Regular—Evelyn

Underline—Derek (AKA Evelyn's dad)

Italics—Robin (AKA Derek's girlfriend)

Bold (just for this chapter b/c i ran out of fonts)—Waiter (AKA Jerk)

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dear mom,

do you remember?

you used to have this adage when cooking

every time you made breakfast, you would tell me

as you swatted my butterfingers away

that we should always try to be the second pancake

as if we are not bound to our slip-ups as the first

because maybe our sides have bumpy ridges like mountaintops

but, they let people climb rather than fall down our steeping hills

maybe our thin edges have freckles

but, our holes let us soak the world up like a sponge

maybe entire battlegrounds are burnt and stuck to the pan

but, we can flipped to the other side

and be started over again

i think this theory transcends to all of life

like that we should also aspire to be open embraces

even though we are conditioned to feel as sideways hugs

like that there is something to learn from spiders trapped in their own webs

something monumental in their ascend up strands of threads like vertical tightropes

despite the childhood rhyme of their ancestor that haunts them

i really tried to be dress tonight as a second pancake

but, it knew it was only playing pretend

do-overs cannot exist

because they are built on bricks without mortar

a foundation of memories that would rather be forgotten

but are needed in order to move past

a game of jenga as each one of us carefully drawls our piece of conversation

skirting around the core issue that keeps our leaning tower in place

shaving down its limbs until there is nothing except its skeleton

all of us trying to win without taking any risks

each consumed by our own strategies

i was polite and nice and buried in the safety of my own skin

robin was unapologetic and loud and nervous

dad was distant and quiet and lost

so, so lost

"sir, what would you like to order?"

the waiter reminded me of the maple tree seeds we would pluck as kids

turning his head back and forth like the way they  would unwind themselves

into the frenzied twirls of little helicopters

"sir?"

she nudged him with her elbow gently

it sent a shiver up his spine as he sat unblinking

like a shell of his former self

"honey, what would you like to eat?"

he turned slowly towards her, his face—

haunting, a peace that only comes with a tinge of insanity

"i already ordered."

the waiter sighs as he finally makes eye contact

i picture peeling back the skin of his maple tree seed

clipping its wings apart and unearthing the pits

the same way kids burn ants under glass

"Oh, did another waiter come over? I can—"

dad's face contorts suddenly into anger, as if it has just occurred to him

in that moment, something has occurred to me too

i carry its weight with every shaky breath

like the anvils and falling pianos in the sunday cartoons

"one strawberry and banana milkshake, how many times do I have to repeat myself?"

the pause is eerie, as everyone stares at one another

as if we are all in the same joke,

and the punchline is him

"sir, this is a steakhouse."

the waiter is speaking slowly, spitting as he accentuates every syllable

neck sticking out, one eyebrow raising

as if he thinks dad is insane

there is a quiet fury stewing in me that is blazing like a wildfire

burning the maple trees, scarring the land the seeds have rooted themselves

but, these embers cannot spread or light the night sky

they fizzle into charcoal that chalks the dirt

because part of what is burning

is the guilt of my unspoken belief that he is partially right

"no cherries, no whipped cream, no toppings at all. Angie, you know the way I like it, don't you? tell them, will you?"

he looks straight at me

except not really

because it is not at me, but through me

because he is seeing what he wants to

because those eyes are looking at my insides

not appearances or facades that can be smeared off

but, what my soul reflects

what cannot be erased, only smudged

the reason i fog the mirror with steam every day--

because when she left,

mom dropped bread crumbs down her path

pieces of herself left for me to follow and pick up

so that she would always be there in my reflection

someone who cheated and lied and manipulated

but, also

someone who laughed and loved and shined

and maybe it takes someone a little less sane to truly see it

"we do have ice cream selections for dessert, but—"

the waiter's eyes are twinkling,

except they do not have any brightness in them

the corners of his mouth are curved,

except there is no smile

he is humoring him

as if dad's illness is some sort of game

"the service here is absolutely terrible, i have waiting over fifteen minutes. i have a teary seven-year old daughter waiting in the car out there, and this milkshake is the only damn thing I can do right for her."

he is recreating a memory

i cannot remember which one

but, i can tell because we traveled on many trips to the ice cream parlor when i was younger

a milkshake for every time i thought of her betrayals

but, could not tell him

the guilt pushing tears to brim

before i would learn how to control them

"evelyn."

i am barely audible

yet the world churns as everyone looks at me

cheeks red and burning

not because i am embarrassed of the attention

but,

because i am trying to stand up for myself

with someone that can barely sit on their own

because i am trying to force him to see me

even though his eyelids are sewn shut

because i am trying to rationale

with a person beyond reason

"what was that, angie?"

i swallow

because the trademark at the end stings

i feel small,

because i am always copyrighted by my creator

i am mortified i will have to repeat myself

of something that should be obvious,

yet is allusive to him—

i would rather be a maple tree seed

like my mom or the waiter

who flit from one place to another

than a person

who must convince her own father that she is his daughter

because it hurts not to be believed in

as if i am a fairytale or a myth or a holiday symbol

from someone who i have laid my soul out to bare naked

"my name is evelyn."

the worst part of it all

is that there is no horror in the faces of robin or the waiter's or even dad

as if they all assumed or knew already

only sadness

like i am a child trying to expose something

that i truly know nothing about

"i'm sorry, can you come back later? he hasn't decided yet."

all of a sudden, robin has regained her composure

slinging her arm around dad's shoulder

like a safety blanket for a baby

the waiter leaves without a word

and i can almost see the dust he scoffs at his heel

annoyed that we have wasted his time

"evelyn, i'm going to take him to the bathroom to see if i can calm him down. can you watch our things while we're there?"

i nod silently,

thankful in words i cannot express

it is in this moment i know that we will all be okay together

despite the uncomfortable and the awkward and the unspoken

because i have found something valuable in her i admire

a strength in critical moments i do not possess

an ability to pull us all back together

"thanks, you're a doll."

angie makes dad stand up, almost pushing him

i let her, because it is needed

even though i want to fondle him

fragile and broken

"i would like to speak with your manager, you have no right to manhandle your customers! i worked in customer service myself, but i never treated respectable people like this! manager, please! i am never coming back here again!"

he is mixing her up with the waiter

and i try not to see her wince

because my heart pangs in sympathy

i am lucky enough to only shift between myself and my mother in his eyes

but, she—

not in his long-term memory yet,

her identity will be interchangeable with any stranger in his episodes for years to come

because she did not know him before

after all of this,

we had to take him home

clamping his mouth as we shoved him in the car

silently vowing never to come back

another memory among the list of unmentionable incidents

my do-over dinner was catalyzed to have more potential for disaster

but, i think

it went much, much better

maybe we did not talk about anything important in words

but,

through our actions

we reached an understanding that will bridge us there

and i know we will get through it

i still don't like robin—

i will never call her my mother—

but,

that's okay

because i respect her as a person

the process similar in more ways than one

of how i am learning to get to know you all over again

yours truly,

evelyn

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A/N:

Hi,

I know this chapter was really long, but maybe it'll make up for lost time between updates. I would love if you would let me know if it's too much, if it makes following the dialogue too confusing since that was a concern. But, I felt it was needed because conveying individual moments is difficult in poetry, at least for Evelyn and I, so I had to try to be as descriptive with body language and her feelings as I could.

Because of these difficulties, the chapter wasn't as metaphorical or full of figurative language like the others. But, again, it was needed in order to move the plot forward. I'm also sorry about that too, but I still like the part in itself despite that. I don't think it always has to be flowery and full of imagery. It needs a sense of realism in it too that maybe will be fixed in the rewrite whenever that happens (it's too far away to even imagine right now.)

Even though I haven't been updating, I've been writing pretty consistently which makes me really happy! That was my whole purpose for starting this, to find a project that could be my gateway to being persistent with my writing.

I'm been thinking lately that when I'm much older, I might use this project as a possible story for actual publication. It'll need loads of revision, but I've really grown to love it. Plus, it would be nice to have something that is already halfway there, you know?

Anyway, let me know your thoughts on any of this plus the part itself. I really love to hear your thoughts and opinions, it lets me know that someone still wants to read Evelyn's story.

Don't forget to vote, comment, and follow!

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it.

Love,

Kiana