behind me to curse at me under his breath before pushing past) realizing, with an unsettling certainty, that my life as I had known it for fifteen years was gone.
I wanted at that moment to turn around and run back to the plane and beg the pilot to take me back to California and my father or, better still, back in time to when my mother was still alive and we were happy.
Both scenarios were, of course, impossible, so I readjusted my carry-on bag to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder, and headed down the stairs toward my new life.
The baggage claim was its usual chaotic self but I’d gotten used to it in all my years of travel, so I was able to snag my bags from under the arm of, coincidentally, the same businessman who’d cursed me at the top of the stairs, and then moved out toward the lobby area, looking for my aunt and uncle, once again vaguely, and vainly, hoping they wouldn’t be here and I could go home.
Before I could spot them, however, they spotted me. I heard my Aunt Judy shriek my name across the room and before I knew it I was enveloped in a bone-crushing, lilac scented hug. “Oh, my dear, dear girl,” my aunt said, rocking me back and forth like I was a four-year old, “We are so happy you are here. How are you doing? You must be exhausted. Are you hungry? We can stop somewhere if you’d like, or just get on home.”
“Judy, let the girl breathe,” said my uncle, and I could hear the grin in his voice.
My aunt let me go and I smiled gratefully at my Uncle Henry. He was my mother’s brother, and I’d always liked him, even though we didn’t see each other terribly often. “It’s good to see you both,” I said, hoping my voice sounded sincere. I mean, I was happy to see them, I just wish I didn’t have to be. “I am a bit hungry, but I’m more knackered than anything.”
“Knackered?” My aunt looked puzzled, and I stifled a giggle.
“Sorry. It’s a British term. Mum always says…said my English was showing when I did that. It comes from spending all my summer hols with Dad’s family in Newcastle.”
“Right,” said Aunt Judy. She looked a bit like she wanted to offer sympathy; I guess mentioning my mother made me look a bit like I was going to cry, but she didn’t, for which I was very grateful. “Anyway, let’s head on home.”
Home. That was a loaded word. At any rate, the home she meant was their house in Doubleton, a small town in Pennsylvania. Not exactly the culture center of the universe or anything. I’d hardly ever been on the East Coast, unless we were meeting my dad in New York, and the last time I went to Philadelphia I was seven and threw up in the line while waiting to see the Liberty Bell. Not my favorite memory.
“Henry, help Carys with her bags.” Aunt Judy said as we headed for the door.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I’m used to lugging this thing around.”
“Oh, come on,” said Uncle Henry, “let me be a gentleman. It’s not often I get the chance.”
Smiling, I relinquished my hold on my bag and stepped out into the night air. It felt like I was stepping into a sauna. “Oh, my God,” I said, “It’s bloody hot out here.”
“Welcome to Philadelphia in August,” said my uncle. “You’ll get used to it.”
Great. One more thing to get used to. I struggled gamely through the heat, hoping I wasn’t looking as pouty as I felt, and before long I was ensconced in the back seat of my aunt and uncle’s luxury car and heading towards my new home.
I was beginning to feel tired, despite the fact my body thought it was three hours earlier than it actually was, and was grateful for my aunt’s steady stream of chatter as we drove. It meant I didn’t have to make any more conversation past the occasional murmur of interest.
“I think you’ll like our town,” she said at one point. “We fell in love with it the moment we set eyes on it two years ago. It’s so quaint and historical, full of interesting stories. Your mot…father told me how much you enjoy history.”
“It’s okay, you can say mother,” I said, despite the lump in my throat. “I’m okay. Tell me about the history.”
“Well, it was founded in the beginning of the 1800’s by two brothers, William and Harrison Woodlawn, who became embroiled in a bitter feud not long afterwards, and wound up never speaking to each other again.”
Despite my general grumpiness over my situation, I was intrigued. “Really? What happened?”
“Same old story, “said my uncle. “It was a woman. They both were in love with the same person. Harrison, the younger brother, won her, and William never forgave him for it. They literally divided the town, with William’s house on one end, and Harrison’s on the other. Not only that, both brothers refused to speak with anyone, or do business with anyone who did business with the other, so shopkeepers would have to choose sides if they wanted their business, which they, naturally, wanted to do, seeing as how the Woodlawns were the richest families in the area.”
I couldn’t help but grin at the picture this made in my head. I envisioned a big, white line drawn down the center of the town, and two brothers glaring at each other from opposite sides. “That’s just funny,” I said. “Imagine getting a whole town involved in your love life like that.
“It gets better. For years, right up until William’s death, there was two of practically everything, which is why the town was eventually renamed “Double Town, and then Doubleton.”
I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, not at all. It’s well documented. Members of each family still live in town, and still carry on the feud, only not in quite so obvious a way.”
“Anyone with the last name of Woodlawn is descended from William, “Aunt Judy said, “and the Woodlawns like to lord it over, well, pretty much everyone in town.
“The Addisons and the Holtons are descended from Harrison Woodlawn,” Uncle Henry added, “And the Woodlawns tend to look down on them as country cousins, simply because they, the Woodlawns are direct descendants where the Addisons and drifted somewhat, and are only distantly related. It’s silly, but that’s people for you.”
“The Addisons, however, hate the Woodlawns for an entirely different reason.” Aunt Judy said darkly. She thwacked Uncle Henry gently on his arm. “Tell her about our house.” Before he could say anything she continued, “Our house has a very interesting and rather romantic part in the history of the Woodlawns and the Addisons. Go on, Henry, tell her.”
“Okay, okay. You see, Carys, our house was built in 1945 as a wedding present for Richard Addison, right after he came back from the war. He and his wife, I forget her name, Margaret or Mary or something, had a daughter probably nine months after their wedding day, if you’re generous with the math”
Here Aunt Judy interjected with an annoyed, “Henry…” I just giggled.
“Anyway, her name was Emily, named for the woman who started that feud all those years ago, and unfortunately she seemed to have the same flair for drama in her own love affairs.”
This sounded promising. “Why, what happened?”
“Well, you see, her mother died when she was just four years old, killed in a car accident.”
“Henry,” I heard my aunt hiss warningly.
“It’s okay,” I said again, feeling suddenly very weary. “Really, Aunt Judy. You can’t tiptoe around everything. I’m not a child, and I’m not going to fly into hysterics every time something comes up that reminds me of my mother.” Any more, I added silently. I’m sure the reason my Aunt was being so cautious was because my father told her of my little vacation from reality when I woke up in the hospital to find out my mother was dead, but I was much better now. “Really. I’m fine. Keep telling the story.”
“As a result Richard was extremely over protective of his daughter, and only child. Would have kept her in a tower if he could. So naturally, she would do whatever she could to get out from under his watchful eye, and one day, when she was out with some friends, strolling through Philadelphia instead of going to the movies like she’d told her father, she bumped into William Woodlawn, her second or third cousin.”
“And they fell in love,” I guessed.
“They did indeed. It was a big secret, forbidden love, the whole show, and eventually, in 1963, when Emily was 17 years old, they decided to elope.”
“17? That’s so young.”
“It is, but that was Emily, full of dreams.”
“Anyway,” My aunt took up the story, “On Valentine’s Day, Emily packed a bag, and climbed out her window and down the oak tree to meet William who was waiting there. Poor Emily. She slipped and fell, and was found lying there in the morning, her neck broken, and William was no where to be found.”
“He left her there?” I was aghast. “Some Romeo he turned out to be.”
“It gets worse,” said Uncle Henry. “Emily had taken from her father’s safe some very valuable family jewelry, and that was gone along with William. Many people think that the jewels were the real reason he courted Emily in the first place.”
“And here we are now,” said Aunt Judy, “How’s that for timing?”
I have to admit the story made me feel kind of excited about moving into this town. I did love history, and spending so much time in England made me really appreciate living in a place where you can be surrounded by it. Our home in Southern California, while nice, didn’t really have any history that went back much further than 100 years. I looked out my window at the darkened town, and was rather pleased with what I saw; lots of beautiful old houses representing various points in America’s history, and was starting to feel cautiously optimistic about my future until I saw a large, forbidding structure whose sign proclaimed it to be Doubleton’s High School, home of the Knights.
My heart sank again. Being reminded of the fact that in two weeks I was going to be facing an entirely new school full of strangers sent me back into my earlier funk, and I wished, once again, I had some sort of magic wand to turn back time.
But, as my mother would be the first to point out, there was no use in wishing for something that can’t happen, so I allowed myself to drift back to the story of Emily and her tragic love affair. I must admit was rather looking forward to checking out the tree she fell from, assuming it was still there. I guess it was a bit morbid, but when you’re fifteen, something that happened over forty years ago seems like ancient history, and to me, Emily was as distant as Juliet, and had nothing to do with my life..
Which goes to show just how wrong I can be sometimes.
*Because there was a character in Torchwood with that name and I thought it was pretty, that's why.
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no subject
on 2006-11-06 09:07 pm (UTC)You say "The Addisons and the Holtons are descended from Harrison Woodlawn,” And then you go into a long description of the Addisons, but you never mention the Holtons again. You might want to fix that.