Living In Disquietude

Living In Disquietude

David C. Russell

Word Count, 1,448

My name is Finn. I grew up and remained in a quaint, quiet German village town much of my fifty-six years. As an only child I knew bits and pieces of family history. My mother was named Rapunzel and father, Elias. Mother had met him during the time she had legal complications in her mid twenties. More about that later. Elias died from cardiac arrest during my early forties.

By then, I worked as a bank manager and on the side, part-time tax preparation for freelance income. I too was married and we had three girls.

My mother had passed away four months previous from natural causes. I found her diary among important papers, which I read two weeks ago. Her account, in her own writing and words, is more like a vignette truth be told. Her three scrapes were her most anxious moments in life, her disquietude. She let her hair down, her guard, relaxed her mores.

As I read through her writings contained in a spiral-bound booklet, I surprisingly found German currency that in total value equaled $nearly 425 Euros in German currency.

Her life took what seemed to me to be significant turns when she let her guard or hair down as it were. On reflection, connecting with Elias and natural ending to her life may have been God-given mercy-laden consequences to an otherwise difficult, arduous, one-of-a-kind journey. I share this diary and invite you to form your own conclusions.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

I was born in 1952 to Louisa and David Trapp. I learned they named me after a bellflower called Rapunzel. My plant form is often used for ground cover in gardens or allowed to grow as border plants. Whether true or not, the bellflower is credited in folk lore to be a good vegetarian salad. My natural hair was perhaps my most striking feature. With the bellflower, its blossoms present as colorful blossoms iwith shades of blue, pink, and white.

I grew up as most children did in our quaint, German village enjoying life’s simple pleasures: riding bike with friends, playing childhood games, splashing around in knee-deep swimming pools on hot summer days, and reading classic children’s literature many nights at bedtime. Mom was a school teacher, and Dad worked in the legal profession as a research assistant or paralegal.

During my teen-age years, I became friends with another girl whose name is Mia. We were in the same school grade, and she let me borrow her two-page term paper when we were in eighth grade.

“Mia and Rapunzel, please stay after class is finished. I would like to have a few moments with you,” Mr. Capone said, tapping his fingers atop the podium where he stood.

I didn’t want to be in trouble. My parents were stern and would take away things or privileges that were held dear to me as a result of making poor choices.

“I notice you each did your term paper on the same topic. Also, there is only slight variation between each of your papers in words chosen,” Mr. Capone said, holding each manuscript in both hands.

“I let Rapunzel borrow my paper, sir,” Mia confided, expression neutral.

“What does this mean?” Mr. Capone asked.

“It means she copied my paper.”

“Rapunzel, is Mia telling the truth? Did you copy her paper?”

“No sir. She copied mine,” Rapunzel stated.

Mr. Capone removed two pieces of paper from a pad on his desk.

“I’m going to give each of you a spelling test with uncommon words used in your term papers. This may help determine the truth of the matter. Spell for me the following three words: ad fin, allay, and circumference. You have two minutes maximum.”

The silence in the room would have been deafening were it not for the soft, whir of the ventilation system.

We each wrote our first names on the paper provided, and placed them in front of Mr. Capone.

“I can tell from this who may be telling the truth,” He began, adding, “Rapunzel spell the word “ad fin” for me please, and say space if there is a space.”

“sir, a d d space fin,” I said.

“Rapunzel, spell the word “circumference” for me please.”

I felt some sweat form on my forehead and my heart began to beat more quickly. I answered, “Sir, c I r c u m p h e r e n c e.”

“Rapunzel, it appears you lied if we use your spelling quiz as evidence. You are going to receive a letter grade of “d” on your paper. Mia, you are receiving a letter grade “b” on your paper. I hope you each learn something from this. You’re dismissed,” he said.

My parents were more than livid about this reported occurrence. They forbade me from attending the school ball in April. “Where were your scruples? Why did you let your hair down?” Dad asked, expression accusatory.

One good thing came from my high school years in sports. I was on the basketball team at school throughout my remaining four years. We took first place in our region during my junior year. I liked the first taste of what it may be like to be a champion!

My hair again came down, this time from a pour choice experience when age fifteen. It was a day off from school, and another friend and myself went to the shopping mall.

“See that bright-colored necklace hanging to your right?” My friend asked.

“You mean the blue and red necklace?”

“Yep, that one.”

“Who the hell you think I am? I can’t afford that,” I exclaimed.

“Just take the damn thing. No one will know.”

“There might be cameras around,” I said.

“I’ll cover for you, no prob.”

On impulse, I lifted the necklace in its bright shiny box. We were met at the check-out by a store manager and Police officer.

“Girls, come with me. We’re going to the station,” the Officer stated. He was tall, a bit pudgy, and displayed his badge on his person.

Arriving home, my parents set me down. Mom levied the punishment, ”Rapunzel, you will be confined to this house for the next six weeks after school and evenings.”

Mom added my responsibilities included making family dinner, cleaning up after dinner, and mowing the lawn every weekend through August.

I am glad in hindsight that the consequences had not been more stern and restrictive.

My third pour choice came about in my mid twenties. Thankfully, it was not a wrong choice in selecting male company, inability to make house payments on a newly purchased mobile home, but telling a lie to cover up for a co-worker.

“Your Honor, I call Rapunzel Trapp to the witness stand,” said the prosecuting attorney.

“Are you claiming that your co-worker, Martina, is of upstanding character, integrity, and is not guilty of allegedly redacting the financial books?”

“Yes, I am so doing.”

“Would you please look at these photos? Tell the Court what persons are in each,” the Attorney directed.

“Someone who looks like me, the Defendant, Martina, and the custodian,” I said.

My answers were the same for the other photographs.

“The someone looking like you is actually you,” the Attorney stated.

“Objection,” my Attorney said, adding, “Leading the witness.”

“Objection sustained,” the Judge stated, expression neutral. He seemed bored to me.

As a result of my admitted falsehood, I was levied a fine equal to 100 Euros, and five consecutive nights in jail.

I had not redacted the books, but did observe Martina doing so on three separate occasions. She of course, was fired and incarcerated for five years.

During my time incarcerated, Elias, who had worked with my Attorney, would wave to me when visiting other incarcerated clients once or twice a day. He was stunning with a muscular build, short stature, straight teeth, gote, and quiet manner. His last note read,

“Your release is tomorrow. Call the number below when available.” He signed it as Mr. Paralegal.

Three months later we eloped. His parents and mine considered me tainted, damaged, an ex-con. By the time I delivered our only child two years later, named Finn, the distance between us and family had shrunk considerably. Perhaps newborns change everything.

I became a school teacher and we enjoyed our home life, marriage, and respective professions. I learned to sing professionally, and would serenade Elias whether he wanted me to or not. He kept me well; I refused in most instances to let my hair down outside the home in lifestyle choices. It took me three occasions to learn that crime, regardless its intensity, doesn’t pay what one may welcome.

End