This story is very much in progress, so if you wish the comment on the grammer and spelling and sentances that simply don't make sense, feel free to.
Introduction
This story is an adaptation of a dream that I had one night. As in most stories, I could say that I have changed the names of those who are in my book in order to make everyone happy, but they will most likely know who they are, and everyone else probably will also, so there isn’t much use in saying it, even though I have changed the names. I am not very good at grammar, or punctuation, or really of getting across to the reader much of what I am trying to say, however, I do write. If you enjoy writing you probably know how impossible it is for others to really know what you are talking about. If you read this book you probably will not know what it is really about, but I hope that you will enjoy my book even more because you don’t. If you knew, you might not enjoy it. Now that I have told you all that, I might as well introduce myself. My name is Amelia, and this is how my day always seems to end up, with things bursting out of my mouth that shouldn’t have, and hiding things deep down in my throat that should have been screamed at the top of my lungs. The day that I am writing about started out seeming to be awkward enough, but it ended up to be far more than that.
A couple of my friends and I were on an adventure. In reality it was no special trip, just visiting the staircase mansion to rendezvous with another one of our friends, Erica. You must understand that this mansion is no ordinary mansion; it was once a “historical project”, whatever that may mean. The builders were experimenting with some form of contrasting elaborate architecture and… well, the not so elaborate, or at least something like that. The building ended up looking like a very fancy, expensive college building. If you have ever been to Liberty University in Virginia, it looked somewhat like that, on the outside that is. Once you had walked up the many steps and through the gigantic columns, which looked like someone had hired a roman architect to construct, and you had stepped through the large glass doors with handles made of some silver kind of metal, you would see that the room inside was mostly open. The only obtrusions that interrupted the smooth tiled floor were two sets of stairs, one on the far right, and the other to the far left. These were not nice stairs mind you, they were stairs like one might see on a ladder that lead up to an attic that had not been used in years, and that the termites had started to eat away at. I must admit to you that the rest of the room looked very nice, with only a few, nicer looking obtrusions. A glass chandelier hung from the unusually high ceiling, and a small fountain resided underneath it. The fountain was not of the kind where a naked angel is spitting water out of it’s mouth, but the kind where a pipe throws the water up into the air, and it lands in a small pond that is made of cement, or the like material (this particular one being lined with the same tile that lines the floor). There were three rooms downstairs, the large room which you walk into, and a very small room on each side right before you would reach the stairs, these rooms would be the bathrooms, one for the men, and one for the ladies. The most peculiar part of the building was not the largeness of the room, or the columns outside, or even the seemingly out of place stairs, but the most peculiar resided at the top of that staircase. This was what everyone was so excited about when they came here, and that was what we were heading for now. One of the girls, the youngest (though not by much) wrapped her small, yet slender fingers around the curving metal handles of the glass doors and slowly pulled them aside for the rest of us to pass through. Though most of us had been in the Staircase Mansion several times before, we still stopped, and stared at how intricate made things were. There were only a few people down stairs. A young man and woman were sitting on the edge of the fountain, obviously in their own little world, totally oblivious to everyone and everything around them. Several older couples were roaming about the room, stopping every couple of steps in order to stare at something different. All of us were about to burst with excitement, trying to contain ourselves in this more… majestic… no, grown up place is a better way to describe it, because something can be majestic, and not grown up. Not very many people were allowed upstairs, even though there was no real law about it, or maybe there was a law. The building had a law of its own. You would know if you were allowed upstairs or not, just by looking at those old and dusty wooden stairs. For lack of a better way to say it, legend had it that a few summers back someone climbed the stairs to the second floor that wasn’t supposed to be there, and when he got to the fourth step, it broke in half. The boy fell and broke his ankle, and he still doesn’t walk quite right. Becca was especially excited, because all of us except for her had at least been on the second floor once or twice, but this was going to be Becca’s first time up there. We crept along those elaborate white walls trying to be respectful of the others who were there, and knowing that this was nothing like what waited for us upstairs. We tiptoed up the stairs, being as quiet as we could (you have to respect a place like the Staircase Mansion, for its character if nothing else) each person was extra careful to hop over step number four, the broken one, which had never been fixed. I was the first to the top, the first to gaze at that wondrous beauty, which would be more accurately described as that wondrous mess. You must understand that the top floor of the mansion looks like it came straight out of a western. Everything is made out of wood, and it even has an authentic smell to it. Upstairs is where all of the shops are. Well I guess I shouldn’t say all, that makes it sound to big, there are really only two shops that are operational, the rest of the shops are just “historical”. The shops are all on one side of the room, with a hallway that runs in front of them. If there were windows in the rooms, the shops would be on the side that faces out onto the lawn. We passed by the first shop, a tattoo shop. The room would have just been barely big enough for the four of us and the owner to fit in there all at once, I couldn’t even imagine how he got enough business to stay open, especially being upstairs. As I looked (and I must say that I laughed a little too) at that room. Sarah led the way as everyone passed me to move onto the next room, our destination. Erica, the other person that was in our little group was waiting for us to come pick her up from this shop. She was talking to the owner about something, who knows what, but none of us really cared at the moment. None of us went into the shop, we couldn’t, there wouldn’t have been enough room to fit three people in there. This shop-well I suppose it doesn’t even deserve to be called that-was about the size of a closet, a very small one. Erica and the owner, John, barely fit in the room along with the desk that he performed his work at. No, Erica was not getting a tattoo, her mom would never of let her do that, but she was there none the less. None of us knew exactly why she was there, something about talking to the owner about something or other, this is what she had told us: We had been planning on hanging out today, and her mom told her that she had to run an errand first. When her mom told her that she was supposed to go talk to John at the Staircase Mansion, she was, needless to say, rather surprised, but Erica wanted us to just pick her up from there a little later than we had planned to get together, so that’s what we were here to do. Sarah called out a cheerful hello, but when I saw Erica, I couldn’t say anything. Something was different. Those green eyes told a tale that her voice didn’t. It was a tale of news, something she had never heard before. She didn’t seam to know if it was good or bad, and her eyes weren’t telling the truth, or at least it seemed that way. Her eyes were sad, like when you hear news of an old friend, news that makes you sit down for a while, and just think of memories for an entire day, but the memories make you sad instead of happy because you know that there are many times that you can’t remember. She wasn’t just sad though, there was an excitement, but no joy in her eyes, I couldn’t understand it, but I knew that she couldn’t be happy, her eyes seemed full of happiness in a way, but that couldn’t be the truth, because I did not believe that she could be sad and happy at the same time (though I would later discover that I had been wrong in making that assumption). It just didn’t make any sense to me. I let everyone else walk on, past the bar, past the bathroom, and as they were walking down the stairs(as you should remember there were stairs on both sides of the entrance) I looked up at John, immediately he knew my question. “You don’t have to say anything” he declared, like he could read my thoughts through the translation of my eyes “Erica is sad and happy, even though you don’t understand how that can be possible, it can, but I can’t tell you what we had to talk about. That is her decision to tell you or not.” I knew that would be the answer before I even said… or didn’t say my question.
I caught up with the girls at the bottom level, not paying much attention to anything that they were saying. It was just a buzz of talk going on around me without anything that was seemingly to important to be heard. Erica’s sister, Amber, had joined them, as well as her mother, they were getting ready for something, I could tell by the looks on their faces, but I could not hear their words in order to know what event was going to happen, and I didn’t care much either. I was perplexed by the look in Erica’s eyes. I didn’t understand what it could be. I wanted to hear from her, not the others who would tell me the facts, with no heart. I was suddenly ripped out of my own little world when I heard her mom say “Erica sure has been in there a long time,” That was my cue. I could go in the bathroom where she was and ask her myself without everyone else butting in. She was my friend after all, didn’t I deserve her telling me without any interruptions? As I opened the door, I was taken back, but walked in anyway. It was no elaborate bathroom like I had expected, but it was like a restroom that you might find at a rest stop halfway between nowhere and somewhere. The sink was a little off center, and tilted just the slightest bit, with the mirror above it in desperate need of some cleaning. One of the two stalls was lacking a door, and the floor could use a mop, not to mention the pieces of toilet paper that were scattered around. Among all the mess Erica was not there. I came out and very matter of factly told her mom that she was not there. I got a few curious looks from Sarah, probably because I looked very preoccupied, but other than that no one seemed really to notice that I was there at all. For all they knew I was simply a shadow of something crossing the floor. As I wandered around trying to figure out where she might have gone to, I noticed Erin coming down the stairs (a sight needing explanation because I had not seen her go up the stairs even though they had been in my sight the whole time, but I had not been paying much attention anyway, so it is quite possible that I simply didn’t notice) Erin was the last person that I expected to see coming down those stairs, and nonetheless with her parents following close behind her. I ran up to her knowing she would have an explanation, but my warm embrace was greeted only with a cold one, Erin did not know what was going on, and was just as puzzled about all of this as I was. Things like this had happened before, and I wasn’t going to let the blame fall on me for this one. I ran back down the steps I had just climbed to seek comfort, and I burst through the glass doors as I yelled, or cried, (to this day I still do not know which) “I will not be held responsible for this!” As I stumbled down the stairs outside it was as though I were in a dream where I was continually engulf by a bank of fog that would not let me escape. I couldn’t think of anything but that I would not let myself be held responsible for another one of her games. I could feel the hundreds of eyes looking at me as I ran, but I dared not look up, or to the side, only down, so that no one could see my face as tears of anger slowly started to fill the corners of my eyes. I ran as fast as I could, even when my side started to throb I dared not stop, I continued to run until I could run no more. Exhausted I fell to the grass and thought (now when I say thought I don’t mean look at something logically, I mean that I replayed over and over the events of that day until I knew each scene by heart.) My expression changed, and my exhaustion left as suddenly irrational panic took over me. I had missed one detail: I did not know where she was. I stood up, frantically looking for Erica. For all I knew, she could have been dead! I ran back, calling to those hundreds of smiling faces for help, but none moved. They didn’t care if she was gone forever, they cared only about what they were doing. Those smiling faces ignored me as I past them by screaming like someone who the world would call mad. No one cared. No one ever cared about her, or anyone. The world was cold to anyone who was not, they carried on with their all important lives. I couldn’t believe it, I wouldn’t, but she must be dead for no one to care about her. It was only then that I noticed a group of familiar faces, ones who did not wear the blank stare of someone who did not care whether I lived or died. I cried out to them all, “Where is she! Where is she!” Unlike before when the faces didn’t seem to care, these faces were glad to hear my cries, because they knew that she had been found. “Getting ready!” they called back to me in unison, but getting ready for what I still did not know. In desperation I called out, no, it was not a call, it was only a scream of despair, I had to know what had happened, but I had been left out, like a little girl who had wandered to far away from home, and could take no comfort except for that the snow around her may spare her suffering by letting her die before starvation. My cry must have helped me somehow because I started to run. I ran back to the Staircase Mansion, and then I stopped when I was near enough to see inside, through those brilliant glass doors.
Yellow, everywhere, pouring out of the building, canary yellow. Dresses, everyone, canary yellow dresses. No red. No blue. No violet. No pants. No shirts. Everywhere, everyone, canary yellow dresses. There she is, walking slowly down the outside steps with Joan, just another tag along, walking at her side. I was too far away to see her eyes, and for once I did not know what I would have seen if I were to look into her eyes. All I could see was that canary yellow dress. A sense of drifting began to fall over me, the realization that I did not know this person became stronger, until I thought that if I could not find Erica amongst this mass of human flesh that I myself would melt away, and that no one, not even myself would know where I had gone. I did not want to know this person, but the person who used to be. Suddenly aware of everyone around me, I ducked behind one of the lonely columns that stood scattered across the lawn. Glorious music started to play, a music that was not glorious to me. The music was loud, happy, and full of joy, but it held no joy for me. To me this music only made my sense of fear and dread all the more powerful. I could not believe my eyes as someone stood, and then proceeded to bow before her, with a swift and sweet motion like Erica was someone to whom they had bowed their entire lives, like the most natural thing in the world to them is this, and anything else would be disrespectful. Confusion was added to the list of fear, and dread, why was this person treating her in this way, what was happening right before my eyes? As she drew closer the sense of dread and foreboding grew all the worse. Everyone was bowing like she was some form of ruler, like she was better than anyone else in this place that for now should serve as her court. I could not bow. I would have done anything else for her, anything that she had asked in love, but this was another person, she was not the one who I had spent so many days laughing and crying with, she was different somehow. I could see it in her eyes as she got closer to me. I did not know this person. As those who were near to me started to kneel, and to bow. I could not stand it, the pressure I felt in my heart was to intense. I could not do this, and I could not handle watching any longer. As Erica came into view on the other side of the pillar, in confusion and desperation I cried out to her, “I shall not bow to any man, but only to God!” with those words I ran. As tears streamed down my face for someone who was lost in all but my memory, whose life had turned into a shadow stretching long as the sun began to set in it’s brilliant colors, I did not know her. I ran through what seemed like an obstacle course of faces turned to the ground in honor of this person, this unknown. Fear made me run, not any sense of courage or greatness, only fear. I only knew fear, fear of everything, and nothing else. After running for a short time, I realized that my legs were taking me back to the Staircase Mansion, I had to know what had made her eyes so sad, why her beautiful green eyes had turned to the shade of gray that the sky makes when it’s rain falls down and mingles with the tears that come only when someone’s soul is crying out in agony. As I raced up the steps I turned my head and for the slightest instant I saw her, in that canary yellow dress that any other person would have regarded as the most beautiful thing that they had ever seen. I did not see something beautiful, but I saw a dress that made her seem so arrogant and prideful, changed from the loving person that she had been. In return for the dress she had given up her love, let everything fade away, and with her love her beauty was fading also. Erica’s hair was no longer golden, but it paled in comparison to that canary yellow dress. Her sparkling green eyes no longer sung the songs of someone who has soared up in the sky and flown around the sun. Instead they were a silent haunting grey, a grey that would never speak. I continued up the steps, brushing one of the columns as I passed it. The sound of the cloth wisping across it sounded to me like a thousand nails being dragged across a chalkboard. I threw my hands for the door, and pulled with all my might, but they refused to be moved. I pulled again, harder this time than before, and the doors moved enough for me to squeeze through before they dragged shut. I stumbled forward, not able to look up because my head was so heavy, and my strength so little. My foot hit the corner of a tile that when it had been lain was cracked the tiniest bit, but after years of people walking over it, gently wearing it away, it had given in and let itself break. As I fell, I could only think of the canary yellow dress and the grey eyes.
It’s been many a time that things like this have happened. People who I love have seemed to be complete strangers. Many times I have stumbled up stairs, in complete daylight, but not seeing because of the tears that were streaming down my face. Many times I have tried to open those doors unsuccessfully. Many times I managed to pry them open. Why I chose this story I do not know, why I did not tell the story of turning faces or of waiting feet, but why I tell the story of the canary yellow dress, I do not know the answer to this question. Maybe it’s because I thought it would be easier to understand, or maybe it is harder. I do not know. Perhaps I tell the story because of the ending, maybe that is it, perhaps. The ending is not as you may think it to be. So if you are tiring of my scratching my pen on this paper, you could just make up your own ending to tell, but if not I will tell you the end anyway. As I have already told you, as I fell I could only think of the canary yellow dress and the gray eyes.
The Second Introduction
It has been many years since I last lifted my pen to scratch at the paper as I used to call it. Time has past and though I would like to say I remember everything that happened that day I do not. Memories come and go in fleeting images that play with my perception of time. I am old, and this cannot be helped, but I am sure that you have waited patiently for the finishing of this tale, so I shall not keep you from it any longer.
Those eyes. The brilliance of green that had so quietly and without complaint paled to a dieing grey. Once I thought my life could be explained simply by looking in those eyes, but now their luster was gone, no longer alive. How could she have given them away, and to no one? To give them up is far more accurate. The beauty that radiated from her was gone. The canary yellow dress stole all of that away. I did not understand why, so I lay there on the smooth, cold, yet somehow comforting tile that lined the floors and the fountain of the Staircase Mansion. For hours it seemed I was there, though it could not have been long. Empty, the hall was completely empty. The young man and the woman who had been sitting by the fountain were no longer there. No doubt they were also following Erica. No longer did people wander the floor stopping to look at this and that, and talking in hushed voices of how beautiful the place was, and how much this and that must have cost. The stifled excitement that had permeated the room before was now gone. I was completely alone in this place. The Staircase Mansion no longer held any special amazement. I slowly traced my fingers around the intricately laid tiles. Slow moving curves of blue and orange dancing upon the white backgrounds, each one different. Whoever had made these tiles must have been a very good person, for they were good tiles, comforting ones. I could have lain there the rest of my life if it had not been for the pain that came when I heard footsteps outside those large doors. I could not have born seeing any human being at that time, I would have just disappeared I think, vanished, and been no longer. So I got up as quickly as I could, being careful of the one tile that had been cracked when it was lain, and had caused me to fall, for it had suffered enough in its life, being walked on constantly and all and it didn’t need to do so more on my account. Moving swiftly to the stairs, I made sure to hop over the fourth step and arrived at the top. The tattoo room was empty, just as everything else seemed to be, so I sat down at one of the two chairs in the room. Whoever was at he door wouldn’t come up here, at least not now; they wouldn’t have a reason to. I listened and waited. Tired, tired of waiting, tired of not understanding what it was that had happened, tired of sitting in the tattoo room that was upstairs in the Staircase Mansion, and so tired that I did not notice when someone sat down in the only other chair in the tattoo room. Slowly I came to realize that someone else was there. I didn’t much care of who it was as long as they did not speak and I was not asked to speak either. There was a comfort in the fact that it was not Erica for there was no canary yellow dress lighting the room. We sat in silence until finally the other person whispered, “it’s ok”. The whisper was of the kind that is so soft and quiet that if you have not been looking at the person who said it you would think you know the voice, but no matter how long you though about it you could not pin it down to any particular person. It didn’t matter much to me who it was but that I was so tired and that now I did want to talk since there was someone who was there to listen. I started out slowly and quietly pausing a long time in between sentences, I told of everything that had happened that day, of why my friends and I had come to the Staircase Mansion in the first place, about Erica being both sad and happy at the same time and how she hadn’t been in the bathroom and I couldn’t find her, and about the canary yellow dress and the people bowing and how she was a stranger and about her eyes. I spoke about her eyes for such a very long time. I talked about the stories behind Erica’s eyes, the times that we had spent together, the memories that now seemed to be of an entirely different person or at least of someone so changed that they could never be the same person again, of the grey, the sadness that filled me when I saw those eyes of grey, like someone was now gone off the face of the earth and never to come back. And I spoke more quietly when I talked of her eyes than of anything for they were a very important thing and were something that should be talked of quietly, not loudly so that just anyone could hear. When I was done speaking of her eyes there was nothing more to say and so nothing was said.
Though there are no windows at the top of the Staircase Mansion, the light does reach there, but now it could be seen that the light did not reach quite as far and the sun would be setting. It didn’t matter much to me if I sat there after the sun was set for there really is not a difference between the two if one has had a day like that one that I experienced. My friend who had been listening stood from the chair and respectfully left the tattoo room because my friend knew what I had seen that day. Once again I was alone, awaiting nothing. Many a day I have sat in that chair in the tattoo room on the second floor of the Staircase Mansion as the sun was setting outside and wondered who it was that came and sat by me, but I don’t think I shall ever know. It is not of much consequence anyway, but it does tease the brain. No matter who it was they were there and that is all that really matters.
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