The Secret - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mrs. Johnson smiled; holding open the glass door for the tiny me who felt a little bigger today, “What can I do for you today, Emma?”

“Hi, Mrs. Johnson,” I smiled back, “You don't happen to have any lambskin on you, do you?”

“Lambskin.” She looked strangely at me; what new material was I asking for this time? “Whatever for?”

“Shoes,” I saw her eyebrows lift, “Or a purse.”

“I'm sorry, Emma, I don't have any on me,” She lifted her old-fashioned glasses back on her nose bridge, “But it is very delicate, don't you know that?”

I nodded, “I did a little research.”

“What is in your mind right now?” She sat at the corner of the wooden table.

“Electric blue soft leather for the outside and red lambskin for the inside.” I recalled the idea from Anne.

“Not a very wise decision, Emma,” She answered, “Lambskin is quite pricey. Making it red would make it even more unaffordable. Why don't you make the lining red instead?” She hinted at the sketchbook that had my arms wrapped over, “Let's see what you came up with already.”

I flipped past the pages of the sketchbook as I shifted further to the left from blocking the way, my black sling bag shaped like a deep mini bowl.

She pulled out a pencil and some colored stencils, drawing an identical shape of the ballerina flats. The color blue was matched but instead of a darker blue lining, she made it hot red. As for a little decoration for the front, a red ribbon. Then she presented it to me. But I thought it could use a little something more.

So I added, in a new diagram, a plush ribbon, suede maybe, with either blue and red polka dots or stripes. Now it did look perfect. A little flash of metal with my initials was her addition.

“To make it yours truly.” She made an arrow and wrote the text for the metal; engraving it as, “Emma.”

“But you have to learn first, Emma,” She said, “How to make a shoe.”

“Do you know how to, Mrs. Johnson?”

She shook her head, “But there are two options to getting it done.” I leaned in as if her advice was pure gold, “You can work with a cobbler, tell him exactly how you want it.”

“Like custom-made shoes?”

“Exactly,” She smiled, “Or...you simply do it yourself.”

“But...don't I need...”

“Of course, you must practice everyday, and getting the materials is not easy,” Mrs. Johnson returned the book, “But then you'll be able to see things from an entirely different light. Not only will you be able to make the appropriate adjustments, it helps your reputation as a designer.”

“But...don't designers just design?”

Mrs. Johnson looked shocked, “There's a little more hard work than that, Emma. And even if you fail, remember Thomas Edison.”

“Didn't he make the lightbulb?”

“He failed 999 times. But finally made it on the 1000^th time.”

“So I should never give up, huh?” I grinned, “Alright, have you any spare materials today?”

I usually picked up scraps from Mrs. Johnson's store, sometimes turning them into little accessories if they aren't much. Bigger left-overs were made into dresses and skirts, which after completion, was turned over to Mrs. Johnson for inspection. Quality of the hems was under tight inspection and harsh criticism, but there was no doubt each one turned out better than the rest because of her words.

“Have you already forgotten these?” She brought out an ealier design I had whipped up; a black sequinned top and a brown boat-neck dress with a low back design, “The threads are lying idly by, Emma, or have you already forgotten how to tidy it up?”

She went on, “You could have done a little better than this, Emma, I mean the design is a little normal,”

“But the sequins are different than the usual. Look, I even made the short bubbly effect for the dress.”

“Yes well, go home, do the necessary adjustments...and make sure you got the opening of the sleeves adjusted...it's all too wide.” She pushed it into a bag and handed it over. Then she walked away for a few minutes before coming back with some stray materials.

“See what you can do with the crete material, Emma,” She said, “A nice long beachwear cover or formal wear...”

“Alright, Mrs. Johnson. Thanks, Mrs. Johnson.” I grinned back at her as I walked away to leave the store. A few minutes later and I was home, picking up and examining the scraps when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

"Hey, how's it going?"

“Tobey?” I was surprised to hear him; he never usually called unless it was important.

“Uh-huh...”

“What do you want, Tobey?” He hadn't said a thing causing a good short awkward moment.

“Well...I just called to ask you something...what you think about someone...”

Ugh. “Laura?”

“Yeah...what do you think of her?” Tobey asked, though I knew no matter what I said wouldn't make a difference, “I mean, does she seem nice or...”

“I don't know Laura very well, Tobey,” I reminded him.

“But didn't you guys talk back at the library?”

“For a short while!” I exclaimed, “Besides, you know her history.”

“What history?” He acted as if he never knew.

“She's dated so many guys before you, Tobey.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?” I replied, “So, you're just going to be another number, nothing that really matters to you.”

“Don't say that.”

“You asked me what I thought of her.”

“Alright fine, if you're right...”

“I know I'm right, Tobey.”

“But I really like her, Emma.” He wailed; I hate it when he wails like that.

“Look, I'm not going to give you advice if you're not going to take it,” I almost hung up on him, “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait!” He called out, “You really don't like her?”

“I don't trust her, Tobey, now stop annoying me, I've got things to do too, you know,”

He sighed and hung up the phone, leaving me to return to working on my little project to become just the greatest designer of all time. I imagined myself; my name in lights or in magazine next to a tall and skinny model wearing my latest design as we pose for the final walk down the runway once it is all over. My entire year after that would be hectic; orders coming in from around the world who has heard the buzz about my fashion show in New York or Milan or Cannes. Week after week I'd inspect the line of production; both hand made and factory made and materials of the utmost quality.

But in a sleepy and old-fashioned town such as mine, it was difficult thinking about such things. Almost nobody left within a ten mile radius; they just seemed to be stuck here. I was midway thinking about such things when a needle had accidentally pricked my flesh; my own absent-mindedness of not watching where the needle went.

A surge of deep scarlet arose like a tiny and most amusingly neat bubble; shaking and moving out of place causing smears when messed with. I stared at the bubble; my heart sinking deep about my dream. It seemed so far away, so difficult. Added to that, my seams weren't all that perfect, either. Loose strands always stuck out like a sore thumb, and there was no way I could hide it. Finally cleaning and dressing the little wound from further bleeding on my cloth, I fought the pain of not being able to be just the designer/seamstress I wanted to be.

Parsons, The New School For Design, that's where I'm headed. A school with a history, I would be sure to make it out there in New York. But I'd be leaving home and this little town if I do, and there was no way my parents would approve. It would be too far, away from them; away from morals and humanity. They would, of course, have so much experience; enough to talk about New York and it's dazzling, beautiful but distracting lights and attractions.

“Alright everyone, this way...and please, behave yourselves,” Mr. Thompson gritted his teeth as he followed the guide down the big hall at The Science Museum. But the agitated feeling in his heart could hardly last long, as he viewed briefly the many wonders present in the next room. We could all tell, by his wide gape, his stunned face and the way he stood still in awe of the room. Laughing discreetly about the nerd he is as we passed him by, we then took to exploring the little gadgets and lights there.

“You'd think they'll they send us somewhere a little older for our age.” I heard some boy whisper to his friend.

“What a waste of time.” Anne joined arms with me as we walked around the room watching as the other kids entertained themselves.

I sighed and let the time pass by in a doodle that I drew while somebody from the Science Museum gave a long lecture about the environment. In a srange monotoned voice, he explained how the universe works, adding to that, the 'wonders of civilization and technology'. Half sleeping and half dreaming, we all leaned forwards with our chins on our arms on the table; clearly bored and clearly not afraid to show it either. Nobody insisted for a question to be answered by the boring speaker, so we were allowed to walk around and explore.

“What's with the hair on the hat?” Dinah came over; shocking me as I had just fooled around with the crazy hat; like a bald cap with the hairs fitted in like Albert Einstein's messy do. I was dunking my head in the air while excitedly watching the funny movements of the hair(hopefully aritificial and not from some corpse) and was about to reach for the complete accessory; black round glasses.

“Oh hey Dinah,” I quickly took out the hat; embarassed that anyone had to see me like this; see I wasn't the kind to be open and comfortable with making a fool out of myself in front of everybody and laughing it off like it was meant to be that way, “Just messin' around, wanna try?”

“Oh no, no...no thank you,” She quickly walked away; grossed out by the looks of the stiff and wiry, gray and white hair sticking out.

I put the hat back; though it didn't exactly look like a hat. It was more like a jelly mantelpiece; exciting yet incredibly repulsive with its strands of tiny hair, dust and wool. I wondered for the second time why I had ever put that on my head in the first place.

“Notice anything interesting around here, Emma?” Anne suddenly appeared next to me as I was watching some planets move in orbit in some slides.

“Nope...” I looked around, “Should I?”

“Well besides the fact that some people aren't here.”

“Like?”

“Like Tobey.”

“He hates getting up on Saturday mornings.”

“And Laura.”

I turned to look at her in a grin as she linked her arm with mine and took a walk around the exhibition.

“Interesting.” I laughed, “How very interesting.”

Soon it was time to leave the exhibition. Mr. Thompson, in great excitedness over his love for science could not stop talking about the exhibition. He went on and on as we were walking out the door; thinking that somewhere out there, there were students willing to listen to his talk on the wonders of science he had seen in the museum. When he realized there was no reply to his short speech, he bid adieu and left us to go our respective ways.

“Well...it isn't that bad...” Mrs Johnson looked at every detail of my newest creation, “But good job anyway. However, hold on, let me take a closer look...”

I looked around the working room; the back room that no one else but Mrs Johnson goes to do her work. I used to wonder where her husband would be since she was called a Mrs Johnson, but I stopped soon after finding out from Mom that Mrs Johnson was a widow, her husband had died from a disease he had picked up during the war. She could never love another and so she kept the name Mrs Johnson, but I daren't ask her more questions that Mom couldn't answer.

Mrs Johnson, a little plump and a little motherly though she had no children. In my sleepy town, rumor has it that she couldn't give birth and that was the reason why her own sisters and brothers would never let her touch, come close to, or carry their own children. They found it bad omen for a women who couldn't give birth, to come close to babies and children. But Mom couldn't care less about such things; she was never into such hogwash, nor could she turn her back on the sweet old but cranky at times, Mrs Johnson.

Looking around at the spread of materials, scissors, mannequins to dress up and the huge working table; it all seemed ideal, to be able to work like that everyday for the rest of my life, and receving credit on the magazines, the television and when celebrities or high profiled people wear my designs. Special orders would be coming in and I'd visit every country shaking hands with the people there; maybe for charity, maybe for publicity. The picure of us shaking hands would cover a two page spread in the newspaper by the publishing industry, perhaps governed by Anne, who wished to become a successful journalist and writer, and finally, an editor.

Speaking about newspapers, I walked over to the corner on the right, a newspaper catching my attention at the corner of my eye from its huge, puzzling and descriptive pictures.

“Are you sure you want to read that, Emma?” Mrs Johnson's words sent chills down my spine.

“What's wrong?” I turned around, shaking almost from the curiousity and fear.

“It's pictures about what happened to people affected by the recent economic fall,” Mrs Johnson never looked up, “But go ahead and read it if you want...but it will be heart-breaking.”

Her warning was clear and precise, but I went ahead anyway, having had a previous conversation with the stuck-up Renee about the topic. My hands were shaking for what I was about to have a clearer view of. Already from far and I could see an area of red; a pool of red specificly that reminded me of my cut a few days ago from correcting the seams of my little project.

The headlines read, “Economic Disaster Leading to Destruction of Resources, Sanity and Perhaps, Humanity”. With that, many pictures depicting people who had hung themselves, jumped off a building or simply had overdoses of illegally prescripted drugs. I read the brief stories shown as caption below those pictures that surrounded a huge enlarged picture of a man with his face on the ground with his crying companions trying to hold on to the last remnants of him but the cops would not allow it. They were in dire state and the cops took it upon themselves to having the responsibility of keeping them in their sane mind to avoid something messy from happening.

“Terrible fall of stocks on Wall Street,” I heard Mrs Johnson say, “Poor people, everythings just went downhill.”

I couldn't read any longer of the huge paragraphs depicting the scenario so I closed and pushed the newspaper back into it's previous state. Then I walked back to where Mrs Johnson stood and watched as she made the necessary adjustments and measurements. I wondered how this fall would affect everyone here since New York seemed more like a myth of a legendary city rather than the island that is still in the midst of its hustling, bustling, and consuming even the sweetest of minds.

“Run along now,” Mrs Johnson returned my piece, “Won't you be late for school?”

“There isn't school on Sunday, Mrs Johnson,” I laughed and walked out with my creation in hand.

I walked down the street, taking in the odd yet familiar view of the town. There I was, so in love with the peacefulness, I could never leave this town. Here I was, so attached to the place, loving each and everything about it. I felt like I was on top of the world, although it felt like something was missing. I love it here; but there really was something missing about the place. I couldn't figure out why, but there was an empty slot like nothing has been close to completion. Or maybe I just think too much. Tobey said it once; “You think too much, Emma. Don't ever overthink. Once you do, your world starts to get more confusing.”

On Monday morning, in perfect coincidence, he said, “Have I told you, you think too much, Emma?”

Mr. Thompson had put me on the committee for the class party this Friday. Along with Dinah and a few others, we had to put up the best class party ever, and put to shame the other classes. There was a catch however; every decoration had to eco-friendly. A weird contest to encourage going green, if you ask me. But the prize was good; a day at Cadbury's, a chocolate factory in the next state, complete with free samples and the opportunity to stare at streams of glossy chocolate; much like the one in the movie, 'Charlie and The Chocolate Factory'. But that wasn't all; the winning class gets to miss 3 days at school. Who'd turn down the holiday?

You wouldn't believe how even more excited everyone was to have 3 days off. The chatters and the beaming faces of the entire student body were more than when the principal had announced the field trip. Immediately we went back to homeroom, determined in our hearts to make sure the party had plenty eco-friendly posters and decors.

“I'm thinking newspaper shaped origami...trees, animals, patterns...” Jamie started; eager to begin the meeting to plan the perfect party.

“Recycled shirts!”

“What?” Everyone else stared at Tobey, who wasn't even supposed to be in this meeting.

“This is a meeting for the party councils only, Tobey,” Jamie stared at him, “What are you doing here?”

“Just seeing if you guys needed my help?”

Jamie was not convinced; she wanted the meeting to be exclusive. Tobey was our classmate but Jamie still wanted everything to be perfect. To her, he was a distraction.

“Alright, fine, I was bored so I thought I'd sit in.” he shrugged.

Jamie still stared at him, expecting him to leave.

“Please?” He smiled sheepishly.

“Fine,” She gritted her teeth, “But be quiet. Now everyone...”

Jake ignored Jamie, “Tobey, what do you mean by recycled shirts?”

“Permission to speak?” Everyone else laughed as Tobey sheepishly asked Jamie, to which she nodded.

“I don't literally mean recycled shirts. I was thinking if we could get some old shirt or something and tie-dye it green...”

“What?” Everyone stared at him.

“You know, to encourage going green. We don't all have to be in the same shade of green; we just have to wear something green.” He continued and seeing that everyone was still pondering the question, “Then we could get Emma to make it more interesting.”

“What?” I whacked him as hard as I could, “Tobey, what are you doing?”

“Come on, think about it,” Tobey ignored me completely, “She can do it, make it more fashionable or something. We could even write some cool messages on the shirts or add something to it.”

“Write that down,” Jamie ordered Jake to get a piece of paper and write down all the ideas that came from everyone in the room.

“Sorry about that,” Tobey avoided looking me in the eyes once the meeting ended, “That suddenly came into my mind,”

“Tobey, you know I can't do this, I'm just an amateur, I don't know anything about design.” I pleaded for an outside source to help instead.

“Look, just give it a try.” He quickly walked away.

After school that day, I sat with my sketchbook in hand ready to make a few drafts for when the tie-dyed shirts would be coming in. Pencil in hand, head in distress and heart pumping because of the fear to be less than expected, I wasn't thrilled to have someone interrupt me at such a time as this. But the knock on the door was beyond bearable, and I was forced to allow Dave in.

“Mom and Dad wants to talk to us.”

“Can it wait?” I looked back at the sketchbook on the desk, “I mean I really have to...”

“No, they mean now,” Dave looked awfully serious.

To Read more of this : A Little Something To Read