My Once Upon A Time

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A/N: This is just a one-shot that I came up with staring out my window. I wished that I had a boy-next-door so came up with a character who had one. Sort of. I like how this one turned out, a little different to my normal ones but I like it any way. I was going to send it in to one of those magazines but, I really don’t know if I should or not. It may not really be what they’re looking for. Any way, R&R and let me know what you think and whether or not I should submit it. Thanks

Luv ya.

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Wandering into the old house that smelled faintly of mothballs, old people and something else, something I could never name, something calming and wonderfully soothing to me, I stood, turning slowly, just as I had done my first time here, examining every little corner of every little thing I could see. I remember my nervousness at meeting the woman I would be staying with for the next month, until I had to go back to school. I was nervous and scared, I had no idea what it would be like, what she would be like. If I had known I probably would have refused to go point-blank. They wouldn’t have been able to pry me from my own house, my home but, then again, if I hadn’t have come here I wouldn’t have learned many hard-taught lessons and I wouldn’t have experienced so many things.

I heard my father trudge in behind me, shaking the snow off his coat and kicking the ice off his boots but I didn’t turn around as I studied the old house. It was exactly how I remembered it, though, admittedly, the paint was peeling and the ceiling was cracked, it was all the same. It suddenly seemed that I had stepped back in time and was a nervous thirteen year old once again.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any, Kel.” My father told me and I turned to look at him. His hair had tinned out and it’s once glossy black had faded into dully-shinning silver. His face was as tanned and sturdy as ever, though there were more wrinkles and worry lines than I ever remembered but his eyes were as clear and all-seeing as ever, dark, swirling brown. If there was anyone the words ‘aging gracefully’ suited and applied most to, it was certainly he. His Italian genes had allowed him to grow old with style, still keeping his air of mischief and charm fresh no matter how old he had become, hopefully they would hold the same effect for me. However, since we had returned from the funeral, he seemed to have taken on a weighted, tired air entirely foreign to what I was used to. I remember when he was younger and completely in love with my mother, he was loud and spontaneous but, now days, it seems as though responsibility and pressure have gotten the best of him. He seems drained, both physically and emotionally. “I’ll start down here and you take some boxes and start packing upstairs. You can start with your old room if you like.” He offered and I smiled distractedly at the mention of my old room. I picked up a few random boxes from the floor and carried them up the well-worn stairs.

One. Two. Three. I counted. I wonder if this step still creeks? I touched it with my foot and smiled once more as it gave off a groan of protest. I kicked off my shoes as I reached the top step, out of habit, and then stepped onto the squishy carpet. Again, it was exactly the same. Everything.

The hallway was still littered with the same pictures, though they seemed to be yellowed and looked fragile with age. Dust motes floated in the air, dancing in the light filtering in through the large bay windows at the end of the hall, it’s light, lacy curtains lying dead still over them, shrouding a clear view of the outside world.

Instinctively, I padded silently down the hall to the furthest door on the right. It was painted a navy dark blue a long time ago and he paint was now chipped and peeling, having seen better days.

I wonder if she had it turned into a sewing room, like she had complained she wanted. Or perhaps a little library. Perhaps. It wasn’t like she would have kept my room for me. I was just a pain, a nuisance. Wasn’t I?

Taking a breath, I steadied myself and pushed the door open. My breath caught in my throat as I looked in on my room. Yes, my room. Everything was there. She had kept everything. Every trinket, every scrap of paper, every pencil, every card or letter I’d ever sent to her in years past. She had really kept it, all of it.

The old, wooden, double-door wardrobe was pushed against the far wall, the bed, still clad in the same flowery covers and blankets was set in the middle of the room with the head-board resting against the back wall, in line with the window where a comfy old window seat was located, my favourite feature. In the corner to the right of the window, a dusty full-length mirror sat and I could just imagine my thirteen year old self examining my appearance; stringy dark brown hair, big dark brown eyes, skinny, tick-like body and lightly browned skin, no beauty at the time but very Italian looking. Now days my hair is thick and silky, dark brown, almost black in colour, my eyes are still the same size, though they fit my face better now and seem to swirl smokily like my father’s and my figure eventually filled itself out with curves in all the right places.

I dropped the boxes just inside the doorway, trying not to disturb too much dust. What a funny old woman! Running a finger over the desk and shelves, it was clear no one but me had used this room, almost eleven years ago. It looked almost dream-like with the light only barely reaching through the curtains covering the window, not to mention the shutters.

First things first. I pulled wide the curtains, pulling the shutters wide, blinking at the sudden sunlight and allowing the fresh air to stream in. I looked out on the window of the house next door. It was wide open so I could see directly inside, as I always had done. I smiled fondly, remembering the boy who used to live there, my own Prince Charming, my Leprechaun.

I sat on my window seat as I remembered. As I dreamed of my once upon a time. I wondered if he still lived there then laughed at myself. He probably moved years ago. There was no chance I’d ever see him again. For some reason this made me sad. I sighed as I listened to the unbearable silence. This was never an empty house, never made to be an empty house. It was always so full of life, so loud. Always.

I remembered the first time I entered this house. The first time I’d seen the half a dozen children running around, yelling and shouting. You see, this house was used as a refuge for children on the street. They came here when they were hungry, cold and tired and it just so happened that the owner of this house was my stern Great Aunt Olivia. My father’s, mother’s sister.

I remember the woman well. She was a definite piece of work. Cold, tough as nails and protective as a dog to their master. She even looked hard. She was short, standing about 5’1” with long, white hair that reached down to her lower back but was often pulled up into a severe bun and snapping grey eyes. Her fingers were riddled with arthritis but she got amazingly mad when offered help of any kind. Despite her size she gave off an air that seemed to make you think she could knock you out cold in two seconds and bury your body where no one would find it, typical of our family, which is probably why she had those street kids so well under control. I did, however learn she had a softer side as my month with her progressed.

My parents had decided to leave me with her during their divorce proceedings, not wanting me caught in the middle. It wasn’t a horribly nasty break-up and I know my parents loved each other at one point and still do, though not in the same all conquering way they once had.

I, however, had wanted nothing to do with this severe woman, her house or the children within it. The first time the woman had snapped at me, which was practically the first minute I’d walked in the door, I’d burst into tears. She had done nothing to comfort me as my parents would have but pushed me awkwardly towards the stairs, telling me where my room was.

I realised, many years later that she was not being cruel to me but, having a hard, demanding life such as hers had not given her the knowledge or understanding of how to deal with a crying girl. She had always seemed to be closed off for her emotions any way, perhaps her way to stop herself from hurting. I know she had lost her husband and her children, a son and a daughter when she was younger and perhaps this may have contributed to her emotional isolation.

When I had reached my room I had thrown myself onto my window seat, ignoring the open window and the outside world, silently crying. Tears rolled ceaselessly down my cheeks.

“Excuse me, miss.” Someone had interrupted and I looked around. I found a boy, surely only a year or so older than me leaning out a window directly opposite mine, resting his chin on his hand. He had messy, fire-red hair that stuck out at all angles and glittering green eyes that seemed to swim with mischief. “Why are ye’ crying?” he asked and I noticed he had a strange accent.

“I’m not.” I said shakily, wiping the back of my hands across my eyes.

“Yes ye’ are.” He told me with a grin and I couldn’t help grinning back, “Now, again, why are ye’ crying?” he asked once more.

“I don’t want to say.” I’d told him, suddenly embarrassed.

“A‘right then,” he said, his grin never wavering, “How’s about ye’ write it.”

“What?”

“Ye’ write about yer’ problems and I’ll write back.” He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer and I noticed how skinny he was, and how tall and lanky he appeared.

“All right.” I nodded, looking for a pen and paper, though I admit, I had like to listen to him talk. His accent, I think, was Irish.

‘My parents are getting divorced and I’ve been forced to live here with some lady I don’t even know!’

I wrote then looked up at him. His merry green eyes watched me intently and I blushed.

“Um… how are we going to get it across to each other?”

“Throw it.” he said matter-of-factly and I blushed lightly again.

“I need a weight or something.” I said with a mock glare and rolled my eyes. He looked around then spotted my ring on my finger. It was a simple gold band on my middle finger that had four plain diamonds with my name engraved on the inside.

“Roll up yer’ paper and use yer’ ring as the weight.” He suggested and I nodded, doing as I was told. He caught it easily as someone called to him.

“Coming Mam.” he yelled then turned to run out of his room.

“Hey, wait,” I yelled as he pocketed my ring and my note, “What about my ring?” he blinked then grinned sheepishly. Pulling a ring off his own finger and threw it at me.

“Keep it ‘til I give ye’ yer’s back.” He said quickly then stumbled out of the room. It was larger than mine, only fitting on my thumb and was crafted to look like a snake with two heads that curled around your finger and met, side by side at the top. It was gold, like mine and, in each head of the snakes sat a gem; one emerald and one diamond.

Well, he did give mine back, with the next note, I’d found it on my window seat, having left my window open but I hadn’t seen the boy since that morning.

‘I’m sorry about your parents. It’s not so bad around here, especially now that you’re here! And the lady you’re living with isn’t so bad, she takes in heaps of kids so she must be descent enough, just give her a chance.

The Amazing Z’

He had even signed the note, it was quite funny. He was the one who convinced me to get to know the woman I was living with and he was a constant source of entertainment. ‘Z’ and I spent the next week passing notes through the windows but, one morning his window was closed and the house, shut up tight. I tried to ask Aunt Olivia but she couldn’t say where they went.

I remember being so upset and heartbroken that he hadn’t even told me he was going. During the week I’d been there I’d opened up more with my Aunt and played with the other children, this was, mostly, thanks to ‘Z’, though I never actually saw him outside of his room.

One morning I remember stumbling out of bed and downstairs for breakfast when Aunt Olivia placed an envelope in front of me. I frowned and she just shrugged. The only people who actually knew where I was were my parents and I doubted they’d have time to write me letters. I looked at the writing and smiled when I realised it was the same as on the notes I’d been passed with ‘Z’.

I opened it up and my ring fell out onto the table, I grinned, now I had both rings; his and mine.

‘Dear Kelly, (I read it on the inside of your ring.)

I know you’re probably angry at me for leaving without telling you but, I swear, I didn’t know. My Mam just told me we were leaving for a holiday yesterday morning and I didn’t have a chance to tell you about it. I understand if you hate me or whatever and, if you do just completely ignore this next part. Okay?

Listen, I know that, by the time you probably get this it’ll almost be the end of the holidays which means you’ll have to leave and I probably won’t get to see you. However, I really like you Kelly and I want to still be friend even though we can’t see each other or talk to each other all the time. I understand completely if you don’t want this and, if you don’t, just stick my ring back in my letterbox (yes, I remembered you still have it!) but, if there is just the slightest chance that you want to still be my friend, I want you to keep my ring. You don’t have to worry about giving me your ring because I know how much you love it. This way, if we ever see each other again, we can know who the other is. It would be so cool, don’t you think! I do.

Any way, if you don’t I understand but I really hope you still want to be my friend. If you don’t I fear my heart may break into a million pieces, never to be mended. I’m not being too dramatic, am I?

I hope you and your Aunt can keep in touch so she can tell me all about you, even if you don’t want me to know. I told you she wasn’t as bad as you first thought, didn’t I? And say hello to the other kids for me, I might even bring back some souvenirs for them. Only if they’re extremely nice to me though.

I’m going to miss you either way. No matter what you decide, Kelly, remember that someone will always be thinking of you. Always and forever.

Love Always

Zane.’

I remember I was pretty close to crying as I read his letter and Aunt Olivia, who’d been watching me, actually came up and hugged me. I was also a little shocked that he’d sounded so final and hopeless. How could I have ever hated him? I also remembered how I had smiled at his name. Zane. I had been wondering what his name could possibly be starting with ‘Z’ but every time I asked him he’d just brush it off. That was also what made me so sad. Telling me his name just seemed to impress the fact everything was so final with our holiday fun.

The very same afternoon I had written a letter in reply and asked Aunt Olivia to give it to him when he and his family returned home. Enclosed was a page and a half letters with tear splashes on them in a couple of places and my ring. I hadn’t ever seen Zane again, not even by chance and Aunt Olivia didn’t talk about him at all.

Like he had said in his letter, I hadn’t seen him again before I left and, when I got home, now living with just my dad and realised I’d left the letter at Aunt Olivia’s in the draw of my desk.

I blinked, suddenly having an idea. I got up and searched through the drawers of the desk, shuffling papers frantically until I found it, a single page of neat, cursive writing; Zane’s letter.

I slumped down in my window seat and began reading it once again. I was surprised to find tears rolling down my cheeks again and I laughed randomly.

“C’mon, c’mon.” a young voice said, as though straining to pull something impatiently, “The window’s open, the curtains are back and ye’ kin see inside.” The young voice had a very familiar accent and my heart skipped a beat but I kept my head down on the letter as I felt eyes on me.

“Excuse me, miss. Why are ye’ crying?” the voice asked and my head snapped up to see a boy of only about eight or nine with fire-red hair and glittering green eyes. I opened my mouth as I stared at him then blinked a couple of times then smiled awkwardly.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, ye’ are.” He said, crossing his arms and I couldn’t help the giggle that built up in my throat. A scrawny body behind the little boy stepped forwards and leaned on the windowsill. He must’ve been thirteen or fourteen and he too looked almost identical to Zane and the little boy though his hair was slightly curlier and he stared at me strangely.

“Yer’ her, ain’t ye’?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” I asked, completely confused and amazed at how much this boy sounded like the Zane I remember.

“Yer’ the girl Zane told us about when we were little. Kelly, right?” he questioned nervously and quirked an eyebrow at me.

“Yeah.” I said quietly, “Yeah, I guess I am. Do you know where he is by any chance?”

“Yeah.” The older boy grinned and I looked at him expectantly while the younger boy whined quietly at him to hurry up and tell.

“Well, are you going to tell me?” I asked, just stopping myself from snapping.

“Um… Nope!” he said smugly and sauntered out of the room. I was torn between screaming in frustration and jumping across the gap separating the two windows and ringing the kids neck. That’s exactly what Zane would’ve done if an adult asked him something! I realised and let out a laugh, shaking my head.

Oh well, I can always go and ask the kid’s parents any way. I thought then started what I was actually here for, packing away Aunt Olivia’s belongings.

I sighed, her funeral had been this morning and it still seemed like yesterday that I came back from this place. There were an amazing number of people there. Family I hadn’t ever heard of and never thought such relations could exist, people who had once stayed at her home, friends from when she was younger. It’s all so surreal. I sighed again and hurried on through my work, pushing emotions and memories to the side.

“All done?” dad asked as I carried one of the last boxes down from upstairs and I nodded.

“Almost. Just a couple more and it’ll be all done.” I told him and squeezed the box into the back of the truck. It really was amazing how much stuff that woman had collected over the years.

“Good, the rest can go in the front with you.” He told me, sliding down the roller-shutter on the back of the truck.

“Kay.” I said and turned to run back inside the house when I literally ran into someone. The impact knocked me down but, as I was about to hit the ground, a strong arm caught me and pulled me upright. I bit my bottom lip and blushed hard as I looked up at the person holding me.

“I’m so sorry…” I started but then, I actually looked up at the person and my voice completely gave out. He was wearing a black Armani suit with dress shoes and a tie, his bright red hair stuck out at all angles and piercing green eyes danced down at me. I must’ve looked like a goldfish because he smiled down at me and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Don’t ye’ worry about it.” he told me with a thick Irish accent and he glanced down at my right hand where a ring in the shape of a two headed snake sat and his eyes widened. My mouth was dry and my eyes were drawn to a gold chain around his neck that was looped through a simple gold band with four plain diamonds encrusted in it.

“Excuse me.” I mumbled and stepped away from the man as the younger of the two boys bowled towards us. I made my escape. I barely stopped myself from running into the house and up the stairs.

I was amazed. It was him. And I? I ran away like an idiot. I couldn’t breathe. I sat against the wall and hugged my knees, concentrating on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I hadn’t really ever expected to see him again. Not even when I was talking to those kids. Not even when they told me his name. In. Out. In. Out.

When I was calm again, I grabbed the last two boxes and walked as normally as I possibly could out of the house. I was struggling to open the truck door when it swung open for me and I found him standing there, grinning down at me.

I continue to say ‘down’ because it’s true. Where I stand at 5’10”, which is extremely tall for an Italian woman, he is surely something like 6’8”. So much for a Leprechaun.

“Thanks.” I said awkwardly and shoved the boxes onto the seat. Now there wasn’t any room for me. I groaned and heard him chuckle, making me blush instantly.

“Kel, Kel?” dad called from the other side of the truck and I had to walk all the way around him to get to my dad. Not that he could move or anything. I smiled.

“Yeah, dad?”

“Mrs McCarthy has offered her son to give you a lift home. Seeing as you couldn’t possibly fit in the truck now, I thought it was a good idea.” He grinned at me and I’m sure my eyes must have been as wide as dinner plates.

“Ah… sure dad.” I said automatically. Dang it.

“Great.” He said cheerily, bowing charmingly to Mrs McCarthy who giggled and waved a hand at him. He kissed me on the cheek and whispered something that sounded like “Have fun and I want your first boy named after me.” I blushed again because I felt my face heat up as he pulled away. So there I stood, on the pavement in front of the house I had barely ever lived in with the boy I had once known who had grown into a man I didn’t know at all. I heard him clear his throat and I turned to see green eyes smiling down at me again.

“Hi.” I said awkwardly, making him grin again.

“Hi.” He replied, his voice much deeper than I had remembered, “Zane McCarthy.” He offered his hand and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I know.” I told him and raised an eyebrow at me, obviously expecting me to return the greeting. Still a freak, I guess. I sighed, rolling my eyes, “Kelly Pintonie” I slipped my small hand into his much larger hand and shook. He grinned then suddenly pulled me closer to him, much closer and my breathing hitched.

“I know.” He whispered, his eyes dancing as his other, unoccupied hand snaked around my waist and he captured my lips with his, sending my head spinning. He pulled back just a little to look me in the eye, “Hi.” He said again and I noticed his cheeks were tinged pink. I just laughed and kissed him again, wrapping my arms around his neck as I felt him smile into the kiss and he lifted me off the ground, spinning me around until I pulled away laughing.

Putting me down on the ground he led me by the hand to what I assumed was his car and he grinned again. I hadn’t realised how much I had missed that grin. How much I had missed him. How much I had wanted to kiss him. How much I love him.

“C’mon, show me where my grown up girl next door lives.” He said as he hugged me before we climbed into the car, “Do ye’ think we ‘kin still throw notes through the windows?” he joked and I leaned over and kissed him once more before he turned onto the road.

“You can if you want, but I don’t think we’ll really need them.” I told him, kissing him on the cheek and settling back down in my seat. I smiled at a sudden thought.

Thanks Aunt Olivia.