ARCADIA

It was 1968 in Bloomingdale, USA. I always knew we were of some importance. Since I was a young girl going to kindergarten, I could see Mother’s face plastered on these square signs which were being displayed on the front of random peoples’ lawns. Not only that, but the look on the other kids’ faces as they rode their bikes to school – I saw this from the back seat of our version of a school bus, a limousine. Yes, it was trivial. My twin brothers and I were pampered but prepared for the scrutiny that lay outside that depressing brick building they call school. Oh how the other moms spoke amongst themselves as they saw us getting these lavish rides but with no kisses. It was telling. Likewise from our driver Hans, using the same old knock knock jokes to lift our spirits; they were funny at first but it didn’t change anything. If Hans heard me say that, he would say “Well, it did change something,” as he’d pinch my cheeks and my forced smile, because I just didn’t want him realising that I knew he used the entire conveyor belt of tricks up his sleeve. My brothers and I already surpassed our daily caffeine intake: triple shots of depression, bitter and black just like Mother’s soul. She made absolutely sure we tasted no sweetness in the a.m.; it’s probably laced with deceit and betrayal anyways, the sugar. So naturally, I didn’t want to take Hans’ fa la la la latte away from him – he needed all the sweeteners he could get to cash out his 401k. But let’s be honest, when you work for The Blackwoods, there’s no savings plan, it’s all artificial. You’re in debt with the Judases of the world. See, laced.

You know that term “recess”? Well, that wasn’t a word in the Blackwood dictionary. Girls pretending to find magical fairies amongst the rose bushes, while the boys were playing hide and seek; this is what I saw from the Theology Room window. Why wasn’t I enjoying some dephlogisticated air? I was studying (obviously against my will) a large encyclopedia that basically translated the ancient possibilities of heroes…villains. The tales that were constructed throughout history; as whomever heard a tale undoubtedly added their own little twist; which yes Sherlock changed the original story (as if you’d ever know who even began the story.) That’s why they say “legend has it” So time goes on and on and on, as these stories become factual to the gullibles, studied by the bookworms, obsessed over by the wanderers, referenced by the Shakespeareans, whispered by the grandmothers, fed up by the suit and ties of the world, ignored by the teenagers (obviously puberty has an influence on that); and lastly, you can’t forget your sceptical listeners who just don’t want to get their hearts…broken. I get it, either you invest or you don’t; chances are you will always lose. I just had a light bulb moment. It’s called “wannabe” for a reason…you want to be something that you’re not, that you’ll never be…

So I came to the conclusion that these girls would spend their whole lives looking for their fairytale fairy. The boys? Well, they were seeking something that could never be found. Basically…all their “what if’s” are always hidden. Time to enter the queue for that one weirdo who has to say, “Sometimes what you’re trying to find is right under your nose.” Aren’t those people so annoying? Like no one asked you. They have too much hope and zero to show for it. The “happy campers” of the playground who will ultimately have it worse than all of us. Their reality will be a monsoon over their tents. Anyways, it’s cruel when you think about it. All these movies and books we read only leave us feeling more lost, more out of place, more disconnected – wishing for a better life…in a magical world. I curse whoever the idiot was who breathed air into these stories. Maybe it was some caveman during the dinosaur era? Clearly they dipped their head into the whole jar of crazy pills. Wait, no…caveman era…hmm, maybe they took too much ayahuasca and boom! A lifetime of lifeless possibilities. So yeah, it’s safe to say that Theology was my least favourite class.

As I said, my brothers and I stuck out like a single thorn on the most perfect rose, as if all the great artists and gardeners worked day and night to create such an aromatic red rose. That’s why there’s so much romance surrounding a rose. It’s the love that the many geniuses put into it. So that one single thorn poking out…you couldn’t possibly overlook it…and if you did, you’d sure as heck feel the pinch. While everyone noticed the “privileges” we had, they never really looked deeply enough to realise the many curfews and chores we had. Underprivileged with a capital U. We were just prisoners in the evil castles in their beloved fairy tale books.

Perhaps it was also the never-aloud annual Lighthouse Carnival that we always missed out on. Oh, how I’d dream…for just one year. This is how I saw it…my Mother Marilyn would call one of the maids for her ballpoint pen, that she stole from her neighbour Beth. Why Hello again Neighbour, like all the first pages of a book, you’ll have to keep reading in order to find out whatever you wish to seek. Mother would then remove her heavy topaz ring as she’d grab the pen from the tray, pressing it against the paper, signing cursively, “Marilyn Blackwood” right on the beautiful dotted line. Who knew dots would mean so much to me. As she then passed it back to me smiling from teeth to teeth wearing her favourite apple red lipstick called Glass Slipper, I’d be holding onto the paper with both hands as if I just found a golden ticket revealed within the wrappings of a chocolate bar. Oh how I wish it was a story like Cinderella or a Willy Wonka scenario. A girl can dream, right?

Instead, it went like this: her polished manicured nails latched onto the permission form as she looked at me saying the same six words, “Penelope, Blackwoods don’t go to fairs,” as her apple red lipstick stuck onto her overly bleached teeth. Glass Slipper, more like Forbidden Fruit. Every year I daydream about what it would be like…the cotton candy, the hot fudge sundaes, the horse carousel, the boys…all my desires, yet like forbidden fruit, it wasn’t allowed, and so my cravings became all the more tempting.

“Marilyn, Make A Good Impression” was her ‘thing’. She’d always say this phrase before and after selling a house. As Beth would say so sarcastically, “Colour me curious”. Beth and company – company meaning anyone who breathed in the same radius as Marilyn had to endure Mother’s catch phrase on loop.

Marilyn was too busy plastering her face in front of people’s homes to make her good impression. Her attire? A Matching Tweed Blue and Pink Suit she bought from Sacks, obviously a limited edition. Perfectly blown out bright blonde hair, which by the way was once golden; as I may add she claimed to wake up with it every morning…apparently the sun changed each strand on that bleached scalp of hers. This was her response as the women of Bloomingdale would see her hair glistening in the light, blinding them. “Just the good ol sunshine,” right? In actuality, if you happened to be outside at 5am-ish…maybe walking your dog, that is, if you have one, you’d see her master bathroom light on as this would definitely have provided more light than the street lamps. The window regrettably doesn’t close properly so you’d be hit with the smell of bleach. By now perhaps you’d be a curious neighbour and like some of us, you’d “people watch.” You’d observe one of our ten maids, whichever poor soul she decided to wake up that night, as she’d be struggling for dear life to get every curl perfect on that round head of Marilyn’s. The bleach? A root touch-up. And if you just wait another 5 minutes longer outside watching the trailers, you’d eventually be presented with the opening scene as her remorseless volume of a voice would scream, “I’ll do it myself, what am I paying you for!” To be honest, even if you weren’t up at 5 a.m. you’d still hear the sound of her 1875 Conair Watt Pro Style Bonnet Ionic Hair Dryer. She once made one of our maids take a plane to New York just to get the last one available. Katherine, who lived across the street from Marilyn, was ever so envious of that little rendezvous. Anyways, this was always the perfect time for me to sneak into my brother’s room and we all then went to ARCADIA. So you see, even the neighbours knew we were…different.

Today was the last day of grade 8. How I wished for just one day to unzip my backpack and reveal a brown paper lunch bag with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Crust cut off, and cut diagonally. Just one day to fit in. “I hope this is it…it must be,” as I’d tell myself in my thoughts. But doubt clouded my head... I reached inside my backpack, and there it was...the same Coco Chanel lunch box. My teacher Miss Davis was clapping her hands as she yelled, “Stop this instant!” All the other kids were putting their wonderful crumpled brown paper lunch bags (that I wanted so badly) over their faces. Poking two holes for the eyes and chanting, “Penelope The Celery”. Over and over…again and again. Immature, I know, but they weren’t wrong. It’s all my Mother Marilyn would pack me. Sorry, I meant to say our maids. The ‘s’ at the end of “maids” should really be capitalised at this point. Back to the vegetables. We have 3 fridges: one for celery, one for sweets, and one for the guests. You can thank Katherine for that idea; personally, I’d slap her.

Back in the classroom, my teacher made her way to my not-so-nice classmates as one by one she took the brown paper bags off their heads. “Detention! Now!” she said. The ripple effect that ‘D word’ caused were waves of their not-so-nice voices. “It’s because she’s a Blackwood,” they’d say while leaving the classroom. Between you and me, I know Miss Davis was only doing that to get brownie points from my Mother, Marilyn Blackwood. God forbid Marilyn ever found out I was being bullied. Miss Davis created her own version of my life in elementary school so she’d finally stop getting weekly phone calls from Mother demanding updates.

Yet I think she always had a soft spot for me, Miss Davis. She definitely had one for my Father, James Blackwood. It was apparent from all the close encounters they’d have. This is how it went: he’d offer three times a week to pick me up from school, and Marilyn thought he was making a good impression as a Blackwood. She’d even go so far as to rub it in Katherine’s and Beth’s face whenever she could, even if it wasn’t the topic of conversation. How profoundly kind a man and how loving a father James Blackwood was, letting our poor driver Hans relax with his own poor family and take time off doing poor things. Except James Blackwood had other motives, as I’d wait in the car while he spent time talking to my teacher. Must have been a long conversation.

Once every year I’d walk a block to Miss Davis’s House (her son is a milkman, by the way). Miss Davis would invite me inside for a warm, gooey fresh-out-of-the-oven oatmeal chocolate chip cookie; oh, and can’t forget that tall glass of cold fresh milk. Once I was satisfied, she’d send me off with four glass canisters of fresh milk to take for Marilyn, to have it paired with the same chocolate cake she’d bake for James’ birthday every year. Marilyn assumed it would balance out of bitter yet sweet dense chocolate. It was definitely not balanced. Oops, I forgot to mention, there was also a “roast chicken”...that’s only if you want to call it that. Sounds so lovely, I know. I’d get hungry too from the sound of it, but in spite of that, these celebratory occasions always ended up the same. She really wanted to believe that by playing a do-it-yourself housewife once a year would make their marriage problems go away. How wrong she was. It was a role that she shouldn’t have taken on. The cake? Always turned out visually fantastic. Who wouldn’t like to see a thick, oh so thick layer of chocolate ganache? But, (I know there’s always a ‘but’) once she cut a slice using her sharpest knife emerged from boiling hot water…well, it would either be extremely underdone, way too eggy, or way too salty. Bitter it always was. Why, Hello again Neighbour, as you may have clued in, things aren’t always as they appear to be. It would take all four canisters of fresh milk to chug down this deception of a cake. The chicken? Let’s just say the chicken and the cake embodied the characteristics of Judas.

Last year for Father’s birthday it was like any other day. I took my usual route to Miss Davis’ house from my house: turn left, make two more lefts, one right, around the park filled with thistle seeds, past the apple tree, and there it would be. Her red picket fence. Red it was; but it needed a new paint job; the previous green colour was peeking through the cracks. Why, Hello again Neighbour, I urge you to always read between the lines. How I was so eager to have a delicious, warm, freshly baked cookie, with a fresh glass of cold milk of course. As I’d skip happily towards this red fence, hearing the birds chirp, the sprinklers rotate, the sound of our local ice cream truck, kids laughing, my Father laughing. Wait, what, my Father…is laughing? Between the red cracked fence pickets I saw Miss Davis. Her curly bright orange hair…feeding my Father, a burger? I watched him take a generous bite, seeing the juice running down his chin…then Miss Davis’ unmanicured fingernails as she wiped off the mess he made. My eyes shifted down as I saw my teacher sitting on my Father’s lap. Surprisingly, I wasn’t mad. I know, I know, technically she tricked me. All the cookies I ate…I thought she wanted me to feel wanted, when in fact it was another Blackwood she wanted. I was the bait and she reeled in a shark. Luckily I wasn’t injured in the process. Well, maybe not physically, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little.

Yet I caught myself smiling. You see, I hadn’t heard my Father laugh like that in some time. He actually looked happy for once; so…could you blame him? He just wanted to have a delicious meal on his-once-a-year-birthday. Not a fraud of a chicken and cake. Sure, he shouldn’t have cheated on Mother; trust me, I played out the scenario in my head. Every time my imagination came up with the same ending. Let’s just say telling Mother about my cheating Father wouldn’t have ended well, regardless of any route I decided to take. So, out of my imagination I went, and back to reality I landed. Could you blame me? What would you have done, Neighbour?

There I was, walking back home empty handed, finding myself entering my ‘home’ (which truly felt like a big bird cage)...and there I saw all our house maids making everything look ‘presentable.’ Yes, everything – even the Dog. Lynol and Lyle are my twin brothers, they are 2 years younger than me. I’m 13, so that makes them 11. The twins came running to me as I’m just grossly infatuated by their blonde combed-over hair; not to mention their ghastly fitted military suits. “Gosh, (I told myself) they must be uncomfortable with all that hair gel.” I now shifted my focus to the house maids as they kept changing the various fine china plates because they weren’t “dessert” plates. Does anyone honestly know the difference between plate sizes? Who even has time for that? Apparently Marilyn does. Uh oh. I could hear Mother call my name. I wished I could change my name at this point. Hey, I wonder if I can do that? Darn, I’m underage…I would need a parent’s signature, and clearly if Mother wouldn’t sign off on the Lighthouse Fair, she definitely wouldn’t sign off to have me banished from the family line. \ Why Hello again Neighbour, would you change your name?

“Penelope, is that you?” she said. The god awful sound of her heels walking across the freshly waxed floors as she comes closer and closer...Mother took one look at me as she was holding the hot-straight-from-the-oven steaming roast chicken laid on a bed of onions, all laid out on the ceramic blue paisley dish that she’d use every year for Father’s Birthday. “Young lady, you better wash up before your Father comes home so he can see you in your best dress. And look what you’re doing to the floors, I just had them waxed! Can some maid please clean this up now? James should be here any minute.” I just stood there thinking about all the minutes Father had already spent with Miss Davis. Marilyn’s eyes locked onto me like a bird of prey as she said, “Do you have a worm in your ear? Lord, what’s so difficult about making a good impression?″ I sort of zoned out at this point and just admired my favourite overalls that I was wearing, which by the way Mother gave me a long time ago, and my muddy worn-in Chuck Taylor All Stars. “Penelope Blackwood, I ought to ground you,” she said. In my head I thought, “Oh how I wish, please do it so I don’t have to keep hearing the sound of your pestering voice.” Why Hello again Neighbour, be careful with what you wish for.

As I’m trying to tune her out with a volcano of anger erupting inside me, I thought again to myself…“Why not give her a taste of her good ol’ good impression medicine.” So I did just that. I looked at her and smiled – the lava was about to pour out. “Are you blind too?” she said. Ouu, the molten lava was beyond scorched at this point; I then began to tell her ever so casually that James already ate at The Davis’s House. In fact; I even threw in there that he was being fed by her; his lap occupied; how full and satiated he appeared to be with the size of that juicy burger. Easy. I know, I know, I could have left out the whole lap thing; but hey, every detail counts. I wanted the medicine to taste bitter. I wanted the fire to slowly stream towards her. She looked at me for what seemed to be 10 hours, as she’s clinging onto the blue paisley dish for dear life. I think the onions got to her eyes, because then…everything that was in her freshly manicured massaged hands, was now scattered all over the now-not-so-freshly waxed floors. Coincidentally, our Vinyl player plays the song “End of the world″ by Skeeter Davis’ ’. Perfect timing eh? Why Hello again Neighbour, I highly recommend you to listen to the songs throughout this story so your imagination can run wild.

“Ms. Blackwood, I’ll get that for you,” as one of the maids said to her. “Get what? You’re practically 100; the only thing you should be getting is a coffin.” I know, I know, Marilyn has a way with her words. Her reputation was very much known so dont worry its nothing new to the house maids. One maid escorted me and my brothers upstairs since a storm was just about to hit; not the house but James. As I was making my way upstairs I glanced over to still see Marilyn, standing over the broken ceramic pieces of the dish that had been scattered like a 1000 word puzzle. The chicken was next to the piano, on the rug, by the front door. (I guess that’s what happens when you’re being led on then left with only a sour taste) While pieces of onion sat comfortably on her heels. A tragedy for her Mary Janes. As the maids are circling around her like a seance ritual attempting to polish her back to her socialite stature, Marilyn reveals a fresh pack of Malbros, as she’s seen pulling a cigarette to her lips, following a flame, leaving the markings of her apple red lipstick smeared on the head of the cigarette.

“Finally, she’s actually not a monster.” as I said this to myself while observing water gathering in her eyes as it glistened like a Tiffany Diamond. There’s always a winning card in Marilyn’s crappy deck. Why Hello again Neighbour, can you imagine if we all said what we thought; oh how a mess we would make. You know what, maybe it was the onion; I take that back; she’s a certified class action monster. Now seen walking towards our fireplace she examined her reflection through the mirrored sculpture which she once loved; that she begged James to buy… at an Auction in NYC; with the sudden choice of action to press her cigarette budd ever so harshly onto the sculpture creating only more turmoil. Now I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have added that tiny detail; you know…the whole lap thing. “I’m going to shower, bring me a bottle of champagne,” as she says this outloud. “Ma’am, we only have 10 bottles of champagne, and Mr. Blackwood said we must have exactly 10 bottles of champagne for tomorrow…” The maid is cut off by Marilyn as she screams “Champagne!” The scene was like watching a Tsunami in slow motion as it gathers momentum becoming higher and higher to the point of no escape; I hope James has a life jacket. I quickly ran upstairs to my room, wishing that Granny Josephine was here during the soon to be monumental life altering seconds.

Why Hello again Neighbour, like every new character in our lives, only time will tell if they are for us, or against us. Marilyn indeed got her bottle of champagne and made her way to the bathroom. She draws herself a bath, and is practically howling along to the song “I’d Rather Go Blind By Elta James”. Literally drinking away her sorrows. Twenty repeated songs later…Mr. Blackwood makes his way through the front door, as he yells, “Children? Honey? I’m home”. The maids quickly came to his attention and told him that me and my siblings were in our rooms. By the way, I have bionic hearing.

Mr. Blackwood shifts his view to the dining table as he begins making his way into the room. Now turning on the light switch…he sees the fine china, party hats, and a chocolate cake perfectly in the centre of the table; this was done with a protractor. The perfect exhibition. James did not notice that the party hands were a new addition to his yearly celebratory birthday dinner. Instead, what he did notice was a nauseating smell, making a disgusted face he says, “what died in this room?″ Well, it was a burnt cake… featuring a ganache of ash. The maids hovered around the fireplace clearly guarding something that was soon noticed by James. James marched over to their direction as the maids dispersed like rats being hunted by its prey. And there it was…the once overpriced-overpressured-to-buy sculpture…now burnt. The value plummeted like a crash in the stock market. Mr. Blackwood, hearing the sound of music, (I too wish it was the musical) and what seems like howling, makes his way upstairs to the commotion. Clearly, it’s Mr. Blackwood who is the storm in this case. As he made his way upstairs skipping every other step he made out a light peeking through the crack of the bathroom door.

He places his ‘manly man’ hands on the door handle as it opens to a monsoon of steam. Now stepping inside Jamessees Marilyn in the mist of the humidity soaking in the tub and engulfing her sorrows away; thanks to the champagne, with her not-so-perfect mascara smudged from her real-people tears. James yells,“are you crazy, do you know how loud you are!” This wasn’t a question by the way; but a statement. He approaches the window to let out the steam, as he then makes his way to the bath drainer putting a stop to her soon to be episode. Why hello again neighbour, like our favourite seasons, in order to reach those seasons...we must walk through our current one. As I’m sure you’re eager for maybe summer, did you ever stop to observe how pretty the snow is? How can something so light, so white, bring joy to children’s faces as they make snow angels? So, I recommend you to live in the now, focus on the growth that surrounds you. You may find enjoyment in that season.

Marilyn, looking at him with an overflow of disgust, says, “I wasn’t done.” “You are now, oh and would you mind explaining to me why you selflessly ruined the sculptor that sits on the fireplace mantel?” as James said while clenching his jaw. Marilyn got up from the porcelain tub whilst James threw her a robe. Marilyn, now wrapping herself in the luxe Tom Ford robe that was once worn during her honeymoon, launched a statement of defence, “oh you want to talk about selfishness? Alright, I can play that game James, and I can win too. Let’s see…where were you, my honey bun?” James, noticing her audacity of an attitude glares at her and spits out with vengeance, “I’ll have you know that I work hard to put a roof under you and the children, the last thing I need is to come home to a nagging ungrateful wife. I don’t owe you any explanation…I came home didn’t I? Marilyn, it’s been a long day, I can’t do this with you now. Out of all days you want to play a game that you know you’ll lose? One call to the Bank and you’ll have zero access to my money.” Marilyn took one look at him as she scoffed and softly said, “oh you came home did you? Did you also come home with an appetite? Or did that burger hit your bottomless pit?” James, laughing as he watches Marilyn rubbing lotion on her hands leans over to her ear and softly says, “ I see what this is…your jealous because Penelope’s teacher hosted burgers for me and the guys and you’re just upset that you can’t cook anything but burnt chicken and that thing you call chocolate cake”. Marilyn, looking at James through the mirror says, “oh the lies you tell yourself sweetie; but I suppose you’re right.” Now turning her head to face James she adds on, “I should practice my cooking, ill ring Miss. Davis and ask for the sleep-with-your-husband package; knowing her value, I’d say it’s free.” James smiles as he slightly runs his hand through her hair as he forms a grip like an Anaconda. Marilyn’s head is being pulled back as he slowly tightens his hold. With his mouth pressed against her cheek he ravenously says, “Watch yourself, I don’t know where you’re going with this, but watch yourself. You’ve already burnt my money, and remember I own this house,” as he steps back releasing his grip whilst bringing her hair to the front, he finishes and with admiration says, ” including you.” Marilyn takes one look at James as she moves her eyes up and down and says,

The only thing you own is the grand award for the worst Husband and Father in the world. Last time I checked, a secured man should be having cake at his own dinner table, seated in his own seat. But clearly your priorities lie somewhere else; or shall I say with someone else.” James forcefully grabs onto her wrist dragging her out of the bathroom as he is greeted with his 3 children; Lyle, who’s standing beside Lynol, who’s standing beside Penelope.

James released his lock on Marilyn’s wrist as he looked at his three children and said, “Come Blackwoods, me and your Mother were just saying how splendid it would be to all share dessert.” The Blackwood children, already half asleep in their pyjamas, rub their eyes and say, “but it’s midnight.” James heads towards the Grandfather Clock at the end of the hall as he changes the time to 3pm. Looking back with a grin on his face,“not anymore,” he says. James directs the children to go down the stairs as they did. He meets Marilyn at the top of the stairs and whispers, “that means you too; Ms.’s Blackwood.” She rolled her eyes as she walked down the stairs as he followed behind her muttering, “time for the big finale.”

As everyone is now collectively facing the Dining Room, James Blackwood firmly says, “take your seats, it’s my birthday and we’re eating cake; after all, that’s what good impressionable families do,” following a wink to Marilyn. The Blackwood children are awkwardly standing like wax figures as James questions, “am I speaking in another language that you three can’t understand?”′ “But Father we’re not hungry,” said The half awake children. James gave them the look as they slowly made their way to their assigned seats. With everyone now seated Mr. Blackwood is seen cutting generous slices as he commands, “plates now.” The Blackwood children all take hold of their fine china dessert plates lifting it above to only see a pie knife balancing the hefty serving of cake as they all individually felt the ugly weight of the cake being dropped by their ever-so-kind Father James. Dearest Reader, I do wonder if those classmates of Penelope’s dare to want to be a Blackwood if they only knew what was lurking behind closed doors.

James looks at his twin boys displaying no movement and places his hand on the table as he leans in and says, “Now, we don’t want to get your Mom upset do we? C’mon, we all adore her chocolate cake.” (he really emphasised the adoration) “But Father…” as Lyle mutters as he is seen struggling to swallow his first bite. His brother Lynol kicks him in the foot and says, “Lyle just do what you’re told.” Marilyn finally forms her first sentence and says, “Listen to your brother Lyle.” James Blackwood gets up moving only 4 steps to the liquor bar as he begins to make himself a Tom Collins. “Penelope, tell me, how was school today? Did you finish the celery?” as Marilyn asks while moving her fine china fork onto her empty plate as it makes the most grim sound. James is mistakenly pouring bitters into his finely decorated glass. (I say bitters because if you know a Tom Collins…well bitters it does not have.) As James is now finished making his remix of a Tom Collins he takes a sip and says, “wow you’re really just trying to starve our children aren’t you Marilyn?…Packing her celery. I didn’t know we had 2 boys and 1 rabbit.” I mean…he wasn’t wrong.

Marilyn, still looking down at her empty cold plate, still moving the fork, as it now caresses the outside of the round plate…Miss. Blackwood says, “oh and James? I think you’ve done a fine job at that yourself. What 10 year old boys wear military outfits?” Across the table from Penelope, Lyle and Lynol direct her to look under the table, she looks under and finds her brothers feeding Dog their portions of cake. Penelope, in shock, inspects James to her right, as he’s just fixated on adding more gin to his 2nd round of Tom Collins. (He actually made it right this time.) She then turns her focus on her left, examines her Mother as it was of no surprise to see her still in her trance-like state fondling with her cutlery. Thus, with her calculations she confirmed, “yep the coast is clear.” (this was obviously in her head.) Penelope now taking hold of her plate with the monstrous serving of cake brings it towards her legs as within seconds the plate felt light as…a feather. She places the plate back on the table as relief was the only oxygen she was now breathing. Penelope and her twin brothers now holding back their laughter decided instantaneously what would be the perfect cherry on top for this admirable evening.

Penelope lip-talks to her brothers, “ARCADIA.” With only her eyes she signalled for them to bring forth their attention under the table. The twins already knew what they would seek even though they didn’t yet find the hiding spot; as they merged from above to below they accurately saw Penelope holding The Wishing Wish, as it was sitting perfectly in her cupped like hand formation. Now above the table, Penelope mouths to Lyle, “it’s your turn.” Lyle giggled following Lynol voicing, “Sir, may we be excused? We finished the cake.” What phenomenal table manners eh? Yet, like a coin that has an opposing side; well, it was also very, very…sad. Marilyn, still immobile in her trance… mutters under her breath, “didnt Father teach you to raise your hand at the dinner table?”

James, observing his childrens empty plates sternly says, “brush your teeth and kiss the Michelin Star Chef goodnight.” (He already finished his 2nd Tom Collins by the way.) The Blackwood children leave the table approaching their Mother as her eyes locked on Lyle’s face observing the chocolate ganache that’s smeared onto his cheek; like a paint brush stroke as she says, “oh honey, did you love it”? Lyle nods in a yes motion as she then takes her perfectly-folded-untouched-unused napkin to wipe the ganache off. “My Lyle always loved sweets. Now, go to bed. You know how you get if you don’t sleep enough.” As the children were walking away from the hurricane-like event, James placed his hand firmly on the table like a storm touching ground, “aren’t you going to wish your Father a happy birthday.” As you can see…this wasn’t a question but an order. “Happy birthday sir,” says Lyle and Lynol. James, with his chin held up high, felt the weight of his egotistic crown, heavier and heavier following, “Happy Birthday Father,” from Penelope. Why Hello again Neighbour, we all have needs and wants, but do you really need what you so badly want? Or can you live without it?

James smiles back while chugging his now 3rd Tom Collins as he finally gives his legs a break from the constant standing as he takes his seat at the head of the table; yes, across from Marilyn. The Blackwood Children make their way upstairs as they all gather in Penelope’s room. Meanwhile, James notices Marilyn making her way around the table picking up the children’s plates. “Leave them,” demanded James. “The maids already headed off to their corridors, they’re sleeping,” said Marilyn. James slams his fists onto the table as he yells, “sit down women.” Marilyn thought to herself, “they’re definitely not sleeping now.” As she sits down with tears running down her face she ponders to herself what ripple effect will the storm cause next. Dearest Readers, like the eye of a storm, there are challenging times ahead; but don’t lose faith, storms always pass.

James begins to put his birthday hat on as he sighs, “how did we get like this Marilyn?” Marilyn, looking at him with an amplified volume of loathing. “My own husband can’t even notice the changes I made to the table,” as she said this whilst directing her eyes to the party hat that James is wearing. James, still not catching on; (oh and let’s not blame the alcohol…we all know that alcohol has nothing to do with it at this point of the story.) James stretched his arms as he replied, “being first lieutenant wasn’t good enough for you, was it? You wanted me to take this position. You wanted all of this…you wanted these plates,” as he then lifts his plate aggressively fast; (like when you grab a swatter) within seconds slamming the plate back down. (like the mosquito you killed so so fast; bravo.) Marilyn’s vacant body leans in as she yells,”clearly it’s not good enough for you, clearly I’m not good enough for you. You wanted me this way, you turned me into this. You wanted the perfect wife beside you; but no.”

Marilyn moves her hand softly behind her ear (I bet she’s so thankful for this) as she pulls out a cigarette; like a magic trick. Placing it now in her mouth she reaches for her cleavage pulling out a lighter. Lights, camera, action. She takes a puff like that first feeling of breathing in the crisp autumn air and with now slight satisfaction says, “so you rather eat a burger on a cheap styrofoam plate with her.” Inhaling another toke she adds, “what would the neighbour’s think if they found out?” James, now standing up, takes off his birthday hat as he is seen fondling it in his hands smiling. He makes his way to Marilyn placing the hat on her now-filled-empty-plate, taking hold of her chin as he whispers, “oh honey, that wouldn’t be a good impression now would it?” He leaned to kiss her cheek as he tasted a tear. (Not that I have to say it but maybe for the people who skip through the lines; she was indeed crying.) “I’m not a savoury person but mmm that’s salty,” as He said with smugness.

Marilyn, now is seen crying her heart out rather than her eyes as James observantly places just the subtle brush of his lips to Marilyn’s ear as he says, “Now why are you crying? Cheer up, buttercup. You did well, staying on your diet. Pity, maybe the cake could have detoxed that little heart of yours. Nonetheless, you’re a Blackwood.” At this point Marilyn is in a preserved-like-trance; she practically turned into an artefact. I wonder if now the storm we all thought Marilyn would create will finally pour down; because James, was definitely, a monsoon.

James is now seen making his way out the living room with an alarming amount of pride as his party hat is now covered with hate; Marilyn’s cigarette ash. He notices this and says laughingly, “enjoy your cake, Miss. Backwood.” (James really felt like he took the cake home eh.) Marilyn drawing blanks…finally awakens from her trance as she’s still holding her cigarette which is now unlight from all the time that passed by. Dearest Reader, like all things with time, our light eventually dimmers.

Breathing in and breathing out, Marilyn tosses her expired cigarette in her wine glass. She closely watches it emerge into the deep crimson liquid, eventually sinking to the bottom. Her eyes then gaze at the wall across from her as she notices a small crease on the wallpaper. She muttered in the air, “oh this won’t do.” Now standing up, and tucking her chair in, she made her way to the imperfect wallpaper; and as if her manicured nails became claws, she took hold of the crease and ripped it out of its flesh. With a loud sigh, our dearest Marilyn felt so much better. Dearest Readers, like the many imperfect circumstances in our life, we put on our many hats as we play these make-believe versions of ourselves so people can see us perfectly perfect with no flaw.

Meanwhile, Penelope and her brothers are seated closely together forming a circle on Penelope’s bed. With their hands out they form a bowl-like formation as the wishing wish is perfectly seated in the centre. Penelope looks at her brothers as she directs, “on a count of 3.” She said “1,” Lyle said “2,” with Lynol as the finisher saying, “3.” The 3 Blackwood children then all-at-the-same-time excitedly say, “ARCADIA.” The wishing wish then floated up above the Blackwood children as they energetically entered and suddenly appeared in ARCADIA. Why Hello again Neighbour, we all make choices; even if we regret them...they are actually perfect little mistakes...as what comes after a mistake? A lesson. For with our lessons...it will always then bring us back to square one.

They were there all night.