Debra Carttar - Picturing Lucy

Copyright 2010 by Debra Carttar

All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover photo by Alyssa Sutton
Author photo by Leo Arbeznik

Print ISBN 0-7414-6195-1
eBook ISBN 0-7414-9233-4

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The counselor flipped the page on the tablet of paper that sat before her and slid it over to Carol with a pen. Carol picked up the pen and held it tentatively and with a look of concern studied Lucys face. Lucy rubbed her eyes with the saturated tissue trying hard to focus on the pen in Carols hand. Slowly Carol brought the tip of the pen to the paper and began to carefully carve out the letters in a penmanship that made sure the reader would recognize each letter instantly. Holding the tissue to her cheek, Lucy held her breath and watched each letter as it was formed into the words.

and Lucy began a journey into a life she never pictured.

For Mom and Dad

Lucy was 10 years, 11 months and 9 days old when her dreary life came to a thunderous end. She was sitting uncomfortably at her undersized desk, the one her mom had purchased for her at a second hand store when she was seven, staring at the blank page of her diary unable to construct the smallest of sentences. Got up, went to school, came home played in her head like one of the scratched records her mom occasionally played on the old record player in the den. The needle would jump when it hit the nick in the vinyl and repeat the same few notes of music over and over until someone gave the arm a little push. But no one pushed Lucys arm, so it hovered over the empty page while her monotonous day repeated itself inside her head.

Her mom was late getting home from work, but that wasnt unusual enough to bring Lucy away from the thoughts of her dull life to wonder about this seemingly inconsequential piece of information. She did, however, often wonder why her long legs provided her with no benefit when it came to jumping or running contests at school but only seemed to get in her own way, why her hair was neither brown nor blonde but a combination that reminded her of sand and mud swirling in a stream or why she was not particularly good at anything. She couldnt draw, she was clumsy at sports, she was sure she wasnt musically inclined although she had never been given the opportunity to try. She didnt stand out in a crowd although she was the tallest girl in her class, a fact that often made her slouch, she couldnt sing (she had recorded herself singing to one of her favorite songs and had quickly erased the evidence) and when she tried to practice dancing in front of a mirror she was always horrified at the result.

The diary was so old fashioned. Why her mom had purchased it for her in the first place, Lucy hadnt a clue. Lucy was sure that no one actually wrote in a diary anymore. A lot of the kids at school had online journals but that wouldnt help her problem. She just didnt having anything to write about. At least the diary didnt have a cursor that would blink at her insistently and in her mind bellow write!, write!, write! Lucy was glad that shortly, this diarys days would come to an end and she would no longer be reminded daily of her unremarkable life.

If only she had brothers or sisters, because she thought that would make life more interesting. And she wished she had a father. Lucy was sure a father would give her the resource for all the words she would need to fill her diary. But since she had neither siblings nor a father, she could only imagine the good things they would add to her days, weeks and years. Even a grandparent would be nice. When she listened to other kids talk about visiting grandparents, Lucy would feel like a large piece of her life had been misplaced. She often questioned how she could have no one but a mother. She had a mother who worked and was not there for her when she came home from school. A mother who seemed to try her best to give Lucy things she thought she needed, but grew tired at the end of each day exhausted from her own responsibilities. A mother whose answers to questions about a father and grandparents were neither specific nor reliable as stories often changed just the slightest each time they were told. But the basic facts never changed, Lucy had no one but her mom. And that might not have been that bad had it not added another element to her uninteresting life.

As the blank page of her diary stared up at her, Lucy imagined a world where the small page in front of her would never be large enough for all the wonderful adventures she would experience and all the fascinating characters she would meet. But how would she get to be a part of these adventures? Not in the barely populated town of Elm in the middle of Illinois where she lived with her mom where nothing remotely interesting ever happened. She couldnt catch a late night train and journey along the rails to incredible destinations awaiting her arrival. That sounded so romantic to her. She couldnt make her overly long legs break the school record for the broad jump moving Bobby Jackson to a far second in the category. She couldnt play the piano in the school talent competition and receive a standing ovation, not to mention a scholarship to a famous music school. She couldnt just walk up to the President of the United States and say, Hi, Im Lucy, I just wrote a paper about you, and I must say we have a lot in common. No, all she had was got up, went to school, came home.

Lucy had been daydreaming for some time, so when she glanced up at the alarm clock on the dresser next to her bed, she was surprised to see that it was now after six and well past the time when her mom should be home. A slight chill caused her arms to break out in goose bumps, but she brushed them vigorously with her hands and they melted into her arms. She bounded down the stairs taking two at a time and peered out the front door before she picked up the phone in the hallway. She dialed her moms cell phone and waited for the phone to start ringing. When a man picked up, Lucy hung on the phone for a brief second before quickly clicking the off button. Her brain began going through the options searching for an answer. Lucy wondered if she had dialed wrong. Should she try the number again? Was her mom with a man? Why had he picked up her moms phone? But before she could come to a conclusion, the phone in front of her rang. She could see her moms cell phone number flash in the screen identifying the caller, but Lucy was too paralyzed to answer it. After the third ring the call switched over to the answering machine and Lucy listened to the deep voice of a male caller.