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From: lindseyk_ca@yahoo.ca (lindsey K)
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Subject: {ASSM} Slightly Fictionalized Autobiography Lindsey K  Ch. 1 (reluctant AB, diaper discipline)
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Date: Mon,  4 Oct 2004 08:10:04 -0400
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note: Part one is mostly set-up - this is a work in progress.

Author's Note:

The author will fully admit that portions of this auto-biography have
been slightly fictionalized for artistic purposes. The author however
refuses to hold the readers hand through the reading process and tell
you what these portions are. You are all adults (I assume) and can
take care of yourself. If you have doubts about what I am telling you,
by all means feel free to fact check if it makes you feel better
(ahem, anal retentive, cough cough). Like I said, its not all true. I
will suggest though, that much of what you may think is bordering the
"flights of fancy" realm, may in fact surprise you to learn, is true.
For instance, you may doubt that Mazda ever produced a 1994 626 sedan
in blue with faux leather finish on the dash, and you would be wrong.
On the other hand, the highway up to Tofino on the west coast of
Vancouver Island British Columbia does in fact have guard rails to
prevent a are from plummeting down the rocky crags (they were left out
to introduce a feeling of danger - did it work?).

Nothing in this tale contains overtly icky illegal junk. There is no
improper acts between adults and minors or anything like that. The
only crimes I might be guilty of are those of over-indulgent emotional
exhibitionism and bad taste. Legal council has assured me, however
that these are misdemeanors and that I should not be that concerned.

Please feel free to address your concerns, compliments, unbridled
praise etc. by e-mail to the following address: lindseyk_ca@yahoo.ca .
Include a return mailing address and I will send along, as my gift to
you, a beautiful gift basket of assorted cheeses from around the
world.* Try the Gambozola - its to die for!

* You don't really think I am serious do you?



1: Where there is a will....
    	

There I am, you can sort of see me, or at least the tuft of blonde
hair over the dashboard. That's me next to my friend Tanya who is
driving. I am describing Tanya as my friend because I am still wildly
optimistic, bordering on delusional. She is all kinds of pissed at me.
We are done - that is what she is telling me, mind you she has said
this before. This time though I think she means it. I feel kinda bad
about it. I mean, I have kind of been a prick.

Tanya is taking me to my Grandma's will reading. She didn't have to do
this mind you, but my Aunt Claire asked her, and I believe (I am not
sure not being privy to that phone conversation, but it was quite
lengthy for two strangers to have) that Tanya has been assured that
this will be the last favour she ever has to do for me, and that I
will be forever removed from her life. I have been sleeping on her
couch for three months now - she would have tossed me out, but I had
no place to go, my prospects having dried up in this town. I went to
the watering hole, one too many times, I guess.

So you are thinking, "Must be a damn big car," or maybe, "Why is he
slunk down - is he hiding from someone?" These are both very good
questions and you should, if you were to have asked them, be
commended. Actually though, neither is true. It is a Blue 94 Mazda
626, standard size, and I am sitting up right in my seat. You see, I
am just very small.

To look at me, you would think I was about eight years old, a chubby,
cherubic-faced, big-blue-eyed, blond-haired eight year old (girl/boy
take your pick - my hair is kind of long right now, mostly due to
negligence on my part). I wish I could give you a sob story about how
I had kidney failure and my body refused to produce enough growth
hormones, or how my mom was ravaged by midgets or something like that,
but the truth is, there is no real reason for my diminutive stature. I
am just small, have always been small. For some reason I stopped
growing at the age of twelve and look pretty much the way I did then.
At twelve I looked about eight. At twenty eight, I look about eight.
This may not be the case if I had not been given growth hormones at
the onset of puberty. My body refused them, in fact my body stopped
producing them, perhaps in righteous indignation. I don't know why, so
don't ask me, I am not exactly an amateur endocrinologist or anything.
They tried everything, testosterone based hormones, estrogen based
ones, none really worked but it sure the hell screwed up my system.
Now that I am a little older and a little pudgier (I have that
fetching Bilbo Baggins physique) I have annoying fat deposits on my,
um, well I got...damn it all, I got little boobies, alright? I am not
exactly proud of it, in fact, I try to make sure not to wear thin
t-shirts or anything, and you try and get my shirt off me in public
and I will bite right through your hand, I swear.

So anyway, that's me, all of four foot one, rolly-polly, squeaky
voiced pre-pubescent 28 year old with, you know... those "things", and I
am sitting in the car, my feet not touching the floor with a beautiful
view of the dashboard. Nice...is this faux leather?

I am doing all the talking, which is not much. Tanya is doing all the
telling me to shut up. Did I mention she's pissed? We used to be an
item you know. Well, not really a hot-to-trot steamy romance, but we
were once close (as close as one can get to 20-something guy with the
body of a zero-something). I'd sit on her lap, she would cuddle me and
I would make her laugh, we'd smootch a bit, she'd tickle me, I'd
nearly wet my pants, she'd stop and apologize, and well, that was
about it. But for me, that was pretty racey.

I have been considerably more sexual with other women - this is partly
why she is pissed at me -  she found out a bit about my past. When she
confronted me on it, it was one of those one-sided conversations that
started with her saying, "I can't believe it, after all I have done
for you...." and went down hill from there. She new I was a little
con-artist, a little grifter, but she never really knew how far I took
it. When she found out (thanks Aunt Claire - you're a peach) she was
somewhat disgusted with me, the sight of me, the smell of me, the
sound of me -  the mere essence of me was enough to give her the heeby
jeebies. And you know, I can't really blame her. Like I said, I have
been a prick. Maybe I was just compensating for my less than noble
endowment by being a four foot one walking talking phallus.
 
So what is my grift? Well it is mostly emotional - I don't empty
hapless people's bank accounts and run up their credit cards (to a
great extent anyway). Much of my con is emotional - I am a womanizer
of an uncommon sort. I don't seek out women as paramours as much as
caregivers. I am kind of a "mommy-izer." My goal is not sexual
gratification (although sometimes there can be a little of that). My
goal is not financial profit. My motive is simply to be taken care of
and the financial maintenance that comes from that. A place to live,
food to eat, clothes bought for me, sympathy and nurturing. I don't
have extravagant tastes.

Over the years I have learned who my idea marks are. Women are
amazingly caring and giving creatures for the most part. They have
incredible capacity for sympathy and many have an inbred need on some
genetic level to nurture. That need can be triggered by making oneself
helpless and needy - much like a child, stray kitten or puppy etc. I
find that (pardon my opportunistic nature) women who have self-esteem
issues are easier to swoon for sympathy and easier to trigger their
maternal nature. It makes them feel that they have a purpose, a sense
and it makes them feel good about themselves. How can I be blamed for
profiting from that? I mean, really, in a way I am doing a good deed.
I am making them feel good and improving their sense of self-worth -
at least until I wear out my welcome.

How do I do this? My goodness, you ask a lot of good questions. You're
inquisitive nature intrigues me... Well, for one, I have the equipment
to start - just look at me. How can I be blamed for taking advantage
of what life has provided me. Added to my youthful and diminutive
appearance, I have adopted and perfected a humble, self-deprecating
sense of humour that induces heartfelt "awwws" and sympathy.  Then,
the invention, or at least exaggeration of, a tragic upbringing while
still portraying, beyond all this, a good attitude helps a lot to. Add
the creation of unforeseen circumstances of pathetic need, weighty
sighs and doe-eyed sadness and you find women wanting to take care of
you, no matter how much you feign resistance. It has worked for me for
years.



Recipe for tragic childhood: 

1 physical handicap (ie. - abnormally small and young looking)
1 dead mother (cancer)
1 whole troubled public school career
1 evil "mommy dearest"-type aunt (as guardian)
1 or 2 embarrassing medical conditions (by taste)
1 handful of humiliating anecdotes sprinkled generously on top

To be served with the appearance of a naīve enduring human spirit,
over time, in small portions so as to extend your dining experience.



Now I am not a stickler, I have played around with this recipe on
occasion depending on who I am cooking it for. Its all a matter of
personal taste. Tanya for one, never acquired a taste for it - she
figured out my game pretty early on, and yet (which is a testament her
how truly amazing she is) still tried to help (the real kind: help me
help myself - yuck), and extended to me the plump but beautiful hand
of friendship. I really do feel bad for screwing her over so many
times.

By the time I had sized up the pretty, heavy set woman at the mall
that I would soon be known to me as Tanya, I was already an old pro at
the confidence game. I was 25 and had been doing it
semi-professionally since I was 20.  I used the "spilled milk
maneuver" if I remember correctly.



The "spilled milk maneuver"

The spilled  milk maneuveur generally works this way:

Walking along the mall looking at the floor carrying a little,
personal sized carton of milk I accidentally (purposely) walked right
into my target, falling to the ground and spilling the milk on me. As
planned, the woman would, of course, pick me up, ask me if I was okay,
help clean me up in a motherly way and ask why wasn't I looking where
I was going. Of course the answer is, "It's embarrassing, I dropped a
quarter out here somewhere, need it for the bus, my land lady is going
to kill me if she has to pick me up again..." She would of course offer
a quarter and I would thank her and she would inevitably ask why
someone as young as me was at the mall myself and taking the bus, and
well....we would start talking - the story about my real age, and how I
was on the verge of being homeless because the mean woman my Aunt
arranged to let me stay in their basement was kicking me out because I
accidentally let her cat escape one too many times or whatever
transgression I was partial to at the time - bla bla bla. She'd buy me
milk and we would talk and next think I would know, I was staying on
her couch or spare bed. That easy.



Within a day or so Tanya was on to me and seemed intent on helping me
grow up and take responsibility for myself. Most of the women who have
taken care of me over the years, few had little interest in my
self-sufficiency. In fact most would fight against it because that
made what they were doing redundant. By the time I had worn out my
welcome they had usually changed their minds on that though. Tanya was
different and her genuine concern and tough love made her special to
me, even if it was often a lot of work.

She paid for me to see a therapist a few times, she tried to find me
jobs, she even tried to help me patch things up with my strict grandma
and my evil Aunt Claire of whom I had spoken chilling stories of. She
helped me "build a bridge of forgiveness" or some such crap. It didn't
go well, but I did it because she wanted me to. Like I said, Tanya was
special.

But old habits are hard to break and this self-improvement stuff Tanya
was feeding me was tough to swallow sometimes. I would slip in and out
of her life and her home while her good graces held out. I would
pretend to go to job interviews and hang out at the mall looking for
new marks. Then one day I would disappear from her life for months at
a time. Why she even took me back the last time, I don't know - but I
sense this is at an end. I heard her on the phone talking to
locksmiths - that cannot be good.

We are about, oh, an hour out of the popular vacation destination on
Vancouver Island, BC called Tofino. It is at the mouth of the famous
Clayquot Sound in Pacific Rim National Park, which, for those who
don't know, means it's very pretty - mountains, trees, long sandy
beaches intermingled with volcanic rock. The people who live there are
a wierd mixture of artists, hippies, surfers and venture capitalists.
Grandma was none of these, she inherited her cottage from her late
husband who I would call Grandpa except he died before I was born. He
left her very comfortable, financially speaking.

The road we are on is winding all over the place, side to side, up and
down through a mountain pass. The road drops off hundreds of feet
below us with nary a guard rail to save our life. It's a treacherous
road and I should let Tanya concentrate on driving but I have to ask.

"Tanya?"

"Shut up." 

This is what most of our conversation has been during the last four
hours from Victoria. She is not in a chatty mood.

She seems to think I grift because it is easy - but to tell you the
truth, its not. It's stressful, and at times I have to go to great
lengths to get what I want. It is amazing the kind of humiliations I
have to subject myself to. I have my "just on the verge of tears" look
down pretty good, but I have to build up to it. I am a method actor, I
have to think of sad things, like my mom. I have to tell embarrassing
stories about how my Aunt Claire used to punish me for the slightest
thing. I tell how I had a problem wetting the bed as a kid and she
would punish me for it by making me wear diapers in public into my
late teens. I would tell how my Aunt Claire, for "attitude correction"
would almost revel in dressing me up in girls clothes, sometimes
presenting me to her friends this way when they would come over to
play bridge. I would tell how she had me sleep in a crib until I was
17 so she didn't have to worry about me getting up at night. This is
very humiliating.
It would be even more embarrassing and emotionally taxing if any of it
where true. There is some truth to these stories, but I tend to
exaggerate a lot.

For instance, although Aunt Claire is evil, and she is, she never
raised me. My grandma did a couple years when my mom was sick, when I
was about twelve, and she was strict. I did have a bedwetting problem
and she was annoyed by this and suggested it would be easier some
times to have me wear diapers to bed, but never did anything about it.
She did once when I was living with her, put one of my Aunt Claire's
old dresses on me, but only because I was helping her with the baking
and it was just over my clothes sort of like an apron.

My mother did die of Cancer mind you, and this was very painful for
me, but it did not happen until I was 20. When she passed away I got
just a little over thirty thousand dollars from her inheritance. I
used it between grifts to get by. I have only just recently run
through it all, as marks have been slim pickin's lately. I need to
change cities, I think.

I have had to do some pretty bad things to live this lifestyle, things
I am almost too ashamed of to even mention here (which must be bad
considering how transparent I am being). There was a woman a year ago,
nice woman named Brenda. Our time together was nearing an end, only I
hadn't figured out what to do if she threw me out. Until I could
formulate a plan, I needed to buy some more time by ...(oh, this is all
kinds of bad)... intentionally wetting her bed. When I went to her room
I had tears in my eyes. When she got understandably upset, I cowered
in tears and said, "It was an accident, please don't punish me, I am
sorry, I am sorry!" which book-ended nicely the story I told her about
how my Aunt used to punish me for accidents. She of course felt very
bad for me and I was there an extra month as a result. When she did
kick me out, I had no money and went back to see Tanya.I have been
with her since.

Occasionally you get hooked up with a real nut-burger of a woman. To
illustrate I will offer Nora. By all appearances, Nora appeared to be
a pleasant, well groomed woman in her late fifties, kind of sweet
grandmotherly in nature. I did the "swinging door maneuver," which
basically is me standing at exactly the wrong (right) place when she
is opening a door, and pretending to have the door hit me and then
have me hit the floor. Nora bought it hook, line and sinker, in fact,
a little too well. I gave her the hard luck story about how the lady
my Aunt sent to to go live with was a tyrant who forced me to do
chores at all hours of the day and when I didn't do a good job, she
would lock me in the garage over night.

"Well dear, I won't be sending you back there," Nora said and took me
home with her.

She seemed pretty normal for the first day or so, but quite religious.
The longer I stayed, however, the creepier she got. Now she never
really spoke to me in a manner befitting my age, which I told her was
26, but I took that just to be her grandmotherly way. The longer I
stayed with her, howevere, the more she talked to me and treated me
like a small child. When I appeared to start to challenge her on this
she would get very upset, almost violently upset, followed by fits of
headaches and dizziness. This I figured explained the massive
collection of pill bottles in her medicine cabinet.

Things got worse...

She started to distrust me and wouldn't let me go hardly anywhere
without her at her side. She would prepare my meals, cutting my meat
for me. I have dealt with religious women before, but she was a bit
goofy about it. She would give me daily sermons of bible stories and
quiz me on them, we would pray and sing hymns at the table and before
bed - she was out to save my dirty agnostic soul. If I cursed she
would flip out on me and threaten to wash my mouth out with soap - I
remind you, I was twenty six at the time, and she knew that.

After a couple weeks of this, I had had enough and crept out of my
room one night and almost got to the front door with my things before
she dragged me back in. After that she locked me in my room at night.
I was scared I might never escape this woman.

One day she took me out to the mall shopping, holding my hand the
whole time. She was picking out these outfits fit for a five year old,
which she thought were adorable. When she was paying for them, she
took her hand back from mine to open her purse. I saw my opening and I
was gone.

Like I said, its not exactly an easy life.

"Tanya?" I ask again.

"Shut up."

Hmmm. Maybe not yet.

So, I was on my way to my Grandmother's will reading. I missed the
funeral as Aunt Claire had a hard time tracking me down in time.
Supposedly she hired a detective to track my travels and eventually
found me at Tanya's. I had not seen either Grandma or Aunt Claire in
nearly three years. That was back when I attempted, for Tanya, my
little "bridge of forgiveness" exercise. It went badly. Lots of hard
feeling there still. I nearly had to make a dash for the door.

You see, I am not exactly Grandma's favourite. As a result I am not
expecting a huge wind fall today. IN fact, compared to Aunt Claire,
her favourite relation, I was a big disappointment. I never made much
of myself and I barely graduated high school. After high school,
Grandma lent me money for business school (not my idea) and I kind of
flunked out. Even after I got the money from my Mom's life insurance,
I never paid her back. Add this to the suspicion that I was up to no
good in Victoria, and in her eyes, I was a family embarrassment.

Aunt Claire is the executive of the will - she's a lawyer and probably
drafted it herself. She and I have always had a rather tempestuous
relationship and, oh yes, did I mention she is evil? I am thinking my
chances are pretty slim I am leaving with anything more than bus fare
back to Victoria.

So what is it about Aunt Claire that I despise so much? Why is it her
name I attribute to all the horrible stories of my childhood? Well,
you see, Aunt Claire and I never got along well, or at least I never
got along well with her. She is three tears younger than I am. Grandma
adopted her when I was just a baby, making her my Aunt. Just as I am a
little freak of nature, Aunt Claire could fit that category as well,
although her freakishness is monstrous. Last time I saw her, she was
six foot four and three hundred-something pounds. She's been that big
pretty much since she was sixteen. She is what people would consider
Amazonian in stature and is an intimidating figure. Add to the fact
that she is a frickin' genius and she is one scary individual. Her IQ
when she was tested in grade school was 184, no lie. I snuck in at 118
I think.

I'll take you on a little walk through our family photo gallery so you
get an idea of what she was like to me.

Picture one (this photo is not only for demonstration purposes, it
actually exists in a photo album somewhere):

There are two little girls playing tea party in front of a decorated
Christmas tree. The bigger of the two girls looks to be about eight or
so and is grinning widely for the camera, a real ham. The smaller girl
looks to be about four and is embarrassed as all hell, wearing a dress
that is too big for her. Guess who the little girl was? She made me do
it, I was eight that year, she was five, and not only bigger than me,
but obviously showing signs that she was much smarter. If I remember
correctly she used a combination of intimidation and blackmail to
achieve her wicked ends, and well, I had no choice at the time to give
in. Grandma walked in on us and thought it was so hilarious she took a
picture of us.

Picture two (another picture that exists somewhere):

Christmas again, a year later. Claire has moved on from tea parties
and has introduced to me a new game to play called "house", in which
she was a mommy and, because of my size of course, I was the baby. She
pinned a make-shift diaper over my pants out of a hand towel and got
very upset if I did not play by the rules, which of course where hers.
I think they went like: Babies don't talk, they goo goo, babies don't
walk, they crawl, stuff like that. At one point she goes downstairs to
ask grandma if there was a baby bottle around she could use. Grandma
asks why and she tells her that the little plastic bottle from her
doll doesn't fill with water and she is playing house. Grandma gave
her a bottle filled with water and then came to investigate. She found
me on the floor, towel pinned to me and being fed a bottle. Again with
the camera.

Next photo (there is no photographic evidence of this, thank god):

I am twelve and living at my Grandma's while my mom is sick. Claire is
nine. I am dwarfed next to her by this time. She was five and a half
feet tall, I was about four foot even then. This is a couple days
after Claire walked in to the bathroom when Grandma was giving me a
bath (yes she did that at twelve, no snickering please). Claire seemed
a little fascinated by what she saw.

It is a spring day and she says I have to go to the park with her. By
this time I have pretty much given up on arguing with her. In fact,
when grandma had to leave us alone, she always left Claire in charge,
because, in most ways, although only nine, she was an exceptionally
bright and mature nine year old. I, on the other hand was a less than
exceptionally mature twelve year old in her eyes. Did I mention Claire
was her favourite?

Anyway, it is a spring day and we are going to the park. Her friend
shows up, and the three of us go to the bushes. The girl gives Claire
five dollars and Claire tells me to drop my pants. I say no, there was
some threatening, and next thing I knew I was standing there, pants
and underwear around my ankles. It seemed that Claire, fascinated by
what she saw in the tub that day told her friend who was curious about
it. Claire offered a demonstration for the price of five dollars. "Its
just like real boys, only smaller." Claire explained in a clinical
tone, as if she was teaching a class.

So is it any wonder I attributed my exaggerated and invented childhood
traumas to Aunt Claire? It makes sense to me, she is horrible.  Not to
mention the fact that she has always made me look terribly bad by
comparison. See chart below:

Claire:				

- Straight A Student
- Student Council Grade 11, Prime Minister Grade 12
- Winner of numerous provincial academic awards. 		
- Provincial girls high school wrestling champion three years running.
- Graduated at the age of 15.
- Got her Paralegal degree by the age of 19
- Graduated from the bar at the age of 23
- Last I heard works in corporate law for one of the most prestigious
law firms in the country.

Me:

- Average to below average student
- Never participated in school clubs or organizations			  
- Won no academic awards
- Was dreadful at sports and excused from PE due to bad heart and
asthma
- Barely graduated at 18
- Flunked out of business school after first term at 19
- Have nothing to show for my life the last ten years except an empty
bank account and a very angry ex-friend who is in the drivers seat
next to me.

Which reminds me.

"Tanya?"

"Shut up,"

"But Tanya, please..."

"What?!" 

"Um, could we stop at the next rest stop? I gotta take a leak." I have
a very little bladder, to go along with my very little body.

"Why don't your pee your pants to conjure up some sympathy from me?"
She asks sarcastically.

Oh shit, she isn't supposed to know about that. If I didn't tell her,
that means...double shit. Claire knows and told her. Either that or
Brenda tracked her down which I pretty much doubt. This is not good.

                                  * * *

Well she did stop for me. After we were back on the road again I
thanked her, to which she replied simply with, "Shut up." I am
thinking that she is still a little peeved.

Okay, so what is the worst that can happen now that Aunt Claire knows
what I have been up to. She has obviously spoken to these women. I
fear she might know everything, including how I have used her name in
vain. But then again, maybe I am jumping to conclusions, maybe what
Tanya said was a coincidental slight at my conniving ways. I need to
know.

"Tanya?"

"I thought I told you to shut up."

"Please, look, I just want to apologize. I know you want me out of
your life and I will leave you alone I promise, but please let me just
say something first."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I hurt you. You were trying to be such a good friend to me
and I took advantage of that. You are such a good person and no matter
what happens, I just want you to know that. I have been a prick, I
know that."

She sat there quietly for a moment watching the road, looking as
though she was processing the information. I took the opportunity to
continue. And I am actually being sincere here so no raised eyebrows
from you folks reading this now.

"I need to start taking responsibility for myself, I really do. I need
to grow up. I have been a fuck up for long enough. You have tried to
help me see this for a long time but I never listened, but now, I
understand and I am going to change. I can't live like this anymore."

Sounds pretty good doesn't it? Sincere? I think so. I am pretty sure I
mean it too.

"You know what?" She asks.

"Yes?"

"You say stuff like that and I hear the act. I hear you trying to play
me again."

"I'm not, I promise..."

"Well, your promises don't mean much now, do they? Listen, say
whatever you want if it makes you feel better but I'm not buying.
Doesn't matter, in half an hour you are out of my life for good
anyway. You are your Aunt Claire's problem."

Okay, I will admit it - that kinda hurt. I deserved it though I guess.

"Okay," I said. "Just one more thing and I will shut up for the rest
of the way, I promise..."

"Again with the promises."

"I mean it, listen, that thing you said before, about peeing my
pants...what did you mean by that exactly?"

"Why don't you ask your Auntie," she said. 

I think I feel a little sick.


                                      ***

Grandma's cottage on the beach was pretty much how I remembered it.
The lawn out front is nicely manicured and the flower gardens are well
maintained, so I am guessing she still has the gardener from the
resort next door coming to maintain the place.

I thought for a moment how great it would be if Grandma had left this
place to me. Then I saw the large looming figure of Aunt Claire coming
out the front door to greet us and I realized this probably wasn't the
case. The smug look on her face suggests I am lucky if leave here with
my life, let alone any inheritance.

Aunt Claire is looking very summery today, in shorts and a flowered
top that could easily double for a main sail on a large sailing
vessel. I can't help but feel for the millions of silk worms who
worked so hard on that thing. We got out of the car.

"We made it," I said.

Aunt Claire approached Tanya with an outstretched hand, and without
looking at me said, "Go wait in the house Lindsey." And I am thinking,
"yeah great to see you too Claire," but I don't because I value my
life. I go to the front door while Claire is being ever so sweet and
kind to Tanya. I wait in the foyer because I want to hear what they
are saying. It goes something like this:

"Thank you so much for bringing him, I realize you have done so much
for him already."

"Its alright, it was a beautiful drive," Tanya says.

"Listen, you aren't planning on going back today are you?"

"Well, I was..."

"Listen, I reserved a cottage next door for you, my treat, please stay
a couple nights if you can, on me - I really do appreciate you
bringing him up here, and I know that mustn't have been fun for you."

"Thank you," Tanya said, "I will take you up on that, that is very
kind."

"It is the least I could do," Claire says and I am thinking, "Who is
this space alien who ate my Aunt and how do I thank him?" She is never
this nice when I am around.

I slip from the foyer to the living room when I hear Tanya's car start
again. Before I can even sit down Claire comes in the front door and
shouts my name "Lindsey!"

"I'm here," I said from the living room. She stepped in and looked at
me for a moment and the bright smiling face she had with Tanya had
changed to one that I recognize as not being terribly pleased. I am
thinking the alien was only visiting.

"So um, let's do this thing, I guess..." I add to break the nervous
silence.

"You're Grandmother dies and that is all you have to say? Let's just
divide up all the stuff?"

"I didn't mean it that way..." I felt very bad all of a sudden.

"After all she did for you, that is how you show your respect?"

"I'm sorry..."

"She was my mother you know."

"I know, I am sorry, it was insensitive of me."

"Yes it was," She said. "I think at least a few moments of silence
would be a good idea, don't you?"

"Of course, sorry." I said.

"Good, come," she said and walked into the dinning room. When I got in
there she took one of the dinning room chairs and pulled it out and
placed it facing the corner of the room. "Sit," she said and more or
less pushed me down on to the chair. "Show your respect, not a word,"
she said and left the room.

I would be on the chair about half an hour before she came back, doing
"corner time" as Grandma used to call it. If it means anything, I was
thinking of her - and yes I felt bad that she has passed on, even if
we didn't get along too well. So don't think I am some heartless
monster or anything.

"Been thinking about her?" Aunt Claire asks.

"Yes,"

"And what?"

"She'll be missed, she was a great lady." I say. I think this is the
kind of thing you are supposed to say.

"Yes she was, and she is missed." Aunt Claire said and lifted and spun
the chair around facing the table with me in it easily. "So as you so
crudely put it, let's do this thing," she said somberly.

She sat at the head of the table and lifted her briefcase and placed
it in front of her. She pulled out some papers and a pen and placed
them before her. "She didn't forget you in her will you know," Aunt
Claire said.

"She didn't?" I asked a little surprised. "I know I was not her
favourite."

"No, you were not. In fact you were an embarrassment to her. She knew
what you were up to, she knows people in Victoria, she heard things."

"I don't understand, what kind of things?" This was me playing dumb. I
am pretty good at it actually.

"Preying upon the sympathies of generous kind women, who only wanted
to help you. Telling lies about the family, about how horrible we were
to you. Yet, believe it or not, she still left you something in the
will."

"She shouldn't have,"

"No, you are right, she shouldn't have. But she did because she cared
about you, no matter how much you disappointed her, she still cared.
It's sad you didn't understand that when she was alive, Lindsey."

If you hadn't noticed, this is the part of the narrative designed to
make me feel guilty for breathing. I wouldn't include it here except
something tells me I kind of deserve it.

"Yes, I wish I did," I tell her.

She cleared her throat and shuffled papers for a moment and then said,
"I am the executor of the will, I drafted it so I know what is in
this, so I won't bother with the formalities. She left for you a
trust, seventy five thousand dollars."

"Really?" This is much better news than I anticipated.

"It's a trust, which means it is managed by the executor, which is me
and there are conditions."

"Conditions? Like what?"

"In order to receive any benefit from the trust, you have to live
adhering to certain standards of moral behavior, you must meet these
standards to the approval of the executor, me. If I feel the standards
are not being met, I can have the trust liquidated."

"What kind of standards?" I asked.

"Moral ones, no more committing fraud is a good example."

"Okay, I have quit that anyway,"

"Yes I know, the second condition ensures that."

"What's that?" She handed me a pen and some rather long complicated
government forms. "What's this?"

She went on to explain something about emancipation of status or some
such thing. Something about legislation put in place to legally
protect the rights of adults with diminished capacity, Alzheimer's
patients, etc.. People who can no longer look after themselves, they
can, while still cognizant, sign over guardianship of themselves to
individuals who will take care of them legally as the disease
progresses.

I am confused, big surprise, so I ask, "Okay what does this have to do
with me?"

"If you want your money, you need to sign over guardianship of
yourself to me."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, basically, I am your legal...lets put this in terms you might
understand, ...parent."

"You? But you are younger than me? This is nuts."

"Well if you want your money, you'll have to, if not I don't see what
your choices are, I know you have no money."

"And if I sign, what then?"

"The funds of the trust will be able to be released for you as
needed."

"No, I mean, what does it mean to me if I sign this."

"Means you are no longer a legal adult, you no longer can enter into
legal contracts of any sort without my approval."

"What kind of contracts?" I asked.

She looked at me like I was the dumbest person alive, "Any sort, I
just said that."

"Okay," I said. I am thinking how often do I sign contracts. I can't
remember when I signed the last contract. I guess the last one would
be my rental agreement. So she would have to co-sign a lease, big
deal. "I'll sign."

"Thought you might," and she smiled at me in a way that made me
nervous as she pointed the spots I needed to sign scattered through
the ten page document. When I was done she took the contract from me
and put it back in her briefcase.

"So, not to be crude or anything," I said, "But I am kind of in a
financial bind at the moment. How do I go about getting a few bucks?"

"Oh, the money doesn't go to you Lindsey, you really must learn to pay
attention."

"What? You said that if I could get money from the trust."

"No, what I said was the money would be available for you, there is a
difference Lindsey, must I explain it to you?"

"That would be nice," I said sarcastically.

"The money is for your upkeep, your well being. You are not a legal
adult anymore so that money goes to your guardian to ensure you are
taken care of. And I guess that would be...oh yes, me." She said and
gave me a rather wicked smile.

"That's not fair, you never said..."

"I am a lawyer, everything I said was by letter of the law. But don't
worry, your evil wicked Aunt Claire is going to take excellent care of
you - isn't that how you described me?"

I gulped. "I wasn't meaning you, I just used your name..."

"When I spoke to these women Lindsey and told them who I was, it seems
they had all heard of me. They were all under the impression that I
raised you and that I was horrible to you. After I explained to them
how many ways that was impossible, they filled in the blanks. You know
Lindsey dear, it appears you have been one very naughty boy."

I am thinking, "Oh Shit".



End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 coming soon.

Comments, questions, death threats etc. Address them to:
lindseyk_ca@yahoo.ca
http://viewfrombelow.tripod.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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