Today marks the inaugural story for my Wordy Wednesday series. My friend Courtney supplied me with my inspiration word: preposterous. The point of Wordy Wednesday is to get my creative juices flowing, adhere to deadlines (which I suck at) and finally learn to stop being my own worst critic. I am normally so self-conscious about my writing that I never share it with anyone. I tend to agonize over every little word choice because like Twain says, “the difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”
But for me, just sharing it without obsessing is a huge step and one I’m willing to take even though I will probably be uncomfortable with it for awhile. So pop in your old Alanis Morisette CD, kick back and delve into this little story, chocked full of teen-y angst & denial.
The Preposterous Adventure of Sara Nack
Sara Nack had a way of spinning tall tales. No, she wasnât a writer turning fiction into money for her publishers. And she wasnât a bard weaving tales for the wealthy or elite. Nope; Sara Nack was a liar and an extremely talented one, if word around town can be trusted. Her family had abandoned all hope of getting a straight answer from the teen when she had begun routinely responding to questions about her day with stories about witches with stringy hair, demons with red eyes and chains, kidnapping and drugged-out teens. They lived in the suburbs, for Christâs sake. There were no drugs in Sierra Vista.
Until one day in late October, Sara had never seen the harm in her hyperbolic ways. It wasnât as if everything was made up. If her story was about a witch, it just meant that she had seen that creepy woman in her ratty rainbow-colored prayer shawl walking back from the Wa-Wa earlier in the day. If the story was about a demon, she was just letting her parents know that she had once again been chased by their neighborâs vicious pit bull, Rosy. Sara swore that damned thing had been sent from the gates of hell to torment her on the way to or from school. (Why her parents couldnât just let her ride the bus like the normal kids, or get her a car like she asked, Sara would never know.) And if the story was about drugged-out teens, well⌠No matter what her parents said, there were drugs everywhere. Even in their precious Sierra Vista.
But that day, with the crisp chill in the air, Sara Nack would rethink the workings of the universe. That day, Sara would figure out that there is more to life than Mr. Scottsonâs next Trig test & trying to guess what they were serving in the cafeteria. The following is the entry from Sara Nackâs diary for November 2, five days after what would be known in her family as âThe Preposterous Adventure of Sara Nack.â
November 2.
Ok, so I havenât written in a while, but I just need to get this down on paper. No one believes me & I canât figure out why. I couldnât make this up if I tried & itâs not like I make things up anyway. What? I donât. Why do I feel like my own diary is rolling its eyes at me? Traitor. >:{
Well, anyway it doesnât matter. Iâm going to tell the story my way. The real way. Just as it happened. I wonât bore you with a lot of the background details, but Iâll try to give you enough so that anyone who reads this (which will probably be you, you nosy stuck-up snoop Alex!) will be able to figure out just what happened to me and see how honest I am about the whole messy thing.
My day started off totally normal. I woke up late to the tandem sounds of my blaring clock radio and my sister Alexandraâs grating screams from downstairs, âSara Paige, if you donât get out of that bed right now, you will be late for school and I am not driving you!â Alexandra was left in charge of getting me off to school since Dad worked overnights as a corrections officer and Mom had to leave at 3am to make her morning commute into the city where she worked as a decorator in a trendy cupcake bakery. Sometimes it hits me that Alex might resent me. Itâs not like itâs my fault that Alex was born first. But, man, did Alex take it out on me like it was.
Grudgingly, I slapped the radio that was cheerfully blasting âTik Tokâ by that insufferable twit Ke$ha. How did that no talent troll get a record deal, I managed to think through my sleepy fog. A cold shower was all that I could manage before it was time to leave the house (itâs always cold. Probably because my stupid sister uses all the hot water every morning just to make sure my day starts off shitty. At least thatâs what I think).  With sopping wet hair and some mismatched outfit I pulled off my bedroom floor, I grabbed a pop-tart and sprinted from the house forgetting my overstuffed bookbag and all of my homework. And my jerk of a sister didnât even bother to remind me.  Anyway, back to my dayâŚ
So out the door I went, and that stupid demon-dog Rosy took off running toward me as soon as my feet hit my front porch. I canât outrun that beast, so I did the only thing I could think of and chucked my pop-tart at her. So much for a balanced breakfast. I canât even manage to grab a sugar-laden fake strawberry breakfast. Sacrificing my sugar-high bought me enough time to round the corner without HellHound on my heels.
My school is only a couple of blocks away (which is the argument my parents made when I wanted a car for my 16th birthday. âWhy do you need a car, honey? You donât do anything other than go to school and school is just a few blocks away.â  Hell, I might want to go to 7-11 one day. And now, when my birthday rolls around, I wonât have any way to answer the siren call of the mighty Coke Slurpee. Damnit.) and I almost made it there. I had stopped running as soon as I was sure that Rosy wasnât following me, because honestly how much difference would 2 minutes make? I was going to be late anyway, so I might as well do the thing right. I slowed down even more when I reached the thick hedges that surrounded the creepy blue house on the corner. I had always wanted to see exactly what lay beyond that green screen, but my parents said it would be rude to disturb the family that lived there even though I was pretty cure it was deserted. I had never actually seen anyone go in or out, not even a car, so I was really surprised when I heard voices from inside the shrubs. I stopped walking, thoughts of being late for school completely gone, and listened. I couldnât understand a word⌠it was like whoever it was was speaking another language. And it sure wasnât Spanish. Iâd had a year of Spanish and I could say things like âMy name isâŚâ and âWhere is the library?â so I was obviously an expert at it.
There was a rustle in the leaves and my curiosity got the better of me. I crept around to the first break in the hedge I could find and peeked in. When my mind finally registered what I was seeing, I had to pick my jaw up off the ground (Donât scoff. I did. The dumb hole in the hedge was about 2 inches above the sidewalk). There was a little bulbous, gray creature that looked a little like that comic strip my father likes so much. You know, the one with the little guy with the giant nose? Ziggy; yeah, thatâs it. The thing looked like Ziggy. It had what I supposed was a very long, fat nose and rolls of pudge on its face and stomach like a shar pei puppy. Itâs âearsâ looked more like flattened fingers laying flat against its head and the thingâs arms were so long they drug the ground; at the end of those uber-long arms hung hands like mallets with long, curved fingers. There were creepy patches of curly pube-like hair on its stomach and feet. Oh, I didnât tell you what his feet looked like! Have you ever dropped a really ripe banana on the floor? You know how they kind of split open and smush? Yep, looked just like that. Gross. I decided I would call him Squirm.
 I could only figure Squirm was an alien (what the hell else could it have been?) and my first thought was that if ET had looked like this, that movie would have tanked. Seriously, the thing was that unfortunate looking. The whole time I was staring at Squirm, it was busy working away. At what, you say? Squirm was taking garden gnomes and shoving them in a giant hole in the tree. I know what youâre thinking; why would a thing want one garden gnome let alone several⌠but this thing did. And it wanted everything else in the yard from what I could tell. Anything that was shiny or colored, Squirm was grabbing up. The quirky waddling gait made it hard for the little guy to get around the yard, which had a million groundhog holes in it. It kept tripping and falling in the holes and mumbling in that strange language. I figured it was cursing. I know I would have been if I had tripped that many times. I was amazed at how much shit Squirm managed to shove in this tree and I kind of zoned out watching it hoard all the kitsch it could carry.
I mustâve watched the thing go back and forth forty thousand times (I couldnât believe how much crap there was in this yard!) because the next thing I knew, the yard was empty and the end of day bell was sounding at school. Shit, I thought. I had missed the whole day. I would have some explaining to do when my parents found out. And my sister, the goody-two-shoes, would have a field day with it. âSee, I knew she was adopted. No way sheâs related to me. Sheâs such a slacker. What? Seriously Dad, she is.â My sisterâs a twat. I decided Iâd just have to tell them the truth; that was all there was to it.
My parents managed to make it all the way to dinner without asking about my day. Probably a new record for them. âWhat did you do today, Sara?â Dad asked the same bored voice he always used when he asked me things. So right there, over the spread of momâs cheesy tuna noodle casserole, creamed spinach (blech!), corn and rolls, I told them all about my day. When I finished, they all looked at me like I was making absolutely every word of it up. Then, they laughed! Can you believe it? They laughed at me & my father looked at my mother and said âwell, dear. What do you think of that? Sara had an adventure today. What shall we call this latest creation? Fantasy or fiction?â Mom didnât say a word, she just started mutely at me like I had a toenail growing out of my forehead, Guiness Book of World Records style. But my sister, my big-mouth smart ass sister, piped up and said, âI know, Dad! We should call it âThe Preposterous Adventure of Sara Nack!ââ Alex and Dad were cackling like old women and Mom was still just staring at me with that half-frown on her face. Iâm just glad we were having tuna noodle casserole, because if we had been having something, oh I dunno⌠good⌠it would have been much harder to throw down my fork and storm away from the table in protest. Thatâll show âem not to make fun of me for telling the truth anymore. I spent the night in my room on the computer IMing friends. My friends all believed me. Know why they believed me? Cuz itâs the truth, damnit!
And that was the story of last Friday. What? Did you think I was going to say I went with the little troll thing and had some giant adventure in a land where birds fly upside down, water is fluffy, garden gnomes are currency, and people are blue? Well I didnât. And I would never say that, because that would be a lie. And I didnât even stretch the truth this time. Not even a little bit. Preposterous, my ass.
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