Saturday, November 1, 2008

Carrie and the Search for a Friend Pt. 3

Thanks to everyone who has read and commented on this "masterpiece" so far! Now that Carrie has already found her new friend, let's see what happens next...

Chapter Five

Dear Racquelle,
Thank you for the nail polish. It's very pretty. I'm sorry I can't be your friend, but I just can't.
You've been a good friend. I'll miss you. But I can't keep you.
Carrie P.

I was writing notes to Racquelle, Cyndi, Kathy, Stacie, and Lisa.
(Note, in my book, Carrie's "handwriting" looks remarkably similar to Stacey McGill from the BSC's, with heart-dotted I's and everything.)

I was saying thank you for their presents. As you know, Racquelle had given me a bottle of nail polish. It was beige, and it was pretty.
(it doesn't sound very pretty...)

I sighed. My birthday was almost over. I started another note.

Dear Cyndi,
Thanks for the jewelry box, even if I have to hide it in my closet. (Josephine might find it.)
I'm sorry I can't be your friend. You've been a GREAT best friend.
Love, Carrie P

(Don't worry, Carrie, she'll probably just slap a Big Bird sticker on it or something.)

Dear Kathy,
Thank you for the diary. I've always wanted one, and you know I like to write.
I'm sorry I can't be your friend. You've been a great friend.
Love, Carrie P.

Dear Stacie,
Thank you for the locket. It's pretty, and I think Josephine will let me wear it.
I'm sorry I can't be your friend. You've been a good one.
Love, Carrie P.

Dear Lisa,
Thank you for the music note ring. It's pretty.
I know you're mad. I'm sorry I can't be your friend. You've been a great friend.
Love, Carrie P.

I was finished with my notes. I put them all in white envelopes and put everybody's name on their envelope. I put the envelopes in my white purse with Cookie Monster eating a chocolate-chip cookie on it.

I checked my Rainbow Brite watch. 8:38 pm.

(Only 8:38? Carrie has already gone to the doctor, recorded an album, practiced for a concert, dumped her friends, made a new friend, cooked a dinner, and wrote a bunch of notes all in one day, and it's not even dark yet!)

I put on my dumb nightgown. I walked downstairs. Josephine started to laugh and point.

I put my hands on my hips. "What's so funny?"

"You!" said Josephine. "You look so funny!"

"Do you want to see the one who looks funny? If you do, look in the mirror," I snapped.

(Oooh! Bad move, Carrie.)

Josephine started to run toward me. She shook the whole house.

She yanked my arm, hard. I thought she was going to tear it off. She slapped me in the face.

"Don't you ever say that again!" she yelled. "Ever!" She slapped me again.

"Okay!" I yelled. (I'm lucky I'm not a big crier like Kathy. Josephine might have killed me by now if I was!)

I walked toward the refrigerator. I ate some cold tuna casserole I hadn't finished. I thought about Josephine.

Then I went upstairs and fell asleep.

(Such DRAMA! And it only gets worse...)

Chapter Six

I woke up the next day and put on some bell-bottom plaid pants and a tight pink polo shirt. I put my hair in two pigtails. Then I ran downstairs. When Josephine yanked my arm yesterday, it made finger marks, so I put on one of those button-down hot pink sweaters that looked like cardigans.

(I'm guessing that Carrie is simply referring to a cardigan sweater here, although your guess is as good as mine.)

"Josephine," I said when I saw her in the kitchen. "What's for breakfast?"

"Nothing. Get to exercising!"

I sighed. Josephine makes me exercise a lot to stay skinny. (Bizarre...) By the way she feeds me, there's no chance of me ever getting fat. But at least she doesn't starve me like she used to. I had to lie and tell my (former) friends that I weighed like sixty pounds when I was really forty.

I exercised for half an hour.

"Look," said Josephine. "A real whip. When you're bad..." She made that 'du du du du du' noise that means trouble.

(I think Carrie means dum dum dum dum... and where did Josephine get the whip? Do we even want to know?)

I gulped. There was a real whip. I'd better be good.

Tabatha walked into the room. Her green collar with the silver bells jangled.

"Get that mutt outside!" Josephine yelled.

"Josephine," I said calmly. "It's only 8:30 in the morning. Tabatha's ten years old. Her eyesight's poor."

Josephine lifted the whip. "Take her outside!" she screeched.

I gasped, and let Tabatha out the front door.

A couple of minutes later, I heard some tires screech, and a car stopped.

I opened the door. Across the street, I saw an olive green station wagon. And in the middle of the street was Tabatha, surrounded by a pool of blood!

"Tabatha!" I shrieked. I dashed outside, and Josephine followed, grinning. (over-the-top much?) She probably paid the driver of that car to hit poor Tabatha!

I knelt by Tabatha. Tears were streaming down my face.

"Tabatha," I kept on saying. "Tabatha."

(Aww, poor Tabatha. It's all Ann M. Martin's fault. The pet-hit-by-a-car scene was ripped off from inspired by With You and Without You, and Tabatha is a collie, just like Louie in Kristy and the Snobs.)

Our next-door neighbor, an old man who calls himself plain old Harry, came outside. So did Stacie and a couple of other people.

"I'll take her to the vet," said a woman named Mrs. Bronze.

"Now, Nancy," said Mr. Bronze. But Mrs. Bronze picked up Tabatha in a blanket, and the Bronzes drove to the vet.

I was still crying. I knew the vet wasn't going to do anything but say something or other about Tabatha's body. Tabatha was dead. It was only obvious.

I started to run. I ran 14 blocks away, to Sandra's house.

I knocked on the door. Sandra answered. She looked wonderful again. She was wearing webbed spandex tights, a very very very baggy blue-green sweater, blue-green push-down socks, and those snakeskin pattern tennis shoes. Those large, glittery brown eyes were glittering again. She had tons of makeup on again. Her hair was down, and it reached to her shoulders.

(Wow, Carrie sounds smitten. Um, isn't Sandra wearing a skirt with her "webbed spandex tights", whatever those even are?)

"What are you doing here?"

"My dog died. Tabatha's gone," I said bitterly.

(Okay, that would so freak me out if some girl I'd just met the day before showed up on my doorstep and said that. Even if she was a famous pop star.)

Sandra shrugged. "Have a funeral." She let me inside.

"A funeral for a dog?" I said.

Sandra gave me a warning look. "I won't be your friend anymore if you don't."

"Okay," I said. "I'll have it in half an hour."

"I like someone," said Sandra. "He's a very cute boy. His name is Harvey. He likes seeing girls around famous people." (snicker...) Sandra paused.

"So," I said.

"SO!!!" yelled Sandra. "Carrie, this is the cutest boy in Albany -- and all you can say is so?!! Get out of my house! Get out of my house, neow! I'll be at your funeral!"

I ran all the way back to my house.


Tabatha had died. Josephine said she was going to buy me a new puppy, but I doubt it. Even if she did, it would never take the place of Tabatha.

It was time for the funeral. Sandra was there, Stacie was there, Stacie's two-year-old sister Sheena was there, and for some reason, Christie Wellman was there. Harry was there, also.

I gave Stacie the notes I had written yesterday night. "Give these to everybody," I said.

"Carrie, I know I wasn't invited, but Sheena wanted to come, and she also wanted Christie to come."

I sighed. "It's alright." Christie walked over to me.

"Carrie, are you sad?" she asked.

"Yes," I sighed.

"I bet Joe never had to go through this," Christie muttered.
('Joe' as in McIntyre, of course...)

Harry started to build a gravestone for Tabatha. I dug a hole to bury her in.

I sighed. (Stop sighing!) I remember the last funeral I had been to. Mom and Dad's.

First was their burial. I don't remember much of that. Then was the funeral. I had sat in the very front. I hadn't wanted to cry at first, but in the end, I had buckled down and bawled like a baby. (This was so plagiarized from The Outsiders...) I couldn't help it. I had been very close to Mom, and Dad was about the nicest Dad you could get. If it wasn't for Racquelle, Kathy, and Lisa, their funeral never would have happened.

We buried Tabatha. "What do you want on the gravestone?" asked Harry. I shrugged. Harry put this:

A Great Dog
Rest In Peace
(insert smiley face drawing)

That didn't make me feel any better, though.

"Let's all say something nice about Tabatha," said Sandra stiffly. "I'll go first. I didn't know Tabatha but I bet she was a good dog. A good collie, that is."

Christie was next. "I bet Joe would've liked sweet ol' Tagafa."

"Tabatha," said Stacie.

Sheena was next. She sighed. "I liked Tagafa better than Blackey." (Cyndi's Yorkie.)

Stacie's turn.

"Tabatha was the sweetest dog I knew. I don't usually like dogs, but I liked Tabby."

Harry's turn.

"I'm a lonely old man. Tabatha kept me company. When Carrie was at school, she always played fetch. Tabatha was a good old dog with a lot of energy."

My turn. The tears came to my eyes.

"I loved her," I choked out.

"Let's sing a song," said Sandra.

"What?" I asked. "What song?"

"Please don't go, girl. You will ruin my whole world. Tell me you'll stay. Never, ever go away," sang Christie.

"Why that?" asked Sandra. "I hate that."

Christie looked hurt. "Well, I don't. Joey sings it. And besides, Tagafa was a girl, and we don't want her to go, so we're singing Please don't go..."

"Shut up," said Sandra. She started to sing a made-up song of hers.

"I'll miss you,
I'll miss you,
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you."

We all began to sing along. "I'll miss you, Tabatha. I'll miss you, Tabatha. I'll miss you. I'll miss you. Tabatha, I'll miss you."


Isn't that touching. These were short chapters. Coming up -- the truth about Sandra! And Josephine gets even meaner!


Rummy said...

That's gotta take some talent to build a gravestone. How do you build one, with popsicle sticks?

What will it take for you to dress up in those plaid bell bottoms and pink cardigans?

Anonymous said...

Oh man ... I want to know the truth about Sandra. Because at this point, I'm rooting for Josephine over her.

Sada said...

I'm still trying to figure out how Carrie's parents were driving a carload of her friends around but somehow managed to leave her at home.

tctill said...

sada, the oh-so-sense-making story was that Mr. and Mrs. Packer were giving Carrie's friends a ride home. I guess Carrie was too lazy to go along?

Deathycat said...

Can't wait to find out about Sandra. She seems to have some manic depression going on.