Missing Prologue: What It Means To You Autor: Linda Wilson Email: linda_31467@msn.com Rating: PG-13 Summary: This is my idea of what the prologue to “What It Means To You” could have and should have shown about the day Mary Gressler died. Author's Notes: Burton Fallin, Shannon and Mary Gressler and Laurie Solt are all taken directly from “The Guardian.” Shannon’s friends are my creation. My thanks to two of my high school teachers who provided Mary with her maiden name and that of her first husband. Resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental; similarity of events, dates, characters or the portrayal of events is unintentional. The garden is imaginary; the toads that live there are real. Than you for your comments, Suz and Shirley. ~*~*~ “Shannon, where did you get this?” Mary Gressler held up a knit top that would have made a small handkerchief for a Barbie doll. A tag dangling from the garment gave the price as $39. “Long Bong,” her granddaughter replied. “When?!” “A couple of days ago.” “‘A couple of days ago’ was Tuesday.” “Yeah, so Danielle and Bernie and I went shopping after school.” “Oh? Did school let out early on Tuesday? The principal called at two o’clock to tell me you weren’t in class–just as I was leaving for work. That’s not supposed to happen.” “School sucks.” Mary sat down on the edge of Shannon’s bed. “Well, let me tell you something, young lady–being a waitress sucks worse. On your feet ten, twelve hours straight, bring the same order to somebody three times and take it back because now they want their eggs over easy, instead of scrambled and then the toast is cold or they decide they want sausage instead of bacon and after all that, pick a 35-cent tip out of the congealed grease they leave on their plates. It’s not fun. That’s why you go to school–so you can have something better.” Shannon smirked. “You had something better, but you blew it. That was real smart.” “What do you mean?” “You had a rich boyfriend, but you blew it. That was dumb, sucking up to that other guy right in front of him.” “You mean Burton Fallin? Shannon, I liked Burton as a friend, but nothing more.” “So? Couldn’t you fake it?” “No, I could not!” Mary took a deep breath. “Shannon, Burton set up a college fund for you–that’s another reason for you to be in school instead of at the mall.” “If I don’t go to college, what happens? I’ll get it anyway.” “You think so?” “Sure. Burton’ll do anything I want.” “I doubt that very much. Anyway, Burton’s not important right now–how you got the money to pay for this is.” Shannon picked up her backpack. “My allowance.” “Thirty-nine dollars?” “I save a lot.” “Oh, sure. You just bought another DVD last week. That left you with what, five dollars?” “Well, I didn’t shoplift it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Shannon slung the backpack over her shoulder. “That’s nice. How did you pay for it, Shannon?” “I told you, my allowance.” As Shannon turned to leave the room her backpack bumped the corner of the dresser. A plastic card fell out and clattered onto the floor. Mary, who had stood up to walk out of the room as Shannon did, picked it up. “What’s this?” Shannon grabbed at it “That’s my bus pass.” Mary took a closer look at the card. “Oh? What bus route is ‘Visa’?” She turned it over. “And since when does Burton A. Fallin take a city bus to school? Shannon, does Burton know you have this?” Shannon snatched the card out of her grandmother’s hand, stuffed it in the backpack and ran down the stairs. “Sure he knows.” “Oh? When did he give it to you? Shannon, come back here.” At the front door, Shannon turned briefly. “I thought you wanted me to go to school. Well, if I don’t get out of here now I’m gonna be late.” She ran out the front door, slamming it behind her. Mary sank down on the third stair from the bottom. Oh, my God, she thought. I wanted a second chance with her. I went through this with Mandy–lying, stealing, cutting school. Now it’s starting all over again. She put her head in her hands. There was nothing she could do except, as that nice social worker, what was her name, Laurie Solt, had told her, surrender Shannon to the foster care system as a person in need of supervision. The social worker had said she personally thought of making Shannon a PINS as an absolute last resort–most kids didn’t come out of the system any better than when they went in, and some were worse. Besides, Mary thought, she’s my granddaughter–my own flesh and blood. How can I let someone else raise her? But, God, it’s hard. It’s really hard. No matter how much you try to do for them, they never see that you’re trying to help them. All they know is you won’t let them do whatever they want and they hate you for it. Mary sighed, stood up and walked heavily up the stairs and into her own room. Shannon or no Shannon, she had to get to work. The money that Burton Fallin had got out of her home insurance company only paid for repairing the damage to the house. It didn’t cover the mortgage. I don’t work, I don’t pay the mortgage and we’re out in the street. Is that what you want, Shannon? Mary shook her head. Shannon had “borrowed” her best eye shadow, Mary saw. She drew an exasperated breath, found another palette and began to apply the makeup as she peered in the mirror over her dresser. And now Shannon had somehow managed to get her hands on one of Burton Fallin’s credit cards. It must have been when we were staying with him, Mary thought. That’s a nice return for his hospitality. Okay, I didn’t love the guy. And I couldn’t get his son interested in me, either. No surprise–what would he want with an old bag like me? Anyway, maybe I’m getting soft in my old age, but I’m though sleeping with men I don’t love. Shannon doesn’t understand. She thinks you can turn it off and on like a light bulb. Maybe she can, maybe Mandy could, but I just can’t do it any more. I owe Burton that much. Owe. Yeah, how much did Shannon run up on that Visa card? God help us–how do I pay that back? How can I face him? Shannon, Shannon, Shannon–what am I going to do? Mary put down the eye shadow, picked up her hair brush and began to arrange her hair. Her roots were beginning to show, she noticed. Damn it, there’s another fat bill unless I do it myself, and that’s a pain in the ass. Maybe I can get Toni to do it cheaper. I’ll ask her. A weak spot in the wall of an artery deep within Mary’s brain had existed since the artery formed, long before she was born. The blood vessel weakened still more as every heartbeat pushed the fluid through it. As Mary lifted the brush to arrange one more lock of her hair the artery ruptured. All Mary knew of the massive cerebral hemorrhage that was causing her to bleed to death internally was a sudden, overwhelming pain in her head. It was the last thing she felt. The hairbrush fell out of her hand and Mary Carol Tvorik Krempasky Gressler collapsed. She was dead before her body fell to her bedroom floor. The End