Lola

1

Please don't think that I (the writer of this story) think that Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov is a love story. The book is simply about a predator who illegally and wrongly takes advantage of an underage girl. You will find out later in the story why the protagonist of this story misinterprets the book! :)

~~~~~~~~~

Dear Diary,

It all started two days after my fourteenth birthday. My fourteenth birthday was on a Thursday and from my grandmother I had received a gift card for the local bookstore in town. There wasn't much money on the gift card, enough for one book. Two if I was lucky.

"I'll take you into the bookstore on Saturday," my mother had told me.

"Yipee," I sarcastically replied.

Being fourteen and not much of a readeroutside of school, I had thought that a gift card for a bookstore was the worstbirthday present one could receive. Little did I know that the gift card from my little, old grandmother would change my life.

"Oh, Lola, you are not seriously wearing that!" my mother scolded.

I had chosen jean overalls and an old white t-shirt. I was a major tomboy before Lolitato say the absolute least.

(Please note, Diary, that I am separating my life into two significant events:

1) Before Lolita

And

2) After Lolita

These two time frames will be significant throughout the entirety of my Diary for clarity)

"What's wrong with this?" I asked, staring down at my faded clothes.

"You are not wearing that into town," my mother said. "Now, you go on upstairs and change right away, young lady."

After I had begrudgingly changed into a blouse and skirt I ran back down the stairs, gift card in hand, and into the sitting room where my mother was waiting in her red dress with white polka dots.

"Now that is much better."

I sighed, relieved that she approved of my attire.

"Now get your shoes on. Chop, chop! I have errands to run in town before we visit the bookstore."

It turned out that the 'errands' my mother wanted to do in town involved getting her perm re-done (which took a ridiculous amount of time), buying chicken for dinner, and browsing the stores for a dress to wear to an upcoming barbeque in the neighbourhood -all the while my mother gossiped to each and every single one of the female employees at the stores ,being a housewife my mother took pride in knowing the gossip of the town.

After and only after my mother did the things she wanted to do, we drove down to the bookstore in my mother's new car –courtesy of my father who worked as a banker at the largest bank in town.

"Don't take long," my mother said, "I don't want the chicken in the car going off."

I rolled my eyes and pulled open the glass door to the bookstore, the bell above the door chimed as we entered and the boy at the front counter –who looked to be about eighteen–glanced momentarily at my mother and I.

Before Lolita I had never been in a bookstore, the only time I ever read was assigned reading at school and even then I only ever borrowed from the school library, and upon entering I found myself confused. I had no idea where to start.

"Well, go on," my mother ordered pushing me forwards slightly. "I'll be looking at the cookbooks, don't take long."

Before I spotted Lolita, my mother had already purchased three cookbooks. Each along the lines of: 'gourmet cooking for housewives'.

"Oh, Lola, dohurry up!" my mother impatiently demanded as she stood by the glass entrance door.

It was then my eyes found it: Thebook. The book that would change my life forever.

Lolita

My mother wasn't too interested in what I had purchased. She spent the car ride home chewing my ear off about the woman in the hair salon who had smudged lipstick on her two front teeth. We pulled up in our driveway and my mother shooed me out of the car before she took the items she had bought out of the backseat of the car.

"Lola!" Chase, my next door neighbour who had been thirteen at the time, called. "Do you want to play soccer? I'm going to round up the Heywood twins and see if Emerson also wants to play. You can be on my team!"

I looked to my mother for confirmation.

"Absolutely not." She shook her head in disapproval and turned to Chase, "I'm sorry, Dear. Lola has to come inside and help me with dinner."

This was a lie. My mother never asked me to help her with dinner. She always deemed me hopeless at womanly tasks and spent most of the time raving that I would never find myself a nice husband when I didn't even know how to cook toast. She didn't want me to play soccer with Chase because she didn't like his mother who'd had a rumoured affair with the boy who cleaned their pool.

Without another word to Chase, my mother ushered me inside. Once we were in the kitchen she placed the groceries and cookbooks on the kitchen counter.

"Go upstairs and read your book, your father will be home from golf soon."

I followed my mother's instructions and climbed the stairs and entered my room. I flopped down onto my bed, book in hand, and kicked off my pink flats. Before opening and reading LolitaI had no idea what the book was about, it had simply caught my eye because there was a resemblance between the titleand my name.

I opened the book with a sigh and began my reading adventure.

'Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.'

I was hooked from the first line and spent the rest of the afternoon reading the book until I was called down for dinner. During dinner my father asked me what I had bought with the gift card from his mother.

"A book," I vaguely replied.

My father chuckled. "I know that, silly! What's it called?"

"Lolita."

"And what's it about?"

"A girl called Dolores," I said, which wasn't exactly a lie. There was indeed a girl called Dolores in the book, I just didn't tell my father the things that Dolores and Humbert Humbert had gotten up to in the book.

My mother interrupted the conversation between my father and I by telling him about the woman in the with the smudged lipstick in the hair salon. He like me didn't seem too interested in the topic of conversation and spent most of it saying things like: "Oh heavens" and, "No, I cannot believe it either, dear".

After dinner and dessert I ran back up the stairs and into my room where I spent the rest of the night reading as much as Lolitaas I possibly could.

It took me two days to read and finish Lolitaand as I read the last line:

'And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.'

I knew one thing: I wanted to be Dolores Haze and I would strive until I got there, no matter whoor whatgot in my way.

And I can assure you one thing, Diary: I was never the same after Lolita. Never again was I the tomboy with knotted hair who wore the faded jean overalls.

Yours Sincerely,

Lola.