*New Story Series* Bread Alone-Part 1

My life began with a bang, and so it shall end similarly, but it ain’t over yet.  Thy name is Arabelle “Belly” Sethi and I’m twenty four years old.  I just thought I’d introduce myself early on to give you a better picture of who I am, but I am sure you will get a better taste of me as the story rolls on.  I guess I could preface by stating that like many others, my life has panned out much stranger than I could have ever assumed.

Flashback to me starting college at the University of Miami.  I am eighteen, curious, frightened, but ready to take on the behemoth ahead of me.

“Arabelle!  You know I can’t lift all of this by myself!  You are going to have to help your mummy!” Says the woman who gave birth to me.  The woman who was only carrying one out of my five suitcases, and conviently grabbing ahold of the smallest of the pack.

“Mom, why don’t you just put it on this carrier that one of the dorm movers just brought out?”  I said in an effort to calm her down.  She was certainly of the panicky variety, but I somehow dealt with it.  Afterall, she was my sole caretaker for all of my life.  Thankfully, one of the dorm movers took the time to help us move the carrier to my room as I had never stepped foot on that darn campus before.

Although the very prospect of moving all the way across the country for college was daunting, I knew it was something that I had to attempt to embrace.  Back home in middle-of-nowhere, Montana, I can’t really say I had anyone to call a true friend of mine.  Being a five foot two, two hundred and fifty pound, tan, shy girl in a town that contained people who were anything but that description did not make for a simple existence, but I made did with what I could.

So why, oh, why did this gal decide to attend one of the most social schools on planet earth?  Simple answer: the freaking beach!  While back home does offer breathtaking views of cattle on end (heck I could just look in the mirror), I have always had a desire to greet some pretty waves.  I finally had the chance to do just that as my mother and I finished setting up my new room.

“Say, Belly, do you want to walk on over to the oceanfront while we wait for your roommate to pop in?” Said my mother, setting the last of my toiletries in the shared dorm bathroom.

“I suppose so, yeah” I said, feeling a little odd at the prospect of being on a beach with all my clothes on.  We started toward the dorm room door when my roommate decided to beach walk-block us by making an extravagant entrance.

“WHY HELLO THERE!  MY NAME IS ARABELLE AND I’M FROM TENNESSEE!  HOW ABOUT YOUUUUU?  WHO ARE YOU?” Says this interjecting, six foot, athletic-built, porceline-skinned ginger gal who was basically a carbon copy of my mother (but much younger), personality included.  I started up a petty laugh as I reached my hand out to greet hers.

“Well, it’s funny actually, because….um”

“What my dear here is trying to say is that you have the honor of sharing a name.” Interjected (ya see what I mean?) my mother, placing a trying-to-be comforting hand on my back.

“OOOOOH. Ooooooh!  M’am, it sounds like you have an accent!  May I ask what country you are from?”  Said my name twin.

“She is from Ireland, born and bred.”  I said as I felt it was only natural to cover for her when she did so for me.

“Ooooooooooh!  I’ve never met someone from a foreign country before!  Nice to meet you!”

Also, although my fellow Arabelle carried a remarkably spunky attitude, her stare couldn’t help but give away the fact that she was silently trying to figure out how I was my mother’s daughter, and vice versa.  Nonetheless, the solo-flying sprite managed to haul all of her stuff up to the dorm room without a problem.  My mother and I helped her to settle into our room, and after an hour of setting up her every little knick-knack, we were all beat.

“Say, Belly, why don’t you and your new friend go out to lunch while I attend the parent orientation?”  Said my mom, somewhow thinking that would be a good idea.

“OOOOH, YEAH! THAT WOULD BE SUUUUPERRR!” Exclaimed the not-me Arabelle.

“Um…..sure.”  I said, rather reluctant about the whole thing.  At any rate, I figured there was only but so much that could go wrong.

Little Beau Peep-Poetry

A dinner with some friends.
Another day at the corner.
This is how her full week ends.
The crowd whispers, “could he be any shorter?”

A thickened figure incites chatter.
Stringy man, powerful spirit.
Being an intern was all that mattered.
His message, everyone wants to hear it.

A girl of six-foot-five.
A guy of five-foot-three.
In her step, no jive.
His everyday, ventriloquy.

Wet eyes lie down for bed.
The day’s closed for entertaining.
In her dreams, she’d wish she was dead.
In fan base, he was gaining.

The weekend has arrived as she strolls near his spot.
Another show is put on, but his eye catches a sight.
She walks right past him, her eyes, bloodshot.
He makes a quick dash; it was worth putting up a fight.

Feeling a tug at her arm, she decides to look down.
He looks up at her face after having run a mile.
First a trick, then a flash, and there’s no longer a frown!
A farewell tug to her hand, “you have a beautiful smile.”