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Philomena Musterdram smoothed her paisley skirt down as a fickle gust of late spring wind swirled through her legs. She'd been fighting a battle to keep her dignity intact ever since she stepped out of the front door.
"I just can't believe it! I can't believe she invited us," gushed Bertie.
"Indeed," Philomena replied, a smile cracking her usually unrufflable visage.
Bertie Bellancourt had been Mena's best friend since the first day of fourth grade. She'd never forget or fail to smile as she thought about the day she stepped into Mrs. Pratt's class and was promptly hit in the chest with a sponge filled with purple tempera paint by Dara McKee. Standing there with paint dripping down her favorite horse sweatshirt while getting called "owl eyes" was one of the most humiliating moments of Mena's life. Dara, her grey eyes glittering with bully-tinged menace led the taunts, that is until a diminutive girl with black hair and even blacker eyes launched a green paint-soaked sponge right into the side of Dara's head.
"Green is definitely not your color," Bertie had squeaked, "I rather think poop brown screams, Dara, don't you?"
From that moment onward Bertie and Mena were a duo, united in all the best ways of friendship.
"Seriously though Mena, she has hated our guts for years! She's got to be plotting something. I'm almost afraid to eat the food. Almost." Bertie prattled as they strode toward Constance.
Constance was Mena's 1968 Oldsmobile 442. Constance was so named because she was in constant need of fuel to feed her always thirsty V8. Mena had to grow an extra row of gladiolas in her market garden to feed Constance's perpetually hungry engine, but as she took in her car's purple metallic flecked paint, she felt the extra work was beyond worth it.
"Come off it Bertie, I doubt we are important enough to warrant a proper poisoning. Dara probably just wants to show off in front of her, so the more bodies in attendance the better." Mena replied as she slid into Constance's buttery soft leather bucket seats.
"Horsehair and meerkat despair!" Bertie ejected as she slammed the seat belt buckle home, "That harpy has it in for us! Why else would she invite us to a tea party with Samantha Brockton."
"Maybe because you own a moderately well-known production company, and I am unfortunately a somewhat famous novelist?" Mena replied with an arched eyebrow, silencing any outburst from Bertie as she turned Constance's ignition. All 400 cubic inches of engine exploded into action as Mena pumped the gas a few times to make her point before continuing, "All Dara cares about is notoriety, and if she can prance out the local who's who before our town's newest arrival, a famous lifestyle influencer of all things, then she will cement her place into the local hierarchy."
Bertie twisted her sherbet orange dress collar, "It's gonna be the first day of fourth grade all over again, just his time with petit fours and charcuterie boards, just you wait Mena!"
Mena chuckled and tucked a loose auburn wave that had come loose from her updo behind her ear. She slammed her navy blue Victorian boot down on the accelerator and felt mischievous glee flow from her steampunk-inspired corseted blouse all the way down through her gunmetal paisley skirted form.
Bertie resembled an elated corgi, her effervescent form pressed up against Constance's passenger window, a vision in sherbet-hued rayon ruffles. Her dark hair was cut in the same Cleopatra-esque blunt bob it had been since Mena had met her all those years ago.
"Oh look! There's Darcie Freen!" Bertie bubbled as they drove along Lakeshore Drive. Mena felt her lips twist upward, her friend's enthusiasm was infectious. Darcie had stuffed her voluminous form into a mint green frock that until recently would have looked very out of place in Spruceton.
A town born out of natural resource harvesting, Spruceton had been discovered by the wealthy and their ilk. Craft breweries and faux rusted, tin-lined boutiques had replaced the dive bars and diners that previously made up their former working-class burg. Mena knew change was inevitable, but a part of her missed their hometown's previous humble, unassuming aura.
Darci was a realtor who had transplanted herself into Spruceton in the first wave of imports as Bertie called the newcomers. Mena waved at the woman as Bertie dissolved into giggles as she watched Darcie try to squeeze into her Mercedes.
"Her hat has its own zip code!" Bertie cackled as they sped by.
Lakeshore Drive, set on the shore of Lake Harrison, was a showcase of early twentieth-century architecture. Many of the logging and mining families who made it big built massive homes along the road. Mena always enjoyed cruising down the street and feasting her eyes on the plethora of soaring cupolas and gingerbread trim.
They pulled up in front of a Victorian masterpiece of a house. Its exterior had been recently painted a very trendy dove grey, the multitude of adorning windows trimmed in black and farmhouse white. Mena wondered if a single dandelion plant would give the obviously well-paid landscaping company apoplexy.
"Oh look, Mena! She invited Harriet Festurn. Seriously? Those two have hated each other for years. Why on earth?" Bertie trailed off as she jumped out of Constance.
"Harriet is the chair of the Urban Renewal District. Come on Bert, keep up." Mena replied as her boot heels clicked along the cobblestone drive leading up to the stately home.
The farmhouse white stairs which led to the front door were gleaming, as were the royal blue glazed urns which held all manner of expensive and rare succulents lining the stairs. Mena felt her gaze drawn toward the pots, for she had a well-known affinity for all plant life.
"Come on." Bertie sighed grabbing Mena's arm.
"Welcome to Dovecote Manor, the festivities are in the back courtyard, through here." a young woman in grey slacks and a pale blue silk shirt told them. Mena noticed there were plenty of other perfectly turned out young people darting too and fro about the house, most carrying trays of food and drink.
"Did you see that cheeseboard? I bet some of that cheese cost more than my cruise to Malta last year!" Bertie hissed under her breath.
Mena tucked another errant auburn stand behind her ear. Something felt off about the whole thing. She couldn't quite nail down what was nagging her, but the staff, although smiling, were radiating strain.
"Bert, go get us a seat, I am gonna use the powder room," Mena replied, crinkling her nose and lilting her voice on the last part of her statement.
"On it!" Bertie departed in a swirl of sherbet frills and cheese-hounding intensity.
Mena waited until a blond-haired kid strolled by bearing a tray of Devils On Horseback and glided down the east hall. She had spent many an afternoon in this house as a middle school student, taking singing lessons from Lulabelle McHollister, a local legend.
She carefully padded down the gorgeous refinished herringbone-patterned wood floor toward the parlor. She stopped in her tracks when something smashed just beyond the doors.
"Please. don't do this right now, I have guests. We'll deal with it afterward okay."
Mena recognized Dara's contralto tone, but she had never heard the woman plead for anything.
"Of course, everything is more important than me. Fine, be that way you stupid girl, I knew I should have given you away. Everything bad about my life is because you exist." spat a voice more venomous than black mamba on steroids.
"You keep saying that Mother, yet you continue to hang around," Dara replied, her normally rich voice toneless.
"I feel like the only way to atone for bringing you into the world is to make sure I mitigate the damage you inflict. Gods, you are so stupid." Dara's mother spat in return.
Mena then heard a splash, a thud, and a gasp. The parlor door flew open and Dara stormed through it, slamming the solid door in her wake. Her grey eyes smashed into Mena's pale green irises. Multiple emotions strobed through Dara's face, shame, pain, and despair. In her beautifully manicured hands was a bone colored porcelain teacup, its contents were dripping down the front of Dara's lavender tea dress.
Here was the woman who had tormented and bullied her for more than two decades, laid before her like a retribution platter of unending vindication delights to partake from. Every barb, rude gesture, harsh word, and unpleasant incident flashed before Mena's eyes. Taking a breath, she stepped toward Dara, her gaze locked onto the woman's face. Mena lifted her cup in a toast gesture and dumped the Earl grey tea it contained all down the front of her favorite blouse.
"We'll just tell that Brockton chick that it's the new thing, event infused clothing. Completely unique and totally sustainable." Mena quipped.
Dara let out a confused gasp and stepped backward.
"What? I know it's not tempura paint, but I really think we are on to something here, don't you?" Mena continued as she reached her arm through Dara's.
A single tear escaped Dara's eye and slid down to join her tea-stained shirt. She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out her cell phone.
"Let's get it trending then," Dara replied as she linked her arm through Mena's and snapped a selfie of them both.
You distract us with chatter and style. Meanwhile, at the heart of this is a decades-old drama. However, it is not the drama we at first imagine, but one of family secrets. Of hurt and pain. All becomes clear in the end.
Dara is abused at home, and lashes out at others with the same cruelty she experiences. Maybe it's just a tea party you write about, but the message is universal. People are driven by discrete motivations. Judging is easy, but understanding--that's the challenge.
A great story. Thank you for posting it in the Ink Well community. Please be sure to read the work of other writers in the community and share comments with them. We are urging everyone who posts in The Ink Well to take this step, going forward, to ensure our community members are supporting one another. (We also have this in The Ink Well community rules on our home page and in our weekly writing prompts.) Thank you!
Thank you so much for the kind feedback.:)
I've been thinking a lot lately about how what we endure shapes our behavioral patterns, and how we react to others who have been shaped in the same way yet with different elements. That and purple classic cars, lol. It was fun to write a story with all those things.
And now I'm off to comment on other's tales, it's one of my favorite parts about this community!
I absolutely adore this story. It's begging to be a full novel. Your characters are so realistic and beautifully detailed. Your descriptions are so vivid that I can really see everything in full detail. You also touched on a global truth. Those who bully are typically bullied themselves. It's an unfortunate taught behavior. Mena's understanding is amazing. We need more people like her in the world. You did a fantastic job!
Ooh, the adventures of Philomena and Bertie would definitely be fun to write, who knows what sort of mischief those two would get into, not to mention the drag races lol!
I often wonder about living in a world with more Mena's, people who can see the pain behind the bad behavior and flip situations towards an unexpected better.
Thank you so much for the kind words and encouragement, I'm so, so pleased you enjoyed the tale:)!
Let me start with the boot. Love it. I've never been to a tea party, but I have worn boots like that :)
Your story is wonderfully deceptive. Just as Mena and Bertie could not see Dara's pain, the reader at first cannot look past the style and chatter. The spilled tea breaks the illusion. What a great device. Cuts right through the facade. And Mena's linking of arms is more eloquent than anything she might have said about Dara's situation.
As I mentioned, I don't do tea parties, but I appreciate insight. Good job with that :)
Well there we go, another thing we share! I have never been to a formal tea party either. Now, informal, rural tea parties complete with dolls and stuffed animals held to their seats by baling twine, those I have attended a plenty, but never a fancy proper tea. Probably going to have to remedy that someday, I mean when am I ever going to get another excuse to wear a hat with its own zipcode...heh...
And I'm so pleased you love my old boot. I wore them so much that there's holes in the soles. Now they are just props, but I am saving up to pay this lovely Eastern European lady to make me a new pair to wear and adore:)
Double thanks for all the kind words about my story. I've been thinking and studying about trauma, holistic psychology, stoicism, bullying, and re-direction a lot lately, guess you could probably tell that lol. I haven't written fiction in a while as things have been a little extra round these parts, but I have missed hanging out in my favorite community of story writers:)
Us country girls, we may do tea, but we don't do fancy. A hat with its own zipcode 😁
One of the best things about your story is that it is not a sermon. Your message is stronger because you show the pain, and the understanding. That's the great thing about fiction. You can give a lesson and it doesn't seem like a lesson. Plus, it's entertaining.
Welcome back to the Ink Well. I don't always have the inspiration/courage to write a story myself, but when I do it is very, very satisfying.
You'll have to share a picture of those boots when you get them!
My attempt at fancy would definitely be disastrous, well, at least there would be some hay stuck to me somewhere, lol lol! Although, I did go to a masquerade ball once, but I did get my gown caught in the a heater grate as I was diffusing a cat fight....
I kinda hate preaching and pandering. The thing is though, I love, love, love to learn and listen to people, but pomposity grates my turnips. Pain is a pretty universal teacher, and I have to say my dear @agmoore, I do so love your comments, they are grand for my ego, which means I need to go look at something I failed out, you know, cause humility😉
There are always stories and themes floating around in my cranium, but for some reason I allow a lot of living to get in my way which limits my composition output, terrible I know, but my thoughts stray to the Ink Well a lot, as do my upvotes.
And you can bet I will share a pic of those magnificent boots when I get around to procuring them! Hope you are having a most lovely weekend.:)
You are such a skilled storyteller, @generikat. This story carried me along, with its rich details, interesting relationships, and excellent dialog. And the conflict is resolved in such an unexpected way. Beautifully done!
Awe, thanks @jayna 😊 Your words mean a lot, because honestly, I never feel like I get what's in my head into the out in the way that I wish too. Just gonna keep chipping at it though, you know, that whole practice thing, lol! Hope to see another one of your stories soon, I loved the last one!
That is a challenge we share! Sometimes the writing just can't capture the magical nuances it seems to have when the idea is spawned. Other times what comes out is actually better than what was imagined, though that is much more rare. Someday we'll have a brain chip and won't actually have to write. We'll be able to think our stories and have them appear in living color on the page. Or whatever media society uses in the future!
Forget it, it was all so distracting
If I was not someone who reads complicated and distracting novels, no matter how terrible my friends review it, I would not have stuck to the end
I am glad I did
Who would have known that the bully, Dara, passes through mightier bullying at home from the one person who should hold her close, and tell her how special she is to her....gosh
No one really knows what the next person passes through until they find out
Great piece, sweetie
Ahh @atomz, you are a refreshing presence! I am always so pleased to stumble upon an authentic and insightful soul, you truly do write and comment in such a wonderfully excellent way. I am so very glad that you waded through all the distractions and flash in order to partake in the center of the tale.
Thanks for making my day:)
This story is rich in detail, everything from the dialogue to the scenes you build. I don't know much about tea parties, but you gave an aura of sophistication to the characters and drama that left me hooked.
Ooh! I am the opposite of sophistication in real life, so you telling me I conveyed such a thing really makes me smile! Thanks @ricardo993! Hope you are having a fantastic weekend!
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Thank you!!!!
This is a beautiful story, i especially enjoy the easy relationship between Philomena and Bertie.
And then Dara.
It's really a touching story with lots of detail and heart. One of secrets and lies, hurts and pain. But thankfully, all ends well.
Thank you for sharing 😁
Awe, thanks for reading and commenting. There's been a bit of pain and good things round these parts, so naturally I just did what most writers do and coalesced it all into a tale. Good times:)
This is a beautiful story with a lot of meaning. I enjoyed reading it. Your dialogues are beautifully written and your grammar makes the story rich.
Thanks you so much for the kind words! I really do appreciate your feedback and can't wait to wander over and read your writings too.:)
Oh I so plan on keeping the writing going, thank you so much for the support!
I love the twist at the end, where Dara learns what it's really like to be forgiven! Excellent story, I enjoyed every minute of it :)
As much as I love banter and colorful descriptors, I have to say my favorite part of the tale was writing about how true forgiveness transpires. It's a total leap that recognizes and embraces fault and change while also recognizing that forgiveness is about the person gifting it more than the receiver of the gift. I could probably blab about it for many paragraphs but wouldn't do that to you, lol.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting, I am so glad you enjoyed the tale!:)
Please keep them coming :) Constance was pretty awesome too!!!
I'm too late to properly upvote, but I truly enjoyed this story! It took an unexpected turn.