When I Moved Upstairs

By Ann Brophy

...It was like a scene in a movie when the girl has a nightmare. She locks
her knees, pushes out her elbows, opens up her eyes and screams. Only
I had no knees and no elbows. My eyes were blank, and my scream was
silent. Thats when I knew I was dead.
I looked down from where I hovered and saw myself, a clear overall
view. I looked pretty bad, really messed up and surprised to be lying,
twisted like a pretzel, in a pile of twigs and dirty slush. Bare trees, etched
black against a dark gray sky, shivered above my body. They looked cold
and bare. I looked cold and half-bare...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 18, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462800292

Ann Brophy

Ann Brophy was born and grew up in Indiana. She graduated from college in Ohio with a BA degree in Creative Writing and English Literature. She then moved to New York City where she fulfilled her high school dream of working with Broadway playwrights. For the next 10 years she was affiliated with Samson Raphaelson, Robert Sherwood, Sidney Kingsley, George Kaufman and the syndicated cartoonist, Walt Kelly. After marriage and three children, Ann began writing seriously when she took a writing course at Fairfield University in Connecticut and had a narrative poem published in Humpty Dumpty magazine. Other poetry and short stories followed in childrens magazines. Her first book, a Young Adult novel, Flash And The Swan, was published by Frederick Warne. After that, a non-fiction book, John Ericsson And The Inventions Of War, with an introduction by Henry Steele Commager was published as part of a Civil War series from Silver Burdett Press. She also wrote The Story Of Jennie Wade, a true account, for the Jennie Wade museum in Gettysburg, followed by an historical novel, Summer Storm In Gettysburg, based on Jennie Wade, her family and friends. She has written several picture books (two in rhyme), a collection of short stories for children and most recently has published a memoir about her most unusual grandmother titled, Best Friends Are Better Than Diamonds, A Story of Diamond Heels and Stepped-on Toes. Her mystery novel To Catch A Ghost is scheduled for publication later this summer. Ann taught Writing for Children at Fairfield University for 10 years and conducted writing workshops in Southport. She also has done editing for publishers and for private students.

Book preview

Copyright © 2009 by Ann Brophy.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2008907935

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4363-6752-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4363-6751-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4628-0029-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either

are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,

and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events,

or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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52157

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

for my mother

CHAPTER ONE

It was like a scene in a movie when the girl has a nightmare. She locks her knees, pushes out her elbows, opens up her eyes and screams. Only I had no knees and no elbows. My eyes were blank, and my scream was silent. That’s when I knew I was dead.

I looked down from where I hovered and saw myself, a clear overall view. I looked pretty bad, really messed up and surprised to be lying, twisted like a pretzel, in a pile of twigs and dirty slush. Bare trees, etched black against a dark gray sky, shivered above my body. They looked cold and bare. I looked cold and half-bare.

Lucky for me that a bunch of autumn leaves had somehow managed to drift across my chest and hide what should have been there. I was almost fifteen-years-old, and I still had no sign of a figure. I would hate for anyone to know that. Always after gym class I took my shower in the end stall, the one with the broken shower-head. I figured nobody ever bothered with that one since the shower was no good, and my self esteem was more important. My best friend, Mary Lou, told me that I was crazy to be so sensitive. Easy for her to say—she had boobs. However, considering my present state of deaddom, it didn’t matter. My thick blonde hair looked like it had been caught in an eggbeater, and globs of dry mud caked my blown-out cheeks. My eyes looked puffy, and my mouth was wide open in a what’s going on? expression. I even saw remnants of hot dogs stuck in my braces. When I peered beyond myself into the twilight haze I glimpsed my school. It looked so tiny in the distance. Then parts of a memory came back.

If I had known that this was my last day on earth, I would have planned it better. I would have had a good night’s sleep for starters. I wouldn’t have stuffed myself with leftover chocolate cake and double fudge ice cream while I watched Hill Street Blues on TV. My upset stomach had me cramping and puking all night. Even the Big Ben clock, clanging away on my bedside table, couldn’t wake me. When I finally did hear its repeated noise, I jumped up, caught my foot in the comforter and fell flat on my face. Before I was able to sit down and pee, I saw myself in the mirror and gagged a couple of times. My face looked as bad as my breath must have smelled. Even scrubbing my teeth down to their root canals didn’t help. The sour taste was still there. I’d have to devour a case of breath mints and chew a dozen packs of Dentyne gum before I got on the school bus, and everyone could see I was uglier than usual—stuffed to the max. I just wanted to get to school fast and hide behind my desk, so I flushed the toilet, ran back to my room, picked up the phone and dialed Mary Lou.

I’ll meet you on the corner. We’ll walk this morning… I don’t know. I’m not feeling too good. I might get bus-sick… We won’t be late if we go the back way… Oh come on, you don’t believe all that, do you? There’s nothing in the woods now. That happened last year. Forget about it. Yikes, look at the clock! No more time to argue. I’ll either see you on the corner if you’re really my best friend—or I’ll see you in algebra. I slammed the receiver down hard so she’d get the message.

I’d forgotten to give my mother my favorite jeans to wash after I sat on chocolate cake at my brother’s birthday party, so I knew what they looked like, all dried up and smelly. I’d have to wear my new jeans, the really tight ones I planned to break in on the weekend. Good thing we weren’t riding the bus. I’d definitely lose the mess I ate yesterday on one of those bumps. The red, white and blue striped shirt with my new, shiny rhinestone-studded belt topped off my outfit for the Veterans Day assembly, 1988.

Here’s your juice and muffin, my mother called from the kitchen as I hopped down the stairs and skipped straight-legged out the door. The last thing I wanted her to see this morning was me. She always told me, Look your best. Today—no way.

Thank you, Mom, but I’ll pick something up at school. I’m meeting Mary Lou on the corner. We’re going to walk today. I shut the door and slid sideways around the chrysanthemums my mother had planted for her Fall garden. That wasn’t easy considering my limited mobility and my clunky shoes.

The last living thing I ever heard my mother say as I hobbled down the sidewalk was, Don’t go through the woods.

She was so right.

Hey, Mary Lou smiled, sizing me up. Those jeans are what I call fitted.

That’s what was advertised.

Can you sit down?

Haven’t tried yet. They’ll be fine.

As we walked along, broken branches and bits of bark cluttered the paths. Once vacation was over the town didn’t bother cleaning up the woods. They figured people only jogged in the summer. But I needed the exercise, especially this morning. We should really walk to school more often, I told Mary Lou. I knew she was a fitness buff.

It does make sense, she agreed, and it’s faster.

That’s because it’s the shortest distance between two points: a(the corner of the street)+b(the woods)=c(the school), instead of a(the corner of the street)+b, d, e, f & g (the roving route of the school bus)=c(the school). That equation I could work out in my head—no problem, but try to work out an equation in class—forget it.

I really hate algebra, I repeated yet again, and I really don’t like the new teacher either.

Mary Lou laughed and swung her book bag at me. You’ve sure made that crystal clear. You’d better get over your obvious hostility, or he’ll flunk you out of class.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. That’s for sure.

As we started up the school steps, she began to get bossy again. That really ticked me off. She always told me what to do and what to wear to the movies—like I need another mother. The other night, she said, No popcorn. It’s hard on your teeth. Then she added, We’ll sit way up front so we’re more ‘into the action’, so wear your fuzzy sweater in case we’re near an air duct.

But this morning she was way off base. She stopped just before I opened