Snowflakes In Autumn, 5a

As promised, here’s the next installment of Snowflakes In Autumn. I’m posting Chapter Five in two parts this week, although the division of this one runs a bit longer in the second half than the first. Today’s installment isn’t exactly brief, but rest assured you’ll get a little more meat on the bone when Thursday rolls around.

Don’t forget to click the Donate button either in my sidebar or at the bottom of the installments. While the initial goal of $75 was met within the first week of my starting this little experiment, I’m not sure I’m going to continue it past this chapter. I’m considering a better alternative for everyone that will involve me ceasing to post installments here at Coquetting Tarradiddles.

Instead, I’m thinking about offering a properly formatted eBook in exchange for a small monthly subscription for the duration of the publication cycle. It’s all kind of up in the air right now, but I’m looking at a plan that will charge readers $2.50 a month to sign up to receive two chapters a month, in weekly installments. Once the book has been fully published this way, I’ll offer the complete novel for sale and close out the subscriptions. Those of you who have already donated or who plan to donate between now and the time I start the new program will be credited whatever amount you’ve donated towards a new subscription. In addition, anyone who subscribes for at least four months will receive the complete eBook once it’s available, and I might even work out a special print edition for anyone who subscribes to the full run – although I’ll have to work out some licensing details before I can make that promise.

Anyway, that’s all the business I have for today. I hope you like this first half of Chapter Five and continue to enjoy reading Snowflakes In Autumn in whatever form it takes in the near future!

Snowflakes In Autumn
Chapter Five, Part One

(click here to start at Chapter One, Part One)

Before I travel along any further down the strange and lunatic journey on the road of what’s to come, I need to pause for a moment and fill you in on a few details. Pay attention to them; they’re important. (This is the narrative equivalent of the little notation in the corner of ancient maps that warns, “Here There Be Dragons” – so, seriously. Listen up. There might even be Foreshadowing.)

As Cathy and I dated over the course of a year, I began to learn little details of her life before we met. There was the normal, mundane drivel one learns of anyone with whom they spend untold hours engaged in constant conversation: where she was raised, what her family was like, what she wanted to be when she grew up, how her Daddy was busted smuggling narcotics through international waters and about the time just before we met when she spent six years living in a car on the beach doing drugs with her abusive boyfriend. You know, the usual.

It wasn’t surprising that she had daddy issues, as I hadn’t yet met a woman who didn’t. However, learning that her Pappy was a wannabe drug kingpin who got caught and spent most of her life behind the bars of the Louisiana penal system was a little more than I expected. Up until Cathy, the pasts of most of the girls I’d known had been a little more predictable: Daddy ran off with his secretary, Daddy ran off with his accountant, Daddy ran off with the waitress he met during his anniversary dinner with his wife of thirty years and (this being the deep south) Daddy ran off with his cousin.

However, none of these girls could hold a candle to Cathy’s childhood – and she’d burn them down if they tried. She loved her tragic past, probably because embracing it was the only thing to do with her hideous life other than troll county records for a suitable death certificate and matching social security number to start up a new one – and she wasn’t that smart. Instead, she freely told her story to anyone who would listen, reveling in the details of her miserable lot in life. She’d cast herself as road kill on life’s highway, and she made damn sure everyone knew all about it. After all, what good is nobly rising above adversity and putting your past behind you if no one knows about it?

As the months went by and Cathy and I grew closer, I came to accept all of her inner demons and resolved myself to help her purge them from her life. I wanted her to rebuild the bridges burned by her father. I wanted her to rekindle a relationship with her mother, whom she deeply resented for squandering away the family fortune on the trappings of the nouveau riche while her father rotted in jail and the drug money dried up. But mostly, I wanted her to forget about the six years she spent with her ex, alternating between cheap apartments and homelessness, narcotic euphoria and domestic violence.

I wanted to give her everything she never had, although I had no idea why. I couldn’t pinpoint the reasoning behind my feelings. I didn’t know why I loved her, or what it was about her that made me all googley-eyed and stupid. I just knew that I wanted to make all her dreams come true. And, eventually, I realized I wanted her to live happily ever after…

****

I was standing over the toilet in my apartment when I fully committed to marrying Cathy. I don’t know what arcane machination of the universe is at play that causes me to make major life decisions while pissing into the azure water of a Tidy Bowl toilet, but it seems that my best – and worst – ideas come to me in this setting. Maybe it’s something to do with Symbolism or Allegory or any number of literary devices that govern the plot of my own little narrative, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I decided right then and there – in mid-drip, just before the final shake – that I was going to make her my wife.

I thought back to that moment at Disney World when I was again expelling urine and pondering dangerous thoughts, and about how I knew then that I was in love. After that, it didn’t take a huge leap for me to figure out where I wanted to propose.

I’d do it at Disney World, and I’d make it special. I’d be the Prince Charming to her Princess Roadkill, healing old wounds and providing a better life ahead than the one she was leaving behind. It would be beautiful and romantic and above all, it would make her feel special. Wanted. Needed. Loved.

I set about making the arrangements and dealing with the offensive politeness of the Walt Disney World cast members. I scheduled a vacation for around a year after we met, although I pushed it up a little bit and settled on October to beat the holiday crowds of the later months. I let Cathy in on the vacation planning, but kept everything else a closely guarded secret.

Since we were going in October, I took advantage of one of the special events at the Magic Kingdom to provide an excuse for us to bring nice clothes to a theme park. During one of the nights of our stay, the park closed early and reopened a few hours later for a Mickey Mouse-themed Halloween “party” – costumes encouraged. I explained to Cathy that we could go out for a nice dinner that night, then wander the park in our Sunday best and we wouldn’t stand out. I promised her that it would be romantic and fun, and I plotted my proposal for later that evening – but more on that in a bit.

October eventually rolled around and I shocked my mother by asking for her heirloom engagement ring that had been passed down through three generations. She was surprised but happy, and along with my father, she wished me luck. The next morning, my soon-to-be fiance and I were off to the happiest place on Earth. It was a long and boring drive, but I didn’t care. I was bugfuck happy. Giddy, even.

“What do you want to do first?” asked Cathy, after we finally arrived at Disney World and checked into the Polynesian Resort.

“Rest for a little bit,” I said after having driven the sixteen or so hours to get there.

“But we’re here! We can’t waste a day not doing something.”

“I know, but maybe we can just go to a park later tonight or something.”

Cathy flopped onto the bed. “Oh, ok,” she sighed, “but the parks all close early tonight.” She tilted her head and flashed a hopeful, coquettish smile.

“Alright,” I conceded, a victim to her charms. “We can go now, I guess. Which park?”

“Animal Kingdom!”

“Seriously?” I asked, legitimately confused. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” responded Cathy. “Because we didn’t get to see much of it last time?”

“That’s because there’s not much to see.”

“But we didn’t see the monkeys.”

“You’ve never seen a monkey?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, I’ve been to the zoo.”

“There’s nothing special about Animal Kingdom’s monkeys, you know.”

“But – ”

“They’re not a super breed of Disney primates or anything.”

“I know, but -”

“They’ve got monkeys on the Jungle Cruise,” I told her, hoping to avoid a trip to the most boring park on Earth.

“But they’re robots!”

“No, they’re Audio-Animatronics.”

“Yeah,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and beginning The Pout. “So they’re not real.”

“They’re real.”

“No they aren’t!”

“Um, yes they are. Robots are real.”

“They’re not alive, Connor.”

“Maybe not, but they are real.”

She sighed. “Fine. Do you just want to go to the Magic Kingdom instead?”

“Not if you’re going to be mad about it.”

“I’m not mad. I just want to go do something!”

“But you want to see the monkeys.”

“I’ve seen monkeys before.”

“At the zoo?”

“Yeah. At the zoo. So let’s go the the Magic Kingdom.”

“So you don’t want to see the monkeys, then?”

“I do, but we can go there later. Let’s just go the the Magic Kingdom tonight.”

“And ride the Jungle Cruise?”

“The Jungle Cruise is stupid.”

“But the Jungle Cruise has monkeys.”

“They’re NOT monkeys, Connor!”

“They’re animatronics that look like monkeys.”

“So?”

“So, where else can you see robot monkeys other than the Jungle Cruise?”

She rolled her eyes, annoyed and confused. “Why do you want to see robot monkeys so bad?”

“I don’t.”

“But you just said – “

“I thought you wanted to see the monkeys.”

“I wanted to see real monkeys, Connor. Ones that are alive and breathing and that walk around and swing on the trees and stuff.”

“And throw their poo.”

“What?”

“Monkeys throw their poo at people.”

“Not at Animal Kingdom. This is Disney. They wouldn’t let that happen.”

“They don’t control the monkeys, Cathy.”

“I didn’t say they did!”

“They’re not robot monkeys. Those are on the Jungle Cruise.”

“Would you shut up about the Jungle Cruise? I’m just saying that Disney probably has something set up that keeps the real monkeys from throwing poo.”

“Like what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What could they have set up that keeps the monkeys from throwing their poo?”

“I don’t know. Probably they don’t let them out if they’ve just eaten.”

“So they keep them locked up until they’re all out of poo?”

“Maybe.”

“How do they know when they’re out?”

“What?”

“How do they know when the monkeys are all out of poo?”

“I don’t know.” She smacked her lips. “Look, this is stupid. Disney wouldn’t let their monkeys throw crap all over the guests, so they probably do something with the food or with maybe some glass between the people and the monkeys or whatever, so let’s just go, ok?”

“Go where?”

“To the Magic Kingdom to ride the stupid Jungle Cruise, Connor.”

“I don’t want to ride the Jungle Cruise, Cathy.”

“But you just said – !”

“No, I didn’t. You said you wanted to see monkeys and I said that the Jungle Cruise has monkeys. I didn’t say I want to ride it.”

“Ugh!” she shouted, then collapsed into the pillow beside me. “Fine, let’s just skip the parks and take a nap. We can go to Downtown Disney and look through the shops tonight.”

I laughed. “Sounds like a plan!” I half-shouted, grinning. “Downtown Disney stays open late, so wake me up in six hours.” I rolled over and closed my eyes. I could feel her scorn.

Concluded Thursday, in Chapter Five: Part Two

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