Blame it on Barbara

BLAME IT ON BARBARA

by CB Lilley

Published by Pizza Night Press at Smashwords

www.pizzanightpress.com

Blame it on Barbara

Copyright 2010 by CB Lilley

Cover Design by Rachael Gander

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

~~~***~~~

For Jesse, whose capricious love of words inspired me to begin this little journey, and for my dad, whose daring love of knowledge inspired me to follow it through.

~~~***~~~

PROLOGUE

"My Scariest Moment: The Weather Outside is Frightful, by Barbara Birnbaum," Barbara read as she lifted an eyebrow to her classmates. The old Barbara wouldn’t have had the guts to do this, but a lot had changed in the past few weeks. She cleared her throat and continued to read her story with only the slightest hint of a sly little smile on her face.

The scariest thing that ever happened to me in my whole life was the time I got kidnapped by some very bad men. Me and my best friend were walking-

My best friend and I, her teacher corrected.

Right, my best friend and I, Barbara said. My best friend, who I’ll call Jamie, and I were walking along, minding our own business, when out of the blue we were knocked out and taken hostage by some very bad men. We woke up in a room that was cold and dark and ugly, and all I could think about was how much I missed my parents. We felt very alone, but it turned out that we weren’t alone at all. Barbara paused for dramatic effect, then looked over at Jamie with a smile and a wink.

"There was a man there with us. It was so dark that at first we couldn’t even see his face; we could only hear his voice. He told us his name, but I can’t tell you what it is – it’s top secret – but he said he was involved in some very important work for the government. At first I was relieved that there was an adult there with us, but only until Jamie found the flashlight and turned it toward the man. His face was pasty white, like a ghost, and his white T-shirt was soaked with his own dried blood. He had been shot by the same men who brought us there, and we were afraid they were going to come back and shoot us too. But that wasn’t even the scariest part.

The pasty man told us that the very bad men, the ones who were holding us there, were planning to attack a small town. And not just any small town – this small town. The very small town that we’re in right now. This was my scariest moment ever because I knew that if we didn’t get out of there, if Jamie and I couldn’t find a way to escape, some very bad things were going to happen to me and all the people I loved the most in the world.

Barbara finished her report with tales of double agents, classified government secrets, clandestine road trips, fake FBI agents, real CIA agents, cartoonish thugs, carnies who smelled like cat litter, and, of course, the ever elusive Calypso. She changed some things and left out a few details to protect the innocent, but she could never leave out the Calypso. It wasn’t only her scariest moment, it was also her greatest.

Thank you, Barbara. That was lovely, Mrs. Dunburger said. Now class, do we think Barbara’s story was fiction? Or was it non-fiction?

It was a clever assignment, Barbara thought, to learn the difference between fiction and non-fiction and to have a little fun in the process. Mrs. Dunburger asked everyone in the class to write an essay, which could be either a true story or one they had made up, and the class would then try to guess which one it was.

This story was obviously fiction, Brianna McAllister said after Mrs. Dunburger called on her.

Yeah, definitely fiction. That was an easy one, said Danny London. "And why was it called The Weather Outside is Frightful? Your story didn’t have anything to do with the weather."

As a matter of fact, Barbara said, this story has everything to do with the weather.

Nuh-uh, Danny persisted. There wasn’t anything about the weather.

Now Daniel, Mrs. Dunburger said, I think Barbara was using a literary device in the title of her story. Can you tell me which one it is?

Metaphor? Brittany Nickers volunteered.

That’s right, Brittany. Metaphor. Thank you, Barbara – that was an excellent example of fiction, said Mrs. Dunburger.

Barbara just turned and winked at Jamie. A few weeks ago, she wouldn't have believed it either….

CHAPTER ONE

Barbara was always getting blamed. For everything. She was five years old before she realized her name was just plain Barbara and not Barbara-Did-It. She wasn’t even born yet, and her brother and sister had already blamed her for ruining the family’s trip to visit Nanna Birnbaum in Virginia. Was it Barbara’s fault her mother had gone into early labor? At age five they blamed her for ruining Christmas, as if she had caught the chicken pox on purpose. She was even blamed for the existence of the youngest of the Birnbaum brood, since nine months before their birth she vocalized her wish to be a big sister. You wished for this! her older siblings accused every time the twins had a dirty diaper or cried in the middle of the night or spilled cereal on someone’s homework assignment. Most of the time, Barbara accepted her status as family scapegoat in silence. But only most of the time.

Mom! she tattled. Madison is throwing my stuff out of our room! It was only on rare occasion she threw blame on someone else.

Once their mom had crested the top of their beige-carpeted staircase, she saw Barbara standing amidst a sea of toys and clothes and books.

Oh Barbara, my gracious, honey, what have you done?

What have I done? Barbara thought. Of course I didn’t throw my own things into the hallway! But she was always the one getting blamed. For everything.

But Mom, Madison was the one…

Barbara’s natural instinct was to avoid confrontation so she hesitated before finishing her sentence, but she decided she had to make a stand on this one issue. She couldn’t, after all, go around living with all of her things sitting out in the hall.

Madison did it! She said it quickly, as if the faster the words came out the less it would be tattling.

Oh, honey, now why would Madison go and do something like that?

How should I know? Barbara responded. But she did know. She just didn’t want to say.

Madison and their older brother Austin hated the fact that their grandmother was coming to live with them, and they both blamed Barbara. Of course, that made no sense whatsoever, but that was just how things worked for Barbara in the Birnbaum household. Their conclusion, though completely irrational, was that because Barbara shared their grandmother’s name that she had played some relevant part in her moving in. In order to explain all of that to her mother, however, she would also have had to explain that nobody else in the family wanted Grandma Alexander there. Not even for a visit, and certainly not to stay. Barbara was more sensitive than most twelve-year-olds, and she knew how devastating that news would be to her mother.

Why do I have to give up my room? Madison whined as she walked into the hallway.

Madison was a beautiful fifteen-year-old girl with bouncy blonde hair and a smile that could melt butter. In addition to her good looks, she was also popular, athletic, and even smart, though she often pretended not to be. Madison and Austin were like royalty in the Birnbaum family.

Madison, honey, we talked about this already. Barbara’s parents’ greatest negotiating tactic was to pretend the conversation they were having had already taken place and that the issue had already been settled in their favor.

Why can’t Barbara move into the Nyms’ room? And put Colin in Austin’s room? Madison’s tone had evolved into a full-blown whine, but over the years their mother had built up quite a tolerance to the usually effective art of juvenile manipulation.

We just don’t think the twins are ready to be split up, sweetie.

But Mom, they’re boy-girl twins and they’re like what? Seven now? They shouldn’t even be sharing the same room anymore. It’s creepy.

Madison was right about one thing – it was creepy. The twins did everything together, everything the same. Barbara’s secret theory was that their somewhat unnatural bond to one another was derived from their unusual names. They were both phonetically named Colin, but her brother’s name was spelled the usual way with a C while her sister’s name started with a K and had an H thrown in there somewhere. It seemed cute on paper, but in all practicality was an onomastic disaster. Unfortunately, all nicknaming attempts had failed, since both Colin and Kahlin insisted on being referred to by their given names. Barbara was the one who had first referred to them collectively as The Nyms, which she had shortened from the word homonyms. Had she paid closer attention in English class, she would have known their names were actually homophones and not homonyms. But by the time she realized that small detail, it was too late – the name had already stuck.

It’s not creepy, dear, they’re just very connected to one another in a way we may not understand.

But Barbara knew her parents were also just a little bit afraid of the Nyms. They were her siblings and she loved them, but there was something deeply disturbing about the bond they shared. The reason her parents didn’t want to break that bond was that they couldn’t, and nobody wanted to find out what would happen if they tried.

Madison let out a long groan and her mom comforted her by putting her arm around her, forgetting that after about age four a hug and a pat on the shoulder could no longer solve all of life’s problems. But that was life in the ‘burbs, and even though neither Madison nor Barbara realized it at the time, things could definitely be worse.

-- .- -.- . ... ..- .-. .

Barbara didn’t mind giving up a little privacy and believed the benefits of her new situation would far outweigh any negatives. She secretly hoped that bunking with Madison would strengthen their sisterhood, that Madison might see that the age difference between them was only four short years and that they might one day become friends as well as sisters. Though she would never have admitted it to Madison, she envisioned pillow fights, swapping make-up secrets and late-night talks about boys. Much like a never-ending slumber party. Barbara had never actually been to a slumber party, but she had read about them in books and had seen one on TV.

Barbara had learned early on that the best way not to get blamed for things was to avoid them completely. Over time, however, she had avoided so much that she became virtually invisible, blending into the background of her own life both at school and in her own home. She realized just a little bit too late that it was often better to be blamed than it was to be ignored, but blending in just came so naturally to her. Average height. Average build. Average hair and eye color. Average intelligence. She was so exceedingly average, in fact, that she was abnormally normal.

The one and only thing about Barbara that wasn’t average was her name, and as it turned out that was the one thing she hated most about herself. When, after all, was the last time you met anyone named Barbara who wasn’t at least pushing forty? Barbara often wondered how her life might have been different had she been a Brittany or a Whitney or a Jessica. Would she have been invited to Brianna McAllister’s pool party last summer? Would she get to sit at the cool table during lunch? Would she be picked for the kickball team in gym class?

Those were the questions Barbara pondered while she sat at the very edge of the very last table in the most isolated corner of the Warren G. Harding Junior High School cafeteria. She thought nobody was watching her. She thought nobody was noticing her, but she was wrong.

- --- .-. . .- -.. - .... .

Barbara’s grandmother arrived in the middle of October during Barbara’s seventh-grade year. Barbara had begun the start of each new year with new hopes: a new teacher, a new class, and new possibilities to make new friends. And this year she had started not only a whole new class, but a whole new school – The Warren G. Harding Junior High School. Junior high sounded so much more grown up than elementary school, and Barbara had big hopes for a new beginning.

By October, however, her hope had dwindled. That year turned out just like all the others. There were new students, of course, but her new classmates seemed no different from the old. Even though there were hundreds of other kids at Warren G. Harding, being there was always a very lonely time for Barbara. At least at home she was only being ignored by six of her family members and not by eight hundred of her peers.

The lunch table next to hers was the geek table, where all the honors students and other social misfits assembled. It was a virtual breeding ground for insults, since everyone there had one shortcoming or another – glasses, braces, freckles, asthma, acne, etc. Other kids ridiculed them as they passed by, almost as a matter of reflex. It was all part of the natural pecking order of adolescent hierarchy – there were kids who were made fun of, there where kids who made fun of them, and then there was Barbara. She was actually jealous of the kids at the geek table; at least they were part of a system, part of the cycle of life of junior high. To be bullied also meant to be noticed, and the only reason Barbara was ever noticed was for her old lady name. Even the geeks had better names than she did, just like everyone else in her own family.

Madison and Austin were both named for places her parents had lived that had special meaning for them. They met in college in Madison, Wisconsin, and they were married in Austin, Texas where her father had completed his masters program in engineering. After that, they moved to Clarence, Indiana, which was an equal distance between her mother’s hometown in South Dakota and her father’s hometown in Virginia. Had she been a boy, she was pretty certain they would have named her Clarence, but since she was a girl she was named after her maternal grandmother Barbara.

Barbara believed it was an absurd name to choose for any child. At worst, Barbara was a name for an aging aunt with a house full of pets who wore big glasses and pink sweaters embroidered with kittens. At best, it was a name for a mysterious grandmother with a secret past.

CHAPTER TWO

Barbara knew very little about her maternal grandmother, not because she was uninterested, but because little was known about her by anyone in the family. Barbara once made the mistake of asking her mother about her grandmother, but instead of getting answers she just got blamed for ruining the meatloaf. Barbara knew it wasn’t her fault her mother became too distracted to notice the oven timer, but she never asked about Grandma Alexander again. She did, however, occasionally overhear conversations between her mother and her Uncle Jeff.

Uncle Jeff had been a bit of a mess for as long as Barbara could remember. He had never gone to college, held down a steady job, or, as far as Barbara knew, had a serious girlfriend. His hair was long and he was almost never clean-shaven or dressed in anything besides jeans and T-shirts, which made Jeff the best uncle in the world. He took Barbara sledding, bought her ice cream, let her watch horror movies, and when he was in charge she always got to stay up past her bedtime.

The morning Barbara’s grandmother was to arrive from South Dakota, Uncle Jeff had stopped by the house before his shift at the 7-Eleven. He hadn’t noticed Barbara, of course, as she listened from the hallway outside the kitchen.

I can’t believe you’re letting that woman move in with you! Jeff protested.

That woman is our mother, Jeff, her mother responded.

I moved to Indiana with you to get away from her.

Jeff, I’m glad you moved here, and I know the kids enjoy having some family around, but I never asked you to come. I moved here to be closer to Ben’s family, not to get further away from my own.

There was a silence. Barbara felt bad for Jeff, who often seemed like something of an eighth wheel in the Birnbaum house.

Where you decide to live or not to live is your business, Jeff. I’m not responsible for your life, but my mother – our mother – is always welcome in my home. And that’s final.

Barbara knew that eavesdropping was wrong, since it was something for which she was very often blamed, but she held an intense curiosity about this woman whose name now belonged to her. Since little was known by anyone in the family about Grandma Alexander and since Barbara spent a lot of time alone with her thoughts, she had created her own mythology to surround the enigmatic matriarch.

Barbara never admitted it to Austin or Madison, but she was extremely excited about their grandmother’s