Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(25)
Meanwhile, meditate on this:
FEELINGS ARE NEITHER RIGHT NOR WRONG. THEY JUST ARE.
Now, sit still. Sit very, very still and don’t move . . .
Let your feelings take you where they want you to go.
Shhh . . . Listen . . .
They want you to go to Dizzy’s Seafood.
Hushpuppies. Half price. You heard it: HALF PRICE. Woof!
Click HERE to order a candle.
Click HERE to order a crystal.
Click HERE to order Dizzy’s Seafood.
9
Tuesday, first day of kindergarten
SCENE 2 — INT. HOUSE — MORNING
HOLLY (V.O.)
Scene Two. Fixed discovery shot. Use the front porch as an unobtrusive vantage point, characters walking in and out of the shot.
MAN (V.O.)
You sure? Wilhelm Klaus hates fixed discovery shots.
HOLLY (V.O.)
Wilhelm Klaus hates voice-overs, but this is my film. I’m using the front porch as a story motif.
MAN (V.O.)
Oh. Should we lose the dog?
HOLLY (V.O.)
Struggle? No. Keep Struggle. Struggle’s good. On second thought, mount Camera Two in the hallway. Camera Three on Bus 13.
Stand by on the set.
Stand by to roll tape.
Roll tape.
Scene Two.
Take One.
Action.
Camera One: Front porch.
Holly swung open the door, Ella in her arms. A look of determination on her face. To the bus driver: “Wait! Stop!” Holly waved frantically. “We’re here!” To Ella: “Ella, listen to me: you’re going to run out there and get on that bus.” She set Ella down, guiding each foot into a shoe. “It’s gonna be great.” Over her shoulder toward the kitchen: “Jack!” Holly yelled. “The backpack!”
Camera Two: Hallway.
Holly turned to find Jack rounding the corner of the family room, gripping Ella’s backpack like a football.
Jack. In a panic. “Why is it happening like this?” He drew his arm back and threw a Hail Mary pass to Holly—delivering the pack into her outstretched arms. “It’s her first day of kindergarten. What are we doing, Holly?” He grabbed his head with both hands, elbows out—that two-seconds-left-on-the-clock thing he always did when watching football. “Why, Holly? Why is it like this?”
Camera Three: Sound of bus rumbling. BUS DRIVER honks the horn.
Camera One: Cut to front porch.
“That’s your bus, Ella.” Holly hoisted the pack onto Ella’s shoulders. “Run out there.” The anxiety they both felt. The panic. “Go on. Run out there.” Holly felt it in her chest. Felt a tightness in her breath. She signaled the bus driver. Gave Ella a little shove. “You can do it. Off the porch. Come on, Ella. Please?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Holly.” Jack appeared in the doorway as Ella pulled from Holly to cling to Jack. Jack’s face morphed from frazzled, end-of-world things to right now, at this moment: not anger, more like disappointment. Almost pity—for Holly. For not being able to get her daughter on the dang bus. Something. It was awful. Struggle barked, announcing to the world just how much her human, Holly, sucked at life.
Camera Three: Cut to bus door being opened.
BUS DRIVER
You coming or not?
Camera One: Cut to front porch.
“Ella, please. I know this isn’t perfect, but we’ve gotta go, honey. Please. The bus is here. It’s right there.” Get off the porch, Ella. GET OFF THE FREAKING PORCH. Like something from the pages of a 1950s Dick and Jane early reader: See Jane? See Jane forget to set the mutha freaking alarm on the first day of kindergarten? Run, Jane. Run!
Camera Three: Bus driver closes door, starts to pull away.
Camera One: Cut to HOLLY on front porch; stays with Holly for the remainder of the scene.
Bus leaving the curb. Holly: “Nooooooo!” Off the porch she jumped, running barefoot across the lawn. “Stop! Stop! You saw us. You freaking saw us!”
Holly ran into the street, arms waving above her head.
Up Petunia Lane the bus drove, filled with little Petunia children.
Except for Holly’s. Holly’s child wasn’t on Bus 13. Holly’s child was on the front porch, sucking the thumb she shouldn’t be sucking. Holly’s husband—never mind that. Holly’s dog? Barking. At Holly. She snatched a hank of grass from her lawn and threw it at the bus. See Jane? See Jane suck at motherhood?
Collecting her wits, Holly sneaked a peek at the other mothers on her street. Petunia Moms chatting. Petunia Moms waving to other Petunia Moms as they waltzed down their sidewalks and up the steps of their cheerfully decorated front porches. All of them: clones of June Cleaver. Pictures of success. Women who, only moments ago, had executed seemingly effortless, storybook back-to-school mornings for their children. Holly? Not so much.