The Outsiders: Before My Time Part III

English Paper

Goldie's POV
April 5, 1965

The three of us slowly drove over to the address Mom gave me. There happened to be a map in the glove compartment and Candy became my GPS. The area became more residential, and we saw more kids on the streets that were walking home from school. They were throwing rocks at each other, hiding behind trees, and passing around cigarettes. We drove past by a couple of parks with some playground equipment, and I suggested that Candy and Red hangout there while I drove the rest of the way to Mom's house. I pulled over, they hopped out, and I told them to be careful before I continued my drive.

I continued the drive until I pulled up to a small, white house with one massive front window letting the entire street see straight into the living room. The paint was peeling and flaking off, leaving dark streaks of wood beneath. There was a paved path that cut through the over grown lawn that led straight to the front door. I had to open up a chain link fence which luckily wasn't locked. I stepped onto the property and closed the fence behind me.

I walked up to the stairs and jumped up onto the porch. I approached the brown door and I knocked quickly. Just a couple seconds later the door swung open and Mom's smiling face greeted me.

"Hi," I grinned cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe with a casual, sweet confidence. "Hope I'm not late."

"Hey, Goldie. Come on in," she said, opening the door further to let me inside.

I stepped in and was immediately in the living room. The window had green curtains drawn to let the light in, a beige couch, a deep brown coffee table over a rug, a fireplace, and a couple of chairs. I could see the kitchen straight ahead through the dining room, and just before the kitchen there was a dark hallway to the right. I didn't see anyone else in the house.

"How was your drive?" She asked.

"Easy as pie. It's a cute neighborhood," I said, turning to close the door behind me, subtly wiping my sweating palms against the sides of my jeans.

"Take off your shoes," she told me.

"You got it." I crouched down to slip my shoes off, lining them up neatly with the others by the door. There weren't many pairs, just a few dirty black-and-white Converse and muddy boots.

Mom led me into the kitchen, where a small dining table sat surrounded by a few mismatched chairs. She sat down and gestured for me to take the seat next to hers. Spread across the table was a stack of blank paper, an English book, and a black binder.

"So, I took some notes from her lecture," she said. Mom opened her black binder and took out a page of her notes. "It's supposed to be fiction, and at least twenty pages long."

"Twenty pages? Wow. Ms. Valentine doesn't play around, does she?" I chuckled, offering a sweet, engaging smile to keep the mood light. "Anything else we should know?"

"I honestly wasn't paying much attention."

"Perfect. That makes two of us," I joked. "Alright, so fiction. Let's brainstorm. What's the vibe? What should it be about?"

Mom clicked her tongue a couple times before grabbing one of the clean sheets of paper and started making bullet points. Her left hand curled tightly around her pen, sloppily jotting down her ideas. Her handwriting was a total disaster—she always joked back home that it was because she was a lefty, a trait I actually inherited from her.

"I think it should be about something just... dumb. Dumb and funny," she suggested.

"I can get down with that."

"Like... a talking refrigerator."

I let out a genuine laugh, trying to keep my internal filter locked tight. I don't think the refrigerators talk to her in her time yet. Trying to piggyback off the futuristic concept without blowing my cover, I suggested, "okay, hear me out. What if we pitch a crazy invention? Like... a telephone that fits right in your pocket. No wires. You just carry it around everywhere."