Lilac Lane-Chapter One-Serial Anecdote

June 16^th, 2012.

     Today I went to the orchard again. It’s the only real place I can go to think. Peaceful and serene, I feel free there, but then I always have. I felt the cool breeze kissing my face and the song of Robins touched my ears as they communicated through the branches, there can’t be a more beautiful sound. The lilacs are in bloom now, full and fragrant. It feels like only a few weeks ago that I spotted the first Crocus heads poking through the earth, when in reality the calendar says it was almost two months ago.

     

     I sat in my tree, for at least an hour, just mesmerized by sounds and scents, until I saw white haired Lemuel Sherman again. He was examining the blossoms on the Magnolias, I think he misses the place. The only reason he can possibly still come now and then is because it reminds him of her. They used to come all the time for picnics, laughing, smiling, and talking, to me even. (Which I think is almost dreadful. If I had to talk to myself, I’d want out of that conversation fast!) But people seem to enjoy my company…most of the time!

     

     Since Corinne died though, Lemuel doesn’t say much, other than the occasional “Hi.” I understand because even I miss Corinne. I think they were married for almost 50 years, before she got sick last fall. When she found out about the bone cancer, the entire town went into grieving for her, and not just because we thought we wouldn't be getting her raspberry squares anymore-although Blake said that was the source of the melancholy-because we did get them. I think that's part of the reason why everybody loved Corinne Sherman. I think that’s why I loved her. Even when she was on death’s doorstep she was present for every fundraiser, every meeting, even helping out at the food bank when she wasn’t held up by the doctors. When she did die though, everyone cried. My face was tear stained for days, but Margaret left me to myself thankfully. Now I just try not to think about it.

     

     The Orchard isn’t really an orchard anymore. Everyone in town used to come to pick, but I guess it got old and twenty years ago it was left to rot. Since the stench of rotting fruit was so foul, the mayor had most of the trees removed and planted flowers instead: wisteria, lilacs, dogwoods and smoke trees. Luckily, he left a few fruit trees like the plums, pears and crabapples which I’m thankful for, because in the summer they make great snacks. My tree is an old Autumn Cherry. Its highest branches reach about twenty feet. It’s not very big, but is easy to climb, if you know how, and right now the blossoms provide pretty good concealment, which is exactly what I need. The lilac trees kind of spread out through the place and continue all the way to my house in a long narrow strip, resulting in beautiful burst of periwinkle. I called it Lilac Lane.

     

     Last Monday marked three years of me being here, which is hard to believe, since it feels like I came only a few months ago. I remember when I first met Margaret and Dale Catawin and their three sons, Felix, Blake and Liam. True, I was scared, but I should have been. I’d been tossed around from foster home to foster home for eleven years before I found them…or should I say, they found me. The last thing I needed was to be intimidated by three boys, all over six feet tall. I was sitting on my bed in the spare room, that first day, when Liam came in. He sat on the across from me for a while, wordless.

    

      “So, you’re and orphan?” Was the first thing he ever said to me and it took everything inside me not to break down. Every other home I’d been in, the kids would find a way to tease me about this and they were successful too, since most of my nights ended in tears. Preparing to defend myself, I nodded at him. He looked sad for a minute, and then said softly, “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” I just stared. “But, I want you to know, as long as you’re here, we’ll be your family…that is, if you want us to.” Whether it was because I was surprised or overwhelmed, in shock or just so crammed full of anger, for whatever reason, before I knew what was happening, tears started streaming down my cheeks. His face hardened. “Well don’t cry! We’re not that bad!” I laughed for a while before I worked up enough sanity to say,

     

     “Thank you.” It was then I decided to trust him and since I did, we’ve been close. Very close.

     

     I was dropped off at the foster home when I was a baby. I used to think I was like Orphan Annie or Oliver Twist, but after I got older, that fantasy evaporated fast. Every character I read about was left with a clue to their identity. A locket, a letter, I read one book about a boy that was left with a spoon with his name engraved in the handle. I was left with nothing. Well, I shouldn’t say that. Faye Weaver, my social worker, has a bunch of information on record, but I don’t want any of it, except my last name: Simone. (One of the other women that Faye worked with at the time named me Aster, which sounds ok I guess…Aster Simone. I think it means star or something) I don’t need any of it though. There’s no reason to find my family. I don’t want to meet the people who gave me up for some unknown reason, because I don’t care who you are, in my mind there’s no excuse for giving up your child.

     

     The Catawin’s have wanted to adopt me from day one. But for whatever reason, I’m assuming it’s the house size, or the income or something, the board won’t allow it. I don’t care though. Whatever the social workers say, I still think of myself as part of the family. I have since Liam said what he did to me, but I won’t take their last name. Or, no. I shouldn’t say that. I’d take their last name instantly. It’s that I can’t, another stupid problem concerning the board. Until they allow the Catawin’s to adopt me though, we’re all happy living together, and I don’t want to go anywhere.

    

      I also almost broke my neck today. I was so absorbed in thought, in that tree, thinking about my life, what my future could possibly hold, until his voice made me jump and almost fall fifteen feet to the ground.

     “I thought I’d find you here!” It was Liam.

     “It appears you did,” I said when I finally calmed down.

     “I guess so,” he thought for a second. “What are you doing up there anyway? Building a nest?”

     “Of a sort.”
 He was smiling. “Well, you’d do better down here. You’re not a bird you know.” 
I opened my mouth in astonishment. “I’m not? All these years I thought I was!” I giggled. “I guess that answers why I could never fly.”

     “That’d make sense.” He laughed. “So, are you coming down or what?”

     “No. I think I’ll stay up here. It’s really nice…There’s no one to bug you.”

     “I see.” He said, pretending to be insulted. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to eat your dinner for you.” 
I put my hand to my grumbling stomach. “On second thought, I think I’ll come!” Grabbing the limb across from me and letting go, I hit the ground with a thud.

     “Ouch.” Liam flinched.

     “Ouch yourself!” I laughed. We walked back to the house together, his arm around my shoulders, my hands gripping the pink jacket I brought with me. Liam’s four years older than me, but I’ve feel like we’re the same age, it’s probably because he doesn’t try to act older than I am. Which is funny because he’s almost eighteen. When we finally got back to the house, the rest of the family was sitting at the table.

     “You’re late.” Felix said.

     “No.” I responded, pulling out a chair. “We’re on time, the rest of you were just early.” Dale laughed.

     “That’s one way to think about it.” Dinner tonight was delicious, I love Margaret’s cooking. Roast chicken and scalloped potatoes with green peas and cranberries. I’ll never go hungry as long as she’s around.

     

     During dinner there was a knock at the door and Blake got up to get it. We could hear a lot of talking in hushed tones until finally Margaret went to see the visitor for herself. The dining room was suddenly quiet. I looked at Felix and he must have picked up on my anxiety because after he finished swallowing he said,

     “It’s probably just someone trying to sell something.” A few minutes later Blake came back in the room. Silent and avoiding eye contact.

    

      “Who was it?” Dale asked finally, looking deep into his son’s eyes. But before Blake could speak, his question was answered. In walked Margaret, followed by none other than Faye Weaver, my social worker, who looked around at us for a while, smiling nervously. “Faye, what brings you here?” Dale asked happily. Something was wrong, this I knew. Anyone could read off of Margaret’s unusual silence, and Blake’s  serious expression. Suddenly I was uneasy and fear crept up my legs. Why was she here? What could she possibly want?  

     “Well,” Faye began. “There’s been a change of plans. Aster can’t stay here anymore.”