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 told me where to turn. 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 approached a small home with one big window letting the entire street see into their living room. The house was white, with a paved path that cut through the over grown grass that led straight to the front door. The paint was starting to peel and flake off the house, leaving behind streaks of dark wood. 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.

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

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.

"It was fine. Easy to find," I said and closed the door behind me.

"Take off your shoes," she told me.

I paused to crouch down and slip my shoes off. I lined them up with the rest of the shoes that were by the door. There weren't very many pairs, but they all looked the same. Dirty black or white Converse, or muddy boots.

Mom led me toward the kitchen where there was a small dining table with a few mismatched chairs. She sat in one of them and gestured that I sit in one next to hers. She had a stack of blank sheets of paper on the table, along with the English book and a 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."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"I honestly wasn't paying much attention."

"Okay.... so, fiction." I nodded, trying to brain storm. "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 around her pen, sloppily jotting down her ideas. She has never really had the best handwriting. She always jokes that it's because she is left handed.

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

"I can get down with that."

"Like... a talking refrigerator."

I chuckled a bit, trying not to sound awkward. I don't think the refrigerators talk to her in her time yet. I jumped off the futuristic idea and suggested, "or we could pitch an invention... like a telephone that can fit in your pocket and doesn't need a wire."

I thought maybe mentioning cellphones would make Mom think I was a genius. Thus, making her trust me. I said I had a plan. I didn't say it was a good plan. I kept eyeing her, trying to gauge her reaction.