Imagine a world where animals can talk and shooting stars happen every night. Imagine a world where the trees have bark so smooth it's like cotton. This is just where Gwen and Daisy find themselves when they travel through a camera Gwen's bedroom. But everything is not beautiful. Everything is a different shade of gray. This just happened recently when a photographer arrived. To make matters worse, the animals expect Gwen and Daisy to defeat him and bring back the color.
Into the Lens
By Esther M. RydzikAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Esther M. Rydzik
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-6007-7Contents
Chapter 1-Juicebox....................................................1Chapter 2-The Man in the Black Chair..................................7Chapter 3-The House in Auburn.........................................11Chapter 4-The Gash in the Bathroom Floor..............................17Chapter 5-Juicebox's Cottage..........................................23Chapter 6-Roger Fandlan...............................................29Chapter 7-Atlas.......................................................31Chapter 8-Cinnamon and the Flying Squirrel............................37Chapter 9-The River...................................................43Chapter 10-The Black Bear.............................................47Chapter 11-The Hall of Tapestries.....................................53Chapter 12-The Queen..................................................55Chapter 13-The Birds..................................................57Chapter 14-The Pink Lights............................................63Chapter 15-The Nighttime Visitors.....................................67Chapter 16-Daisy's News...............................................73Chapter 17-The Escape.................................................77Chapter 18-Louis and Louisa...........................................79Chapter 19-The Silver Fox now Red.....................................87Chapter 20-Atlas's Gift...............................................91Chapter 21-Escape from the Palace.....................................95Chapter 22-The Sycamore Forest........................................97Chapter 23-A Conversation in the Woods................................103Chapter 23-The Magical Flute Sounds or Does it?.....................107Chapter 24-My Impending Death.........................................111Chapter 26-Cronus and Atlas's Fight...................................117Chapter 27-The Unwelcome Visitor......................................121Chapter 28-Becoming Royalty...........................................125Chapter 29-Saying Goodbye.............................................129Chapter 30-Return to Auburn...........................................133Chapter 30-The Christmas Gift.........................................135
Chapter One
Juicebox
I chose to sit next TO the window so she couldn't see my tears. She didn't mind anyway; she liked the aisle so she could stretch out her legs. I glanced at her; sure enough, she'd fallen asleep.
The drink cart was coming down the aisle. I wondered whether I should shake her awake. I was sure she would yell at me if I tapped her on the shoulder.
Whack. "Ow," she said groggily.
The blonde flight attendant spoke. "Would you like a drink, free of charge?"
"No, thank you." She rubbed her heavy eyes, then looked at me with that all too familiar look of disgust. "Gwen, you look so red. Have you been crying?"
I looked away from her piercing green eyes and turned my attention to the tabletop attached to the seat in front of me. I slowly nodded.
She dug her sharp, manicured nails into my shoulder. "Look at me when I talk to you."
I rubbed my aching shoulder and with much effort looked at her. Her curly golden hair was a mess. Thank God she didn't have a mirror. She would've screamed at her appearance. "Sorry," I said softly.
"Gwen, what am I going to do with you?" She threw her hands up in the air. "You can't cry over this. You are being such an idiot."
"I'm sorry." The tears welled up in my eyes. "I'm just not as strong as you."
She pinched me again in the shoulder. Now there was a nice circular red patch forming.
"Strength has nothing to do with it," she snapped. "Millions of kids have divorced parents. You don't see them crying now, do you?"
I shook my head. "But I'm sure in the beginning they cried." I put my hand over my shoulder.
"Oh, Gwen, don't be so presumptuous." She always liked to use big words in uncomfortable situations. I wondered if she even knew what presumptuous meant because I had no idea. She went on, despite my confused look. "My friend, Gina ... her parents divorced two months ago. She didn't shed a single tear."
"Wasn't that because her father hit her mother?" I asked feebly. I took my hand from my shoulder for one second. Slap! The patch throbbed again.
She opened her mouth, but the pilot's voice came over the intercom, "Ladies and gentleman, we thank you for flying with us this evening. We will be arriving in Sacramento in thirty minutes. At this time, we ask you to please turn off all electronic devices. Flight attendants, prepare for arrival."
I looked out the small Plexiglas window at the green patchwork thirty thousand feet below me. It amazed me how small the world looked. It seemed like a giant architectural model from up here. The people looked so small that I couldn't even see them. The freeways reminded me of those racetracks I used to play with last year. The pickup trucks and large eighteen-wheelers were now the size of the model cars. There were no clouds up here. It was simply a clear blue sky. It was almost calming.
The flight attendant bobbed down the aisle and crouching down to our level, she said, "Hello, girls." Her smile looked like it would fit in perfectly in a Trident commercial. She had a slight Southern twang. "You two have been such little angels. Are you clear on what we do once we land?" I opened my mouth to ask whether we were to get off the plane before or after everyone else, but my sister once again clawed my arm. I should really get a metal covering for my shoulder.
"Yes," my sister responded with a fake smile.
"Great; here's a present for you." The flight attendant handed my sister two Santa-themed coloring books from behind her back. She then turned and shuffled down the aisle, humming, "We Wish you a Merry Christmas."
"Oh joy, coloring books," my sister said sarcastically after the woman left. "Does she know how old we are?"
She threw the book onto my lap. I gripped my throbbing shoulder. "You're fifteen," I said.
She responded with a kick to my calf. On the bright side, my shoulder wasn't injured, I thought
As soon as we landed, every single person was on his or her cell phone, including my sister. "Hey ,Mom, we just landed ..."
"No, it wasn't scary at all. There was a bit of turbulence over the mountains but nothing major ..."
"I took the aisle, so I didn't really see what was outside. Gwen sat by it though, and she was glued to it the whole time."
"Yeah, I wish I could be there too," she said. Rifling around in her purse, she took out her hot-pink iPod. She turned on the iPod as she continued, "But hey, next Christmas we'll be with you."
I reached for the cell phone. She swung her head away from my hand. "I have to go now, Mom. I'll tell Gwen you said hi. Love and miss you already. Bye." She closed the phone.
"Hey," I said and then huffed, "I wanted to talk to her!"
She put her iPod on her lap. She held both my shoulders and swung my body so I couldn't help but look at her in the face. "Do you know what would happen if you talked to Mom right now? You'd cry. Then she would feel bad about us leaving. Do you want her to be sad, Gwen?"
"But Daisy, I just wanted to hear her voice."
She squeezed my arms tightly. "Gwen, you are so immature. You need to grow up. We'll be back in Connecticut in two weeks. You can hear her voice then."
The red seatbelt light went off. Everyone stood up. Many wore gray trench coats. Many were talking of mergers, some about Christmas parties. I stood up and my sister said sternly, "What are you doing?"
"My legs hurt, Daisy. I just want to stretch them out."
"Fine, but pull your shirt down." She took the edge of my MASH shirt and pulled it over my navy blue jeans. "Honestly, I don't know why you wear that thing. You look so ugly in it. Don't you care what you look like?"
I felt a pang within my chest. "Not really," I said softly. "I like this shirt, though. It reminds me that even in times of war, people can laugh. Besides, it's Mom's favorite show. It's mine too; even if it did end ten years ago."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you like it. The characters put me to sleep. Besides, who wants to watch a show about the Korean War anyway? It's long over."
"Oh and I suppose Gossip Girl is more stimulating?"
"At least it's current," she snapped.
The plane emptied quickly. The line of passengers had all filed to the first-class section. The same blonde flight attendant shuffled down to our seats. "Ready to go?" she asked cheerily.
I took my North Face backpack from under the seat and put it onto my back. "Why do laptops have to weigh so much?"
Daisy took one last look at me. She rolled her eyes and said, "Shirt." I unrolled the crease in the shirt and laid it over the jeans.
We stumbled out of the chairs and into the thin aisle. My heart pounded. It felt like it was about to jump out of my chest. I bit my lip. The first-class section came into view. I glanced at the leather seats, a bit envious they did not have to get up close and personal with the person in front of them.
We came to the cockpit and the flight attendant stopped. The pilot turned around. He had this pristine blonde hair and his smile shimmered. He looked right at me. "Well, hello." He glanced at the flight attendant and said, "Betsy here said you didn't have a fun flight."
Daisy chimed in, "Oh no, sir, we had a wonderful flight."
He chuckled and said, "I know you did; I put you to sleep." He brought his light blue eyes back to me. "Betsy saw your reflection in the window and said you were crying during half the flight. Was my flying that bad?"
I smiled, "Oh no." I looked at my sister who violently shook her head.
"It's just that this is the first Christmas without our mother."
His shimmering smile faded. "I'm sorry." He reached with his muscular arm into a brown knapsack on the floor. He took out a stuffed koala. Its head hung to the left side and its right eye looked like it had been chewed by a Rottweiler. He stared at it, then reluctantly handed it to me. "That's my friend, Juicebox. He used to be my son's but now he's too old for the little guy. I was looking for a new home for him. Do you think you're up for the job?"
I nodded and held Juicebox close to my chest. He smelled like he'd been in that knapsack a bit too long.
"Anytime you need to talk, he's a good listener," the pilot said.
Daisy said softly, so that only I could hear her, "C'mon. We don't have time for this."
"Well, you should be going. I don't want you to get locked in the plane. You could miss Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Ramadan, or whatever you celebrate."
Daisy grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the plane.
"Thank you, and happy holidays to you too," I yelled.
We were in the middle of the plane tunnel when she looked at Juicebox. She scrunched her nose and said, "We'll throw that thing away as soon as we get to the terminal."
"No," I said, looking at the bit of stuffing coming out of his ear. "I kind of like him."
"Your funeral," she retorted.
Around the next turn, I saw our father. He wore his Yankees baseball cap to cover his balding head. His arms were outstretched when he saw us. I gripped Juicebox's paw tightly.
He hugged Daisy first. He was on the brink of tears. I noticed he didn't smell like cigarette smoke anymore. "Dad, did you stop smoking?"
He squeezed me tightly. I felt organs cringe that I didn't even know existed. I lightly patted him on the back. In truth, my arms felt numb from his hug.
"Oh yes," he said and released me. Now I could breathe.
"Ever since ..." he stopped himself, and then said, "the Yankees won the World Series I stopped cold turkey and I haven't had the urge since."
He put an arm around each of us. Unfortunately, he neglected deodorant today, I thought.
He glanced at Juicebox. "Who's that?"
"Oh, nobody," Daisy answered for me. "It's just something the pilot gave Gwen. I tried to tell her to throw it away."
"I don't know; I kinda like him," my father said, and pet Juicebox's head, causing more fluff to come out of his left ear. We stepped onto the moving walkway.
"His name's Juicebox," I said.
We stepped off the moving walkway and onto the escalator. I could already see the people from our flight crowding around the empty baggage carousel.
"Odd name," my father said as we joined the crowd. We couldn't make it anywhere close to the luggage area. I held Juicebox close to my chest and my father put his hand on my shoulder.
We stared at the bright blue monitor in front of us. Flight 287 from Hartford; yep, this was the place. We heard the soft metallic whirr of the luggage entering the airport. I craned my neck but all I could see were the tan coattails. I looked over at Daisy. She was watching a television screen and her mouth was wide open.
Chapter Two
The Man in the Black Chair
The television screen read "Luggage Confiscated" in bold letters. Daisy's bright pink suitcase was in the center. Daisy immediately marched over to the desk, dragging my dad with her.
Leaving an eleven-year-old alone in an airport; he's already off to a wonderful parenting start, I thought as I walked over to the carousel and pushed past people until I was hitting the metallic edge with my knees.
My green duffel bag was one of the first items to come out. I heaved it off the belt. It was almost as heavy as my backpack. At least now I was equal in front and behind.
I heard Daisy scream to a very nervous red-haired attendant, "What do you mean; you had to destroy my alarm clock? Do I look like a terrorist?"
I thought it better to stay away, so I settled down in one of the dusty black chairs. I sat next to an African American man who was reading To Kill a Mockingbird. His nose was nestled in the book so I figured I could be alone with my thoughts. As soon as my rear end hit the seat, he closed his book.
"Have you been to Sacramento before?" he asked me and smiled. His teeth were coffee-stained. He scratched his white-stubble beard. I remembered my mother told me never to talk to strangers. You never know when you're sitting next to a pervert. But I didn't want to be impolite so I responded, "No."
"You'll love it here. I moved here nine years ago and haven't had a desire to leave since."
"But, sir ... we are in an airport."
The man gave a big, hearty chuckle. His large belly rumbled. "I'm waiting for my daughter, Laura. She's coming in from Chicago." He gave a deep sigh. "I haven't seen her for years now."
My father glanced at me from across the terminal and mouthed, "Five minutes." Daisy's voice still echoed, but now it progressed to, "You won't return it till when?"
"Is that your father?" the man asked.
I breathed a deep, heavy sigh. I silently nodded. "He just bought a place in Auburn. This is the first time I've seen him without my mom."
I watched my father just standing there. Every so often, he looked at his Rolex. He'd gained some weight since the divorce. He wasn't fat or pot-bellied, but he was definitely beginning to show signs of a gut.
"I'm sorry," the man said full of pity. "But did you say Auburn?"
"Yes, do you know it?"
"Of course," he said, once again revealing the yellow teeth. "It's this quaint little town thirty or so miles from here. It has a beautiful view of the mountains and Sacramento. I don't mean to pry, but do you know where this house is located in Auburn?"
At this point, I had a strong feeling that this man might be a stalker. But to be honest, I didn't know where my father lived. He had never sent us a postcard or a letter. He had only emailed us, but even that had only been two or three lines about the weather.
"No, why do you ask?"
His eyes darted back and forth and then he said softly, "Well, I heard about this guy that went missing. He lived in Auburn. He was a photographer. He used this old camera, like the one Ansel Adams used. You probably don't know who that is."
He was right; I didn't.
"Anyway, the photographer took these beautiful shots of the mountains. I mean, gorgeous. He sold them all around town, all over Sacramento. I remember you couldn't walk into one of his galleries without seeing one of his pictures; and then one day five years ago he just — poof — vanished."
"Did people search for him?"
"Oh, yes." The man's eyes became wide. "The whole town did. They got the police involved and they searched every square inch of the town. He left no note, his closet was full and his suitcases were empty. He simply disappeared."
"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but why are you telling me this?" Maybe he got some sick pleasure in frightening little girls.
He gave a chuckle and said, "I must be growing senile; I'm sorry. His house just sold last week. It's a beautiful house too. It's one of those old Spanish mansions. But the outside is no match for the inside. I would love to have those cedar closets and a dark granite kitchen counter. There's also this crystal chandelier that's supposedly from Spain that hangs in the dining room. And the master bathroom ... oh! I've heard it's spectacular."
"Daddy!" a woman yelled from the escalator. She wore a Chicago U sweatshirt. She had caramel skin and her bellbottoms scuffed along the floor as she ran toward my new friend.
"Hey mister, before you leave can you tell me what street the house is on?"
He put the book in his briefcase.
"It's on Riverview. But don't worry, your father looks pretty smart." He turned around and squeezed the young woman. I'm sure she felt her ribs were about to break. They walked out of the airport with their arms around each other and with a smile plastered on their faces. Oh, to be an only child!
I stood up when I saw my father walking toward me. My sister dragged her suitcase behind her. It was one of those rolling ones but the left wheel wasn't functioning properly. The pink material had shreds in it; the front zipper split open. "Don't say a word," Daisy scowled.
Chapter Three
The House In Auburn
The car ride to my father's house was silent except for the classical music on the radio. Today was Debussy day — oh joy. I shifted my weight in the leather seats and thought it odd we were in a BMW. My parents always argued about the type of car to drive. We'd always had a minivan. Even the classical music was strange. My mother constantly flipped to "The Beach Boys" or "The Rolling Stones." Now we were listening to some type of waltz with a piano. It took all my strength to keep my eyes open.
I was sort of glad nobody talked. This way I could look at the trees on the side of the road and there were plenty of them. For the first time in my life, I saw palm trees. They looked so out of place, almost alien amid the oaks and pine trees. I read billboards telling me the next McDonald's is thirteen miles straight ahead. San Francisco was a mere two hundred miles away.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Into the Lensby Esther M. Rydzik Copyright © 2011 by Esther M. Rydzik. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
