Dec 4, 2014: The Sound of silence. Dead silence. Silence is golden.

Her counselor asks, “Why didn’t you tell someone or ask for help? Why did you keep silent?” Trixie responded. “You know, there are so many types of silence. There is silence, which isn’t even real silence.” “Imagine, you are alone in a damp wooded area, like the Wheeler Preserve. There is total silence, except it really isn’t the absence of sound. You hear the wind and it sounds less like a moan, and more like a low whistle. Then you hear the sound of the damp loose leaves skittering and dancing across the ground until they slap into the base of the trees born by the weight of the rain absorbed by the paper thin membranes. You hear the light rain hitting the muddy path, and the occasional splash of the drops into the already present puddles of water. You hear the very light chittering of the birds who are scrambling to huddle as tightly as possible, in hopes that many can help keep the one dry. You may feel, more than hear, the rasp of your breath as you inhale the scent of the rain and the wet dirt. You wish for someone to help you break the silence, but you they can’t because you are alone. Then there is another kind of silence. It is the silence of not talking, because you can’t believe that anybody, anyone listening to you would believe what you have to say. I was fortunate, in a way. I knew that my abuser didn’t believe that he was doing anything wrong, and he didn’t hide his actions.  I couldn't articulate why I was so unhappy. He kept telling me that I was taking risks and getting myself in danger, that I couldn’t be trusted to keep myself safe. He kept saying that he was only trying to protect me, and that is why he would find me in town, and take my keys away and insist on driving me home. Everybody always thought that he was so honorable, and responsible and  because he was open about his abuse, it seemed less like something bad.  I couldn’t believe that anyone would ever listen and believe me when I tried to tell them what he was doing to me. You may feel, more than hear, the rasp of your breath as you inhale the scent of the fear and the threat of the pain. You wish for someone to help you break the silence, but they can’t because you are alone. That is why I lived with the thundering sound of silence.”

Oct 15, 2014: Dirty Dozen - message, pants, angle, vitamins, memory, truck, swimming, service, band, shirt, thistle, finance.

In the early dawn light Trixie huddled on the cracked leather of the bench seat in the old dark green 57 chevy pickup.  Her hoody sweatshirt wasn’t very much help in keeping her warm.  She was heartily wishing for the warmth of a late model truck with heated seats and more leg room. Every time she moved her legs to smooth the bunched up wrinkles of her pants, or  slid her feet under the angled output of the heater vent, she worried about kicking the console stick shift out of gear and rolling down the small hill of the parking lot. Dan was sitting off to the side,  in the cab of a Peterbilt tractor truck registered to Pennsylvania. He had gone into the service station store and laid the bait of being a trucker who didn’t want to ‘dead head’* back home. Now he was sitting there, actually hoping that nobody approached him to hire his rig.  He needed to stay right here, searching for their quarry that would be hauling booze to Pennsylvania.  Once they found the right target, he would abandon the rig, and join her in the chevy to trail the illegal booze across the border.  There, they would signal the state police in Pennsylvania who would take over the chase and make the necessary arrests at the end of the line. Trixie closely watched the trailing line of a dozen or more eighteen wheeler trucks that were patiently waiting their turn at the gas tanks.  She was glad she was able to recognize and sort the different details of all the trucks.  If it wasn’t for her memory, finding the right truck to follow could make this investigation a lot harder to complete. Considering that she was on the lookout for trucks possibly hauling illegal liquor, she couldn’t help seeing the analogy between the trucks waiting to be gassed up and a bunch of drunks bellying up to the bar for their share of drinks that were ‘on the house’. Their confidential informant had sent them a message that a new band of thieves  was working to finance a scheme to transport liquor across the border from New York, to Pennsylvania.  This was particularly bad news since Pennsylvania,  being a control state, prohibits the sale of wine and distilled spirits except in state controlled stores.  Therefore it was important for interstate relations that New York law enforcement close the pipeline from their state to their next door neighbor. Suddenly, the cb radio crackled, and Trixie heard a gravelly voice say, “Breaker Big Orange, you got your ears on?  This is Thistle.” Another younger voice responded, “That’s a 10-4 good buddy.  I don’t think we have any bears with ears or plain brown wrappers to worry about.  I just saw a cheese wagon go by, and my dashboard puppy is taking a well deserved nap.  I think we are good to go.  Big Orange, over and out” “I hope you took all your vitamins this morning. It looks like we have a have a long day ahead of us.  But we’ll be swimming in green-stamps at the end of the day.   Thistle out.”

Trixie grinned at the revelation of which truck she needed to follow.  She put the chevy in gear, and drove over to the Bob-tail and attracted Dan’s attention with a shrill Bobwhite whistle.  As she slid across the bench seat to let him climb in behind the steering wheel, she said, “Come on! We can pass the package to the Keystone Cops and then I am ready to go get some chocolate from Hershey Town.” *Thanks to Trish for explaining that ‘dead head’ means not driving an empty ruck back to home base. **Pennsylvania - All wine and spirits is sold in Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board stores, known as 'State Stores'. Malt beverages are sold in case lots by licensed beer retailers known as 'distributors', and in smaller quantities by on-premise establishments. The number of licenses to serve alcohol (including beer and wine) in restaurants is limited based on county populations.[8]  http://www.justice.gov/oig/reports/ATF/e0905.pdf Thanks to Mary C for the thought to use CB lingo.

Bears with ears: a police officer listening to others on the CBF

Cheese wagon:  A school bus

dashboard puppy:Radar Detector or other portable monitor (usually with an audible alarm).

Big Orange:  Skelton Truck Lines Truck.

Bob-tail:  a semi-tractor operating without a trailer.

Keystone Cops: Keystone State is a nickname for Pennsylvania.  Trixie is talking of handing the package to the Pennsylvania LEO’s.  Trixie means no disrespect but  Keystone Cops were also fictional incompetent policemen.

Hershey Town:  Hershey, Pennsylvania

green-stamps - money

Facial Expressions and Gestures

The outline of sunlight laying on the floor formed a silhouette of the windows of the west wall of the living room.  The picture of the late afternoon sunlight broken only by the shadows of the window braces stretched across the room to barely touch the toes of the shoes of the three teenage boys who were enveloped in the pillow back sofa  that seemed to wrap them in safety. Or was the couch actually a prison, securing them as surely as the iron bars of a prison cell. Opposit them, in straight backed wooden chairs, their prosecutors sat side by side.  A hairbreadth of space further on, sat their judge, draped in an infants receiving blanket rather than the usual black judicial robes. Bobby, shifted uncomfortably in his seat and with a face full of curiosity he leaned forward to speak.  “Trixie?  What’s going on?  Why did you and Diana and Honey call us over here?” Trixie ground out her words, her face almost black with anger. “Robert Belden!  If Moms knew the language you were using, I know that she would wash your mouth out with the strongest soap that she could find.” Diana interrupted and spoke to her brothers.  “Larry and Terry Lynch,  I saw that.  You sighed and grinned in relief like you think you aren’t the one in trouble, but you shouldn’t relax just yet.  Mummy will hear about this,  and in addition to the soap, I would bet that you will both be grounded for a month.” Trixie stood up and advanced to loom over the boys.  “I am sure that you probably heard this language at school from other guys.  But I know that both Daddy and Mr. Lynch will be so disappointed in the three of you.  I don’t even want to guess what Jim, Brian, Mart, or Dan will say.  I don’t think they would even use these words talking among themselves, and I am certain that none of them would ever use these words in front of the ‘little pictures with big ears’ that are Joseph and Danielle.” Each of the boys struggled to extricate themselves from the incarceration of the sofa.  When they were free, they each stood shoulder to shoulder facing their accuser. Terry exclaimed, “Just what the heck are you talking about Trixie?  We have never used any bad language in front of the kids.” Diana huffed at her brothers.  “Well, it isn’t exactly bad language.  But is sure isn’t respectful to talk about a woman’s chest as bosoms and ta ta’s. Especially since this month is Breast Cancer Awareness month.  Honey was nursing Brianna today, when Nellie Bean started talking about ta ta’s and Joey talked about buzzooms.” The three boys each started talking at the same time.  Finally, Bobby let loose with the shrill whistle of a Bobwhite quail.  “Look.  You listen to us. We have never used that sort of language.  Don’t you think that our parents taught us better than that?” A screen door slammed nearby accompanied by the excited chatter of two young children.  The six combatants turned towards the living room door and watched as Joey carrying a Buzz Lightyear toy and Nellie Bean holding a small bean sprout each dragged their fathers into the room.    As soon as the children saw the boys, they ran to their Uncle Bobby and grabbed him to get his attention. “Buzzoom” said Joey and Nellie Bean shrieked, “Ta Ta!” Trixie and Dinah yelled in unison, “See?  We knew that it had to be one of you!  Bobby, I am so ashamed … Robert Belden, why are you laughing?This isn’t at all funny!” With tears running down his cheeks, Bobby chortled, “Let me translate dear sister.  Buzzoom is ‘Buzz Lightyear goes zoom’.  See the way Joey is waving Buzz around?” Trixie humphed and said, “Maybe so.  But why is Nellie Bean saying ta ta?” Bobbie grinned and rolled his eyes as he said, “Don’t you see that her bean plant sprouted?  She isn’t saying ta ta.  She is saying, ‘Tah Dah!”

Blackbird

Aug 15, 2014:  The August 15th writing prompt involved the top ten Beatles songs.   I am making no profit from the partial use of this song, nor from the use of the characters from the Trixie Belden series.  And many thanks to Vivian and Chey for the editing help.  However, I played with the story after their edits, so any errors are and always will be my own.  Also thanks to the writers of NCIS from whom I borrowed the pivotal plot point.

♩♩♬♬♩  Blackbird singing in the dead of night

The small individual moved with sneaky grace and was dressed much like a black bear.  No,  a bear is too husky.  A leopard maybe?  No.  The black costume made her look like a small blackbird, from the the light-weight dark stocking cap covering her bouncy blond curls, to the black rock climbing slippers on her feet.

There. There is a chittering whistle.  Odd,  the only whistles usually heard in these parts are the sound of a bobwhite quail.  But bobwhites don’t whistle in the dead of night.  Well, not unless they are human and not unless someone is in trouble.
 

But again, this is a chittering whistle.  Less about calling for help, and more about saying, ‘I am here and I am okay.’

♩♩♬♬♩ Take these broken wings and learn to fly

Quietly and more surefooted than her almost twin would expect of the former yellow-daffodil, she climbed up the rain spout to the second floor balcony and peered in the open window.  Most blackbirds would wonder why the window was open.  But with the recent power outage working in her favor, she knew the window was open to gather as much sweet cool air into the apartment as was possible from the hot sultry night.

♩♩♬♬♩ All your life, You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Suddenly, lightning flashed, and the blackbird huddled against the coarse brick of the building and paused to count the seconds while she listened for the boom of thunder.  It would help to have an idea of how far away the storm was. That way, she could better gauge the amount of time that would be available to search the apartment before the tenant rushed in to close the window against the coming storm.

♩♩♬♬♩ Blackbird singing in the dead of night

An explosive boom of thunder filled the night. The blackbird whistled again to her compatriot, this time to warn of her impending entry to the apartment.  It was his job to keep the tenant occupied as long as possible.

♩♩♬♬♩ Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

The blackbird cautiously spilled over the windowsill and, using a thin beam from a pencil flashlight, she began her search for the treasure.  The electricity was off, so there was no point in checking the computer, but she knew that her prey was more inclined toward the old fashioned methods of pencil and paper.  She only hoped to find some remnant of evidence which would prove that her almost twin had a new occupation as ghost author of the Cosmo McNaught series for boys.

♩♩♬♬♩ All your life, You were only waiting for this moment to be free

She looked for almost twenty minutes and was beginning to panic that she would be discovered before her search was completed.  As she rummaged in the trash can for any scraps of paper, she realized that she was looking at a stream of used typewriter ribbon.  She remembered that she had seen several boxes of replacement spools in one of the desk drawers.  Her hand stilled on the black tape.  She had seen the manual typewriter, but had thought that it was little more than an old machine, sort of like a piece of bulky art.  But, if it was only an antique, why on earth would Mart have several boxes of new printwheels in the desk drawer and a used one in the trash?  She decided to take the used tape out of the trash and replace it with a fresh spool from the desk drawer.  If she worked carefully, she could make the new ribbon look like it had been used and thrown in the trash.  As she placed the spent cartridge and extra packaging in an evidence bag to take home to examine, she moved towards the window. 

♩♩♬♬♩ Black bird fly, Black bird fly,  Into the light of the dark black night

After climbing back onto the balcony, she released another chittering whistle as an all clear and slid down the gutter spout.  She considered the best way to leverage the evidence in her hands as she took off into the light of the dark black night.