The Secret World of Shelly Pace, Julie Steimle [best reads TXT] 📗

The rain trickled off the windowpanes as the air outside drizzled in the Southern California sky. Shelly wished she was inside but her mother had this strange notion that she still had to hang out the clothes, even if it rained. Eight cords stretched across one fence to the other, attached by a makeshift setup that only her father could have devised. Normally, she would have been mortified to hang the laundry, sure one of her friends would come by and peek over the fence. That wouldn’t happen any more. They were in a new house. Shelly had moved all of her life, every two years, it seemed.
She lifted a grey sweatshirt out of the plastic basket and pulled a wooden pin from the cloth bag her mom fashioned of the job. Shelly had made an art form out of doing chores. Painting the walls of the new house was a snap. She had painted rooms for several some odd years. Her room in this house was a light green. She and her sister picked out the color. Her mom said green encourages good grades, that and yellow. The job of laundry was even easier. Shelly had learned how to run the washer when she was eight and had separated the darks from the lights and from the whites. She was the oldest of eight children and responsibility was laid on her shoulders as soon as she could walk, or so it seemed.
Shelly pinched the clothespin open. It squeaked, fighting the pressure of her fingers, and snapped closed on the line, securing the garment tightly.
The rain continued to lightly drip from the sky. This was impossible! Shelly threw her hands up in frustration. There was no way the clothes were going to dry in the rain. Glancing down at the plastic basket again, Shelly could see piles of her father’s socks, briefs and several of her mother’s bras. A child should not have to see these things. She wished she could throw the clothes away. She wished she could just climb up the plumb tree and wait out the storm.
Shelly did not mind the rain. She liked it. It was warm and soothing. The patter dropped in a gentle rhythm upon the grass and reminded her of a story. What story was it? Shelly had so many. Oh, it was a slave girl. Shelly had not quite decided on a name for her but she wore a beautiful blue jumper dress that buttoned down the front and a white tunic. She also had a white apron, delicately embroidered with red flowers. She wore ribbons in her hair, and last of all, she was deaf. She could closer her eyes and just feel the world. It was silent. The soft rain would dampen her face and the cool breeze would rush over her body and through the grassy field owned by a great king. She would live in a shack with a thatched roof and visit the forest often to talk to the trees and to herself. No one would mind because she was deaf. And she would never hear the jeers of the people in the village. And if they ever made any mean gestures or comments all she would have to do is close her eyes.
“Shelly!” called her younger brother Adam, “Mom is looking for you.”
Shelley looked down at her laundry. She had only three shirts left to hang. Time always went so fast when she was dreaming.
“I’m almost finished.”
Adam ran back inside the house to tell his mother.
Shelly quickly pinned up the last shirts on to the line and picked the laundry basked off the wet grass. There. If they did not dry it was not her fault. Shelly walked across the unmowed lawn and stepped down the old concrete steps into the garage. She laid the basket on top of the washer and exited back out the door. It was still raining.
Shelley’s mother stood at the sink, peeling potatoes and inspected her daughter as she came in.
“I see the rain hasn’t stopped,” her mother casually commented.
Shelly walked in through the sliding glass door and dropped lazily into a kitchen chair. “The clothes aren’t going to dry,” she said, tugging at her jeans. They were damp from the weather.
Her mother nodded and smirked, though less out of agreement and more with that knowing look that says ‘I’m a mom. I know what I’m doing.’
“It should dry up. The weather man predicted sunny skies by the afternoon,” she said.
“It already is after noon. It is time for lunch, I’m sure.” Shelly stared up at the ceiling. A reddish stain had been spreading in the right corner fro some time now. It was only a matter of time for the roof to cave in. Shelly wondered at this marvel, thinking, wouldn’t it be exciting if it did cave in. They would be homeless, but just imagine the relief effort. Better still, if there were a flood and they had to sit on the roof and wait for a helicopter. She could act brave and say she was staying with her brothers and sisters (since the helicopter would be small and only have room for two or three people at a time). Then they would take the old canoe from the garage and turn it into a ship and help save all their neighbors from the flooding with trees falling and the school completely buried in water. They could paddle to the…
“Shelly, are you listening to me!?” Mrs. Pace stood impatiently with the potato peeler in one hand and her other hand on her hip. Shelly could feel her face flush.
“Yes Mother,” Shelly looked down at her feet.
Mrs. Pace shook her head. “Where were you this time? Mars? Pluto? I really need you to listen to me, Shelly. None of your brothers and sisters is responsible enough to help me. I really need you to do this for me.”
“Do what?” Shelly asked, hoping to not anger her mother more.
“You weren’t listening.” Her mother sighed, then started again. “I need you to go to the High School for me. You know Marcell has been sick, and Mr. Brenner has assignments…and if you hadn’t been dreaming yesterday and forgotten them I wouldn’t be asking for you to get them now.”
Shelly stared up in protest. “But its Saturday!”
Mrs. Pace rinsed off the peeler and laid a potato on the counter top with the others. “Mr. Brenner was nice enough to call and have his office open today. I certainly won’t have you going for them on Sunday, and Marcell will be back to class on Monday.”
Shelly sulked for a brief moment and rolled her eyes. “Ok. I’ll go.”
“Bring a plastic bag. I don’t want those papers ruined by the rain.”
Shelly nodded and stood up to go to her room.
New houses, new neighborhoods, and Marcell had to be the same everywhere. Little miss delicate nature never did any of the big chores. Only when it was sunny did she hang out the laundry. She could probably catch a cold and die. Shelly did not bother changing her clothes. It did not matter if she was going to be soaked anyway. She grabbed her nylon jacket and pulled it on as she stepped out the front door into the rain.
It did not take long for the sky to clear up, Shelly noted to herself, when you expect it to be wet. It took less than two minutes for the clouds to part and the sky to brighten. There actually was a crisp blue sky beyond those clouds, and for one lucky moment Shelly got to see it. The roads were damp and hers collected puddle in old potholes that were connected by cracks and fissures in the asphalt. She stepped over each hole and jumped with bounds. It was a wonder she was in High School at all, or at least, that was what her father said. She never exactly grew up. Girls her age were reading romance novels and dating. Shelly shuddered. Ug. If she was ever caught reading one of those books she promised herself she would commit suicide.
Shelly jumped over another pot hole only to land in another. The oily water splashed her socks and canvass tennis shoes, soaking them through. This fascinated her for a moment as she wondered to herself about how she used to walk with her head upside down, just to see the world in a different way. Kids have more fun, she decided. No pressure to date. No pressure to work. No pressure to drive cars. No one making fun of them for playing with dolls. Kids are supposed to do that. Shelly kicked a rock that lay on the road and watched it ricochet off the curb and settle in a larger pothole near the gutter. Yeah, kids were lucky.
Shelly walked along the road, watching her feet and her untied shoe laces snap as she stepped. She could hear a strange hum behind her and wondered, was it a motorcycle? An airplane, landing in the street because it had engine trouble? Wouldn’t it be exciting, she thought, if an airplane crash-landed on their street? A spy plane, even better. Shelly could just see the stealth jet, painted black with strange symbols written on it, maybe Arabic or Russian, broken in pieces on the black asphalt. Several parts would be flaming, others would explode on contact. It roared down in great velocities, humming with such devilish intent. How ironic it should crash in a quiet American suburb. Shelly could hear the engine roaring and speeding at such great velocities….
A terrible screeching honk of a car’s horn blared into Shelly’s ears. Screaming, she jumped quickly off the road as a yellow driver’s ed car screeched past.
“Get off the road! Idiot!” the driver shouted.
Shelly could hear the laughing and catcalls of the other young boys in the car, yelling “Ten points!” and “Hey you missed her!” and other such obnoxious banter. Shelly gripped her chest tightly. Those morons, didn’t they know there was no sidewalk? She watched the car speed off, wildly turning the corner onto Center Street. Shelly prayed that she wouldn’t have to see them again. She continued down the street.
The large brick complex stood across a busy street that was lined with old eucalyptus trees. They hung somberly against the darkening blue sky, like they were stricken, as if they stood there for too long. Round seeds from the trees lay on the sidewalk and crunched beneath Shelly’s feet as she approached the main office building. Mr. Brenner would be in the faculty lounge, or the papers would be in the main office, Shelly could only guess. She approached the parking lot and looked around carefully. A driver’s ed. car was parked at the curb, and a stout looking man dressed in a brown coat and light blue tie stepped out. Mr. Brenner had no taste in clothes.
“Hello, Shelly. You’re here for Marcell’s homework aren’t you?”
Shelly nodded quietly. Mr. Brenner smelled of cigarettes. Shelly could see five teenaged boys waiting in the car. It just had to be them. She held her head high, trying to ignore the staring looks and obvious whispers. Shelly tried to wait patiently as the teacher opened the trunk and pulled out an imitation leather briefcase, cheap and peeling from time and wear. Mr. Brenner fumbled through the papers for what seemed an hour.
Shelly could hear kissing noises coming from the car as well as muffled laughter. She could also hear calls to “shut up” coming from one of the boys. Were they