This is a continuation from yesterday.
To recap: It was the Scribe's birthday. We lived near a castle and every time we drove by, I told my girls a story about how there was a princess locked in that castle. She could only come out when her prince came and gave her true love's first kiss (not very creative--I already know, just give me a break). Well, for her birthday, all the Scribe wanted was to meet the princess in the castle. I couldn't afford the admittance fee AND there was a wedding going on that day anyway. That's when Grandma Gertie (a dear friend) suggested we crash a wedding and hope for the best.
Now, if you know anything about Grandma Gertie, it's that she's ballsy. I'm not sure what day and time her woman balls dropped, but it should be written in the history books. She's tough and brave--like fairy tales say. She's witty and funny, the sweetest lady, but you still don't mess with Gertie. Make Lucifer mad--sure. Pee into the wind--absolutely. Make Gertie mad--you won't be able to win that fight because some people are practically demi-gods.
Do you remember that time she came over with a billy club? Enough said . . .
What cracks me up, in that Gertie and my mom get along. My mom was a beauty queen. She's dainty and sweet--religious--quiet really except for when she's playing the drums and winning awards because she's so awesome. Don't believe me? Go here:
So, the second Gertie decided we should sneak into the castle, we both agreed to drag my mom along.
"Will she really go with us?" Gertie asked.
"Heck yeah. She might act like what we're doing is terrible, but inside, she'll be giggling about adventure."
We tip-toed toward the castle. About a million cars were there. They were nice cars as if the bride only invited people who could afford nice gifts.
The Scribe and the Hippie were dressed to impress. They both wore beautiful taffeta dresses I'd made. Ribbons hung in bows around their waists. Their hair bounced in stunning ringlets. They were gorgeous, ready to blend in at a wedding--I hoped.
"This is the best birthday present ever," the Scribe giggled as we walked up to the huge wooden doors. "I feel like the princess."
A stone lion next to us looked like Aslan, judging me for being a schmuck. I tried moving away, but he kept staring with those heartless eyes!
"Yes, Honey. You're our little princess" my mom whispered. "Just don't talk so loud."
"Why?" My girls had no idea what we were doing was illegal.
I looked at my mom and Gertie. "Because," Gertie chimed in, "the princess might be sleeping."
So, we walked in and saw we could either go left or right. The hall stretched far on either side. A few sets of armor propped against the walls. Gorgeous stones lined the floor and walls. There were rugs and fancy decorations everywhere.
I knew the halls went into various rooms, but at the end of each one sat a spiral staircase.
I was just about to walk forward when a man stepped from the wall and scared me so badly my soul almost split from my spirit!
"Welcome to the Smith's wedding. If you'd like to head to the left, everyone is eating dinner."
He was a butler. I was talking to a flippin' butler! Was it my birthday too. I'd never been in a real castle with an ACTUAL butler.
"Thank you, dear sir," I bowed SLIGHTLY and everyone looked at me like I was an idiot.
My mom propped me up and pulled me down the hallway. "I still can't believe we're doing this. But now that we're here, don't act so obvious," she whispered. "You need to act as if you belong here. Guests don't BOW TO THE BUTLER!"
Gertie nodded and my girls kept staring at the butler behind us. "Where do those stairs go?" the Scribe yelled back to him."
"To one of the towers." He smiled. "I like your dress."
She curtsied--like mother like daughter. "Today's my birthday."
We moved quickly after that. We looked to the right and indeed about a million rich, high society people ate in the reception hall. On the left was a massive (empty) room that they'd prepared for a party. The stained glass windows looked amazing. I knew the wedding party would probably stay there and dance the evening away.
"Hurry, up the stairs," Gertie said.
"Yeah," I agreed, and all five of us scurried up the spiral staircase. When I got to the top, it was amazing. "Why do princesses hate being locked in towers anyway?" the Scribe asked. "If I was her, I'd be praying my prince would never come and give me a yucky kiss."
"No kidding," I said. "This is pretty cool. If they have a library, I'd be set for life."
"Where is the princess anyway?" the Scribe asked. "And who were all of those people in her castle?"
"I'm not sure Honey. But rumor has it that she met her prince and moved away," I said.
"Oh." The Scribe looked a bit let down. "This is pretty neat, but I thought we were going to meet the princess. It's still a great birthday though. Thank you for bringing me here."
We stayed there and took pictures. We probably stayed too long and after a moment, my mom seemed antsy. "We need to get going. It sounds like everyone is done eating."
"All right." I nodded, hearing voices drifting up the stairs.
Grandma Gertie pulled me aside. "Elisa, just remember what your mom said. Act like you belong. Don't blow this for the Scribe; she doesn't need her mother going to jail on her birthday." Gertie winked, teasing me, but I felt like I might be sick.
"All right," I nodded.
So we went down the stairs, but when we got there, all those rich people blocked the way. DID THOSE JERKS WANT US TO GET CAUGHT?! They talked--laughing like they were funny--and headed into the dance area slower than molasses. They laughed again, but they weren't funny, nothing was hilarious. There was no way to get around!
Then, just when I thought we might make it out, some gorgeous elderly lady saw the Scribe and squealed. "Look at that dress! Has the bride seen you yet?!"
"No. Is she the princess?" the Scribe asked, excited beyond anything.
"Oh, you're precious. Yes, today she is the princess. I need to show her your dress. Plus. she'll never get over how cute you are. Wow," she turned to someone else, "it's so nice when people actually take the time to look nice for these things, look at this little girl."
With that, she motioned for me to follow, and whisked the Scribe away, right over to the bride who stood greeting people at the far end of the room.
"I'm going to meet the princess," the Scribe waved back to me.
I gaped at her and then the bride. She was one of the largest women I've ever seen. That wasn't an issue for me, but I was terrified about what my darling, VERY HONEST Scribe would say.
I looked at Grandma Gertie, my mother and the Hippie. We were toast, we just knew it. How were we supposed to get out of this one?! And what in the heck would the Scribe say to that lady on her big day.
Because it was getting too long, this will be continued tomorrow . . .