U-WRITE-IT RESULTS

"Look, Trixie, there he goes again!," Mary exclaimed.

Suddenly out of no where,a woman appears, looking as if she had too many drinks.

"Lets go!" Mary shouted.

Something kept me from moving. "I can't," I screamed. "Help me!" As I turned to grab Mary's hand, she was gone.

Now midnight approaching fast. Wiping tears from my eyes, whats happening? Nights were always scary since my dad's death. "Mary, where are you?" If I close my eyes and pray it will help somehow.

Voices getting closer, the smell of lilac in the air. Wake up! Wake up! I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Trixie, it's time."

Dazed and unsure what was happening, I opened my eyes.

"Dreaming again, my dear," Mom whispered.

"Wow, you'd think that would be uncomfortable,"replied Cale,"The chaffing alone would drive me nuts."

Trixie stared at Cale a moment, trying desperately to burn a hole in his head with disdain. She turned back to the man on the swingset, who was now singing 'A Little Priest' from Sweeney Todd. With a help from squinting and total concentration, she started to make out who the figure was. Before she could say who it was Cale yelled, "Bob! What are you doing on that swingset?"

Bob yelled back, "Swinginging!"

Cale waved to the figure, who was rythmically kicking his feet forward and back. Cale turned to Trixie, "Bob's just drunk. We gotta get him outta here before your mom catches him doin this again."

Trixie's dad had gotten into the Irish Whiskey again. She shook her head with a faint smile and looked at the moonlit ground. Trixie didn't know whether to be disappointed in her dad or admire him.

Mr. Pastis harumphed. "Most names are capitalized."

Startled by his comment, Trixie looked up from her notebook paper. "What?"

Bending stiffly at the waist, infamous red felt pen reaching toward her paper like a heat-seeking missile, Mr. Pastis drew three short lines under the lower case g. "When Guy becomes as famous as e.e. cummings, you may use a lower case letter as the first letter in his name."

"But, Mr. Pastis, his name isn't Guy. He's just some guy I saw who was..."

Harumphing again, the instructor cut her off, "Miss Beldon. If you mean 'some guy' then write exactly what you mean."

Trixie penciled in the additional word.

"And," he added before moving toward his next student, "in the future, if you want me to help you proofread, read exactly what you write."

Clearly frustrated with communication, she sighed, then sank into the chair behind her.

"It's okay," I reassured her, "you have a lot on your mind."

"I just saw a guy who was in THE emergency room, handcuffed a cop..." At that, Trixie s face crumpled. Silent tears slid down both cheeks.

"Handcuffed TO a cop. I know. I saw him," I offered.

She picked up her bag, stood, then headed for the door. "It's not important. I can't even think straight. Mom is in so much pain."

Guiding her out of the hospital, I put my arm around her. "Not now. It's called 'comfort care' and she's not hurting."

Trixie scrubbed away her tears with the back of one hand, then whispered, "I know, but I am."