Fiona

They stand before the brick building, arms linked and heads tilted in identical upward gazes.  They are captivated by the imposing facade: the shining gold lettering, the curving arches of the entrance, and the clock with its black, iron arms. They forget that life continues around them.  They forget that the street is full of buses, honking cars and Londoners out for an afternoon stroll.    
    As they stare at the building in front of them, they are keenly aware of the fact that their lives are about to change.  Never before has either of them treated a wound or dressed a bleeding limb with gauze.  They’ve never emptied bedpans; they’ve never seen more blood than the few drops produced by a playtime scratch.  They’ve never felt true panic.  They’ve never witnessed death.
    As they walk into the Royal London, they are greeted by a group of girls dressed in their Sunday bests, black shoes shining and hair perfectly coifed, as if they are prepared for a party, and not their first day of work at a hospital.  They all have small suitcases and similar looks of fear upon their faces.  No one speaks because no one can think of anything to say. 
    The silence is broken by the sounds of footsteps.  A stoic-looking women arrives before them, dressed completely in white.
    “I’m Sister Cavell,” she says in a strong voice, “I’ll be training you.  Being a nurse is the best way a woman can Do Her Part.  You’ll be helping our Boys win the war.  But it won’t be easy.”
    But Elizabeth can’t focus on the Sister’s speech about duty and hard work.  She can’t think about anything else but her friend. She still can’t believe that Fiona Wells is going to be a nurse.  Fiona has always been the one everyone thought was frail.  She was the one they thought would marry young and spend the rest of her days as a devoted wife and mother.  She would never witness the hardships of life; she would never be a nurse.  But the war has changed everything.  And now beautiful, delicate Fiona Wells is standing in the Royal London, intently listening to the Sister’s speech.
    After Sister Cavell finishes, they are taken to the dormitory—one large room packed full of white metal beds—given their uniforms, and instructed to be up and dressed by seven o’clock the next morning.  And, the Sister adds, tardiness won’t be tolerated.

The weeks go by, Elizabeth thinks, excruciatingly slow.  Every morning they’re up and dressed by seven, on the ward only moments later.  The mornings are occupied with the grueling task of polishing the floors, and Elizabeth’s blister-covered hands are proof of the task.  After they’ve finished polishing, they spend hours and hours scrubbing down the never ending supply of metal bed-frames.  In the afternoon, they make up beds, ensuring that every sheet is properly folded, every corner properly tucked.  No one wants to incur the wrath of the watchful Sister.
    And with every bed folded and bed-frame scrubbed, they move closer and closer to the real training; they move closer to the real work.  Elizabeth anxiously awaits the day when they’ll finally be on the ward doing more than just making beds and polishing floors.  She needs real work.  But Fiona… She can’t imagine Fiona, who cries every night over sore hands and aching feet, on the ward.  She knows what a probationer is expected to do, and she can’t imagine frail Fiona doing any of it. 
    Fiona, with her auburn hair, doll-like face and delicate hands, will fold the blankets with the tags down.  She will run on the ward; she will let her stomach heave and rebel against the smell of urine.  She won’t accept the anonymity of simply being Wells.  She won’t wear a brave face.  She won’t calmly wash the blood off her hands.  She won’t keep her composure; Elizabeth knows that Fiona isn’t strong enough. 
    Though she loves Fiona like a sister, Elizabeth can’t help but see that Fiona wasn’t made to ever be a nurse.  And she thinks Fiona knows.
    Elizabeth hears Fiona crying herself to sleep each night.  Elizabeth knows that Fiona writes letter after letter to her parents, telling them that she wants to come home.  And Elizabeth reads every letter that Fiona sends to her man in France,  Lieutenant Dominic Morton.  Fiona tells him that she’s trying to Do Her Part, but she always leaves out the fact that it’s making her miserable.  It’s making Elizabeth miserable too. 
    Every time Fiona receives a letter from Dominic, she shares it with Elizabeth.
    “After all,” she says, “you’re friends with him too.”
    But Elizabeth doesn’t want to read the love letters Dominic writes to her friend.  She wants to read love letters addressed to her, Elizabeth.  And she wants Dominic to be the one writing them.  Somehow, Fiona doesn’t realize this.  In truth, Fiona remains oblivious to the fact that Elizabeth is in love with Dominic.

Okay, so I haven't written ANYTHING for ONE MONTH. What is with that?

I'll tell you what's with that. April was an insane month. I (unofficially) told myself that I needed to stay away from blogging so that I could concentrate on school. Did it work? I think so. Not that I avoided facebook, or MSN, but I'm so addicted to those that I can't really distance myself. Anyway, I am now back and I can write about all of the things that have been going on.

First of all, I finished my second semester. My last day was... April 8th, oddly enough. And I missed it because I was sick. OH well. Then I had two exams, philosophy and history, one on the 17th and the other on the 23. So I spent a lot of time studying for my history exam. And, I also had an assignment to complete for my philosophy class, so I was working on that as well.

And then there was my reading... I was less sick, but my laryngitis was pretty bad. My voice was down to a whisper. So I decided that I'd ask my group members from my writing class if anyone would mind reading for me. Well, I got a response from one person who said that he'd be "honoured" to read for me! Most amazing thing ever... So, my classmate David decided that he would read for me, and having read and critiqued the story I was reading before, I felt like he was a really good choice. So, we get to the bookstore on campus a couple of minutes early. It was a pretty low-key event, not that many people, but some great writers. The Poet Laureate for one, and a couple of published authors. And some people from UFV (yes, because the C was finally dropped. UCFV is now a university!). I was so excited for David to read, and he seemed pretty stoked too. So, after listening to readings from the Poet Laureate, and two students, it was "my" turn to read. Andrea (my writing teacher) announced that David was going to be reading on my behalf since I had laryngitis. People thought that was funny, but I didn't. I really had wanted to read. Anyway. David got up to the microphone and started reading my story.

It was honestly, the most amazing reading EVER. My story sounded SO good, and everyone absolutely loved it. He just read it so well, almost as if it was his own story. And even though it wasn't, he was so familiar with it and he just read everything so well. It was amazing. That's really the only way that I can describe it. After he read it, there was a huge applause, and this old lady sitting by me (who turns out to be a very active writer/artist in the A-town) asked me if the story was mine, and proceeded to tell me that she thought it was fabulous). After that, we listened to more readings, but nothing sounded as good as my story. Was it just because I was biased? I don't really think so, to be honest. Nobody read like David did. His reading was entrancing, mesmerizing... however you want to see it. I could see everything that he was saying. My story really came to life.

After everyone had finished reading, we had a bit of a socializing thing. And, I'm not exaggerating at all, EVERYONE was talking about my story. I could hear snippets of conversation that were ABOUT ME AND MY STORY. Wow. I was in shock. People kept on coming up to me to tell me how great my story was and how much they enjoyed it. And, like me, they all said that they could see it when David was reading. This was not just students or community members, but instructors, authors and even Mr. Poet Laureate. And they told me that I should get it made into a movie. Wow. It was fantastic. But then I had to go home because I was getting sick again. All the same, it was an incredible experience and I'm so glad that I was able to do it. David brought Emerald to life for me. I'll never forget it.

So, after my amazing reading I was feeling pretty confident about my writing. So I decided that I'd submit my portfolio to UBC. I haven't heard back from them yet, but I'm hoping hoping hoping that I got accepted. I didn't, however, get accepted to UVIC, and that was a horrible thing to have happened. I think I'm over it now, but a couple of weeks ago I was so upset about it that I didn't want to write anymore. All of a sudden my confidence was crushed and I didn't feel like I could do it. I'm pretty sure that I'm over it. I didn't really want to get into UVIC anyway, because I don't really want to go there. All the same, it was pretty hard.

Ummm.... I got my revision of "Fiona" back. AND I got an A. I was very pleased because I worked really hard on my revision and I was fairly pleased with where it turned up. I may post more of that within the next couple of days if anyone is interested.

After exams were over I had to wait for my marks, which was tough, because I was really excited to know what I got. I got an A- in Composition a B+ in Philosophy (which totally brought my GPA down), and A in History (I don't know how, but I'm not complaining!) and an A in Creative Writing. So, that means that my GPA is sitting at a lovely 3.5. I wish it was higher, but 3.5 is nothing to scoff at.

Now, semester three just started on Monday, and I'm actually rather excited for a couple of my classes. I'm doing another writing class, Writing for Children, Art History 101 and History 102 which is Canada post-confederation. I have school two days a week, which is nice, but it's basically all day. On Wednesdays I go 8.30-6.10. It's pretty tough.

Since I got my rejection letter from UVIC I've been trying to figure out what else I could do. So, my options are: go to UBC, go to UA and do the double major thing, or stay at UFV and do an English major and a history minor. I guess I could still try to get into editing with that. Otherwise, I'd consider teaching I suppose. Or law if I was prepared to work my ass off. Don't know if I am. Maybe.

OH, and I'm moving in 23 days. I'm excited about it. I'm more excited about the possibility of FINALLY getting my drivers license very soon. I want my license so bad now that I'd be willing to take the test tomorrow. I hoped I'd pass.

Anyway. That's an overview of what's been going on. And hey, did anyone notice that I have the little "true" badge beside my screen name? How cool is that?

I just wanted to thanks to everyone who read my story and left comments. I'm so happy that everyone was so positive about it! I've spent a lot of time working on it, and it's great to know that people enjoy it and want to read more.

I know it's kind of mean to only put up pieces of it, but it's a 15 page long story, and I don't think that people would be too impressed if I put all of that up at once. I know I wouldn't want to read it like that.

I'll post more of it, in pieces, of course. If I get feedback or some sort of response to the other pieces, I will continue to post. In the meantime, you will just have to patient. It will probably be a while before I post the end.

It also might be a couple of days before I post part 2 as I've got a paper and a portfolio to get done for next week. But I'll try to get it up ASAP.

Thanks again for the comments and thank you to everyone who subscribed or recommended.

--Miriam