2.9: Maybe's All She's Got

IMPORTANT: I  forgot to take pictures before Gabrielle aged up, so there's not a lot of pictures, but I also wanted you guys to use some imagination for the last bit. Sometimes, that can be more dramatic then all the quickly edited photos in the world. =) Also, this chapter is a little sad....I practically cried when making it up and writing it all down....that's why it took me a little longer to publish a chapter. Please just don't skim because there aren't a ton of pictures.

Thanks, you guys are fabulous!  *Squishy hugs* ;)

P.S. There's some mature themes......so yeah..... *Cues evil laughter* You have been warned. =)

And while I'm at it, I didn't get many pictures of Jessa. She's available for download, though.  Also, if you go to the Family Tree tab, there's a sentence at the top that says 'Click HERE for minor character downloads' so, go there for minor character downloads, like Jamie's children or any high school sweethearts, etc. =)
 
     "Gabrielle." My teacher called out.
     "Huh? Here?" I looked up from the poem I was scribbling in my notebook.
     "Do you have your extra credit?" She glanced up from her list of people who didn't need extra credit; 4.0's  where hardly bad grades, but they decided to do the project anyway. The overachievers seemed to be the only ones who actually did bonus projects or extra assignments that weren't required, just because they wanted to or their 102.8 (which rounded up to 103) simply wasn't cutting it. Needless to say, I wasn't an overachiever. I had a social life; or at least three fourths of something that resembled one.
     "Um, yeah." I blushed. I grabbed my notebook that had all sorts of poems and songs, I loved singing and music. Nobody knows that I inherited the author's gene from Mom and spent my spare time writing poems and lyrics down. I've been practicing in the shower; I think I'm getting pretty good. "So," I said to a bunch of half asleep eighth graders in the teacher's headset mic, I loved speaking in a microphone, "Instead of doing a PowerPoint or poster for the area, circumference, and perimeter, I decided to do something, a little...different." I glanced at Mrs. Epp, the young twenty-something Math teacher at Bridgeport Public Junior High, who I had for seventh, my last, period. Seventh; advanced. Lucky me did so well on seventh grade standardized testing, I got into the top notch class filled to the brim with 105 averages, making my current 77, C, seem like an F.
     With my fourteenth birthday looming around the corner, Mom and Papa said I had to get a B if I wanted to keep the (nonrefundable) concert tickets I begged for. If all else failed, I had B's in every other class, and it would be enough to scrap my GPA up to a 2.9 and I'd get the concert tickets as an eighth grade graduation present. "Graduation" was two days away, standardized testing and finals where finished, leaving the teachers with nothing for the students to do.
      "Perfect! I love creativity." She nodded and smiled.
      "I'm going to do a song." I looked down and then began singing. I let myself flow into the words, smiling. This felt natural; I loved preforming. I sand about pi being multiplied by the radius squared, and pi multiplied by the diameter. It was over to soon.
       "Very good, Gabrielle!" Mrs. Epp clapped. "Now class, the last day is two, one now that today's over, away. Tomorrow is the eighth grade picnic at the beach, and sadly today's the last day I'll see you. Sadly that isn't true for some of my other classes." She quietly added the last sentence, only I, who was still standing at the front of the room, could hear it. "I want to wish you all the best in high school. Class is," she paused a second for the clock to go from 2:59 to 3:00, "Dismissed." The announcements began and everyone gathered up there things, rushing to get to their lockers before the buses left. "Gabrielle" Mrs. Epp pulled me aside.
       "Yes?" I wasn't in trouble, was I? I couldn't be. The concert, which I was planning on giving my extra ticket to my friend, ...I needed a good grade.
      "Your song was excellent. Did you ever consider trying out for Choir?"
      "No." I shrugged. Robes, three hour after school practices, and the insane elderly teacher who had a thing for Gospel and Mozart, two things I defiantly didn't like, wasn't how I was going to waste my middle school years. "I don't really like Mr.-"
      "I meant for high school. They have a great teacher, Miss. DiCeltson, she does an annual talent show and a Broadway Paloosa. I thought you might be interested."
       "Broadway Paloosa?" Great. Drama Goths and Choir Bitches wrapped into one. "I don't act."
       "She also does private guitar, piano, or violin lessons for talent show participants. She offers twenty extra credit points to her Home Ec. and Dramatics students if they participate."
       "Guitar lessons?" I gasped, "For, like, free?"
       "One hundred percent."
        "That's amazing..." I'd secretly wanted a guitar since, well since I'd started singing. It was so long ago...yet I still remembered it. I was only eight...

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      "Papa!" I giggled, sitting in the backseat of the convertible. "This isn't the cafe."
      "Non," He smiled, "It's the park. The cafe open mic night doesn't start until seven, we have two hours to kill. I figured we could have some ice cream and roller blade until then, oui?"
    "Oui. Look! A photo booth!  Can we get our pictures taken?"
    "Of course."
    "Wait...." My face fell. "I only have a couple nickels."
     "I think I can cover it." He laughed, as we walked to the booth. "Silly, or serious?"
     "Hmm...." I thought, as I got into the booth. "Silly." I decided.
      "Regardez comment drôle que nous sommes!" He said, as we looked at the photos later and licked freezing cones of vanilla and lemon ice cream that we'd bought from the concession stand that Aunt Cassie ran. Daddy didn't seem happy with her, mumbled something about her being a 'Tricher salope!' and Breaking Jamie's heart, sleeping with half his team. Apparently Jamie, who I guess was my uncle, didn't want a divorce cause they have kids. I don't know what it means, but I guess it means we don't like Aunt Cassie.
      "Papa!" I giggled. I was fluent in French and English, and he loved speaking French. I do too, I'm half French! "Oui, nous ne sommes plein d'humour! Dommage que maman doit rester à la maison avec Antoinette ... Je déteste être malade."
       "The doctor said it was just a cold, it will be better before we know it. Hopefully she'll not miss the first day of kindergarten."
        "Look!" I spotted my friend, Maura Casey. "Papa, can I go play?"
        "Of course."
        "Gabrielle!"
        "Maura!"
        "I just scored a goal!"
        "Cool," Then I lowered my voice to a whisper, "Your babysitter took you, right.?"
        "Yeah, my parents are at work." She giggled. She babysitter was a seventeen year old who liked dragging her various boyfriends around with her and drank a lot of icky smelling stuff from glass bottles that, according to what Maura overheard, she stole from her drunk daddy. 
         "What's it mean if somebody slept with somebody?"
         "I dunno." She shrugged. "But my sitter might. She went with her boyfriend to his car to get something, I guess for soccer. It's been awhile....Huh. And he told her it was gonna be quickie."
        "Gabrielle!" Papa called out.
        "I have to go." I told Maura. "See ya later?"
        "See ya." She replied, turning back to her game.
        "Bonjour." I smiled. "What time is it?"
        "Six-forty five. We can have burgers and milkshakes and grab a good seat, if we hurry."
       "You know I can't say no to a milkshake!"
      "Come on," He said, as I skipped to the car. I ordered a strawberry milkshake, with extra whip cream hold the cherry and a hot dog. Daddy got a water and a large fry for us to share and a turkey burger.
       "Wow!" I gasped as I watched the singer. She was pretty, with ginger curls and a guitar. She sang with a country accent, but her music wasn't country. She sand some song about people rolling in the deep. It was amazing. "Daddy, I wanna be like her when I grow up!" I said, like little kids do.
         "You do?" He asked, playing along. "You wanna play guitar?"
        "Yep! I'm gonna be up their, one day." I pictured myself on the now empty stage. Singing...
        "Was today fun?" Papa asked.
        "Oui." He hugged me, then his phone beeped.

        "There's an emergency at the hospital. He looked panicked; worried. "Can I a call Mommy and she can pick you up?'
       "Yeah." I said, slightly disappointed that today was over already.
      "Please. There was a pile up. Three in critical, one in a coma. Traumatic bleeding and head injuries. Gabrielle," He turned to me, "Can you stay here and wait? Mommy's on her way. I love you."
      "I love you, too Papa." I sat on the folding chair, swinging me feet back and fourth.
      "Can I sit here?" Someone asked. I glanced around; the place was packed.
      "Uh, huh." I absentmindedly nodded. "Wait! You're the singer!"
      "I am." She nodded.
      "Do you live here? Cause my Daddy said he didn't recognize you from the normal list of people who come."
      "I'm from out of town." She said, her accent, clearly Southern, began showing through.
      "You sing pretty. I wanna sing like you and play guitar!"
      "Thank you. What's your name, hon?"
      "Gabrielle."
      "Where's your Daddy? You aren't here alone, are you?"
      "No. My Mommy's coming. She's with my sister. She's sick."
      "Okay, good. Bridgeport's a big city, I wouldn't-er. Never mind. Small town instinct."
      "Are you famous?"
      "No." She laughed, "But I'd like to be."
      "Will you sign this?" I turned the photos from earlier over.
      "My first autograph! Of course."
       Gabrielle, Keep dreaming and call me when you're a superstar!Keep trying and never give up, and you'll make it big! ♥ xoxo ♥
  "Gabrielle!" My Mom rushed up to be, holding Antoinette's hand. "Are you alright?"
  "I'm good. I  met a nice lady, she sang."
  "That's nice. Where is this nice lady?" She looked worried.
  "She's," I turned. She was gone. "Huh." I said, confused. Where had she gone? That's what inspired me. After that, I began practicing my singing in the shower, in secret. I'd asked Mommy and Papa for a guitar and they said when I was older.
      For the next couple weeks, Papa took me back to the cafe. I wanted to thank the singer lady and hear her again. I never did see her. I looked online one night, to see what her name was. I never did find her. If I did....I don't know what I would have said. My future,  bizarre, wild, crazy; all of it because I heard her sing. I would have thanked her. So much will happen....so much I didn't know then, or now. So much would unravel in high school....I just had to hold on for the ride. But that's life. And it's pretty great, if you ask me.

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     "Okay." I agreed."When can I-?"

     "Tomorrow, during the picnic you could go talk to her. We're using the high school's football field. I could come up with an excuse, if you wanted." She smiled.

      "During the picnic....?" I pondered. My one friend I had, Maura, had a gaggle of others. She'd notice that I was gone, then roll her eyes and flip her hair and talk to some other brainless blonde. If I did come, it would be awkward. I didn't fit into any cliche. Maura...she did. Some place between the almost cheerleader B-table kids and the I'm popular because I dated that one dude, who I broke up with and my parents spend way to much on my wardrobe one. "Sure." I shrugged.
      "See me when we leave." She smiled.
      "Thanks." I exited her classroom, rushing to my locker. "Umft." I grunted as a girl bumped into me, knocking the books out of her hands.
      "Oops! S-s-sorry!"She blushed, looking down, frantically collecting her books. "I'm such a klutz."
      "It's okay." I said, leaning down to help her."I'm Gabrielle."
      "I'm Jessa Hart." She smiled, standing up again with her books.
      "Are you new?" I asked, dumbly.
      "Not really. I went to this other school and moved here about a month ago."
      "Cool. How do you like Bridgeport?"
      "I love it! It's so much busier and brighter..."
      "So, are you bus?"
      "Sometimes. I take the subway, mostly."
      "Really? Usually I get picked up by my mum." We began walking outside.  Jessa was fabulous; we became instant friends. Jessa and I both where the friendless type, it was nice to have someone you could talk with.
      "Hey...do you want to come over sometime? I'm having this get together thing tomorrow night for my birthday."
      "Sure. My uncle doesn't care." She said, quietly. 
      "I have to go." I gestured to my mum's waiting car.
      "Me, too. Bye."
      "Bye." I said, turning away. I hopped in the back seat, next to Antoinette. At eleven years old, going into sixth grade she's really pretty. Petite, blonde, a girly  girl, smart, kind, but a coward. I heard Dad whispering to Mom that she was going to be a real heart breaker once she discovers guys and that he's in trouble. Antoinette is the perfect doll, straight A's, polite; the golden child. And I'm me. Run of the mill, barely good grades, and I'm not exactly going to be a guy magnet. I'm the average one. Nothing special.

     "Remember that, Gabrielle. Music can make you special. I though that, as I nervously stood outside Miss. DiCeltson's door, holding the slip of paper Mrs. Epp had given me. I raised my hand, and knocked."
     "And?"
     "I sang and she loved it! I can audition for the talent show!"
     "Yay!" Jessa cheered. We had just gotten back from the concert and changed into our jammies, when Jess begged me to retell her everything.
     "Girls, cake!" My mom called out.

     "Come on," I gestured to Jessa.  We ran down the stairs, breathlessly.
     "Happy birthday to you, happy happy birthday," They all sand, as I smiled and blew out my candles. I wish-to be a heart breaker? A world famous singer? No. I knew exactly what I was going to wish.
      "What did you wish for?"  Jessa asked.
      "I can't tell you," I smiled. "You know that."
      "I do." She sighed, taking a bite of her slice of cake.

      We laid on the floor, in our sleeping bags. It was one am, quiet as could be. I was awake staring up at my ceiling. Everyone makes a big deal out of things like this; being a year older, going into high school. Nothing felt different. I felt like plain me.
       "Gabrielle?" Jessa's voice pierced the dreaded silence.
       "Yeah?"
       "What did you wish for?"
        "Jessss-uh!" I pretended to whine.
        "Gabrrrrr-elllllle!"
         I sighed, over in my sleeping bag.  "My life will be different and crazy and wild and fun and unpredictable." I whispered to the darkness.
         "Does this unpredictable wild crazy fun have a name?" Jessa whispered back.
         "He doesn't. Yet."
         "Yet."
         "Jessa...why do you live with you uncle?" I blurted out, before I could stop. She got real quiet. "I'msorryyoudonothavetotellmeifitistoopersonal." I rushed out.
        "No...it's....I should tell someone..." She took a deep breath. "My Mom had me early, when she was eighteen. It was her first year of university. She came from a super poor family and was there on a scholarship...the snobs who could afford it hated it. Hated her. People told me she was different, like unique. Kind and bubbly and loved people. But...she had this go for it motto. She was impulsive and.....Poof. Suddenly she was pregnant and had no idea who the dad was. She," I heard tears.
       "It's okay." I whispered. "I-you don't have to say anything else." This was awful I didn't want to hear anymore. I wanted to sit with Jessa and let her cry it all out while we ate ice cream. Not listen to her pain drip out of her mouth.
        "I....it's okay. I need to accept this. I haven't really....I've been in denial since I learned. That's kinda why I"m this antisocial, shy, quiet girl who doesn't have any friends."
        "Jessa, I'm your friend." I moved over and hugged her.
        "I know." She sniffled. "Thanks."
        "Your welcome. I'll always be there for you."
        "My mom....a year ago, I was reading her old diaries. I learned something nobody mentioned. Everybody slipped over the how she got pregnant part. This...her diary...it was just so real. Like it was all happening now, not thirteen years ago. She was depressed, secretly. She was bullied worse than anyone knew. She was pretty. She hated being bullied, and she didn't want to tell her parents....it wasn't their fault they had no money. When she was born, her mom decided to become a stay at home mom. Her dad's office department all got laid off. They lost the big home and ended up moving into a cramped home while renting the rooms out.
       She went to a party....she was sad; the day had been worse than usual. She drank too much...a couple people spiked her drink....it started her addiction...a bunch of guys took advantage of her. Passed her around....in her diary it said that she ended up passing out in the middle of it...that didn't stop them." She began weeping.
          "That's horrible...." I whispered.
          "She woke up the next morning in an empty dorm, her makeup was all over her face and her clothing was gone....people had written things all over her....slut...whore....and guys names....pointing to a body part. 'I went here.' 'This belongs to whoever' 'My...went into that....'" She paused. "You shouldn't have to hear this...how broken my life turned out to be.....I should just leave."
         "No! Jessa, it wasn't your fault. I-you don't have to-you-you can stop if you'd like."
         "The bullying got worse. When she found out she was pregnant, she tried to hide it. Said she was getting fat. People weren't stupid. They learned. She didn't know who the dad was....the notes. She turned to....her addiction. Nobody knew. She hid it all. 'Teen mom'....everyone shook their heads. The poor girl messed up her future. She didn't belong after all.
       She had me and a few months later, they found an empty dorm room....I was laying in my crib, fed, changed, and asleep. I was screaming, though....bottles of beer and  drugs, where laid on the floor in a circle. Her diaries in the center, with the bin of bully notes. She left one note. 'I can't take it. I love Jessa. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve me. It wasn't her who did this. Everyone thought I was fine. I wasn't. Who can go through this hell and still be damned okay? Looks can be deceiving.....one day, everyone will know that. You'll know that, Jessa. Your mother is an addict and a drunk and doesn't know who your father is. I can't ask you to love that. But I can try. One day, she'll see me.' A bloody knife was on the note...."
        "Jessa...." I was crying to, now. "Was she.....?" Dead. Was she dead?
        "I don't know." She shook her head. "There was no body. They...she's assumed dead. Gabrielle, you know what sucks? That nobody notices it. Nobody asked or cared. But I do. I love her. I don't know what happened. If she left then killed herself or just ran away.....Gabrielle I don't know."
        I sat there, stunned. I didn't know what to say. I didn't. Who could? I'm sorry? My life wasn't picture perfect, but it sure beat the heck out of hers. I didn't know what it felt like. Jessa curled up in her sleeping bag. I heard her tears stop and breathing slow. She was sleeping. Her mom could be alive...her dad, who knows? Maybe her moms out there. Regretting that she left. Happy that she escaped the pain. Maybe leaving so Jessa could have a better life. Staging death, so her daughter would be taken care of properly. Maybe she left alive but ended up dying later. Maybe she never cured herself. It wasn't something you just stopped. Withdrawal could be powerful. Maybe she died but didn't want to do it with her daughter around when she did it. Maybe she wanted to stay a mystery. Maybe there was no mystery. Her mind was foggy and she couldn't think. Maybe....maybe. I felt sick for wondering everything. Maybe was all Jessa had left. Jessa could imagine her mother living happily. I couldn't ruin that.
       Maybe isn't fun. It lets  the brain take a break and the imagination take control. Sometimes we imagine happiness. But we always ponder the pain. Maybe everything's worse. Maybe not knowing is better. Maybe by not knowing if she was dead or alive, she could paint a fantasy. Happy. Peaceful with her self. Not addicted. Living. But maybe a body would be better. Maybe knowing exactly what happened would be easier to accept. Maybe you wouldn't have to worry so much. Maybe Jess wouldn't have to imagine her mother alive, with another family. Leaving her daughter to suffer in curiosity while she lived happily. Maybe her mom changed her name. Maybe she's my neighbor who went under the knife. Maybe she's living in the next town, or the next one, or the next one. Never this one. Always the next one. Maybe she's sitting in Paris. Maybe she met my mom and they wrote novels together. Maybe all she wants is her daughter. But that's the thing about maybes. We'll never know.