My parents came up for the weekend and brought with them grandparentness: chocolate chip cookie bars, videos of model trains, presents for two very spoiled children, and love. They also brought a bagful of my childhood they had cleaned out of a Tupperware tub in their storage room. That bag included a Cabbage Patch Kid named Babette; a pair of my red patent leather Mary Janes, which I wore exclusively starting around age three because they were my “ruby slippers” and the shoe store in town kept in stock in my next shoe size for several years; and a folder full of my report cards, accolades from teachers, speeches, and stories.
I’ll tell you about Babette another time because she is a part of a bigger story – my sister and I also had an oversized and soft-faced Cabbage Patch Kid who was “born” at the short-lived Cabbage Patch store in New York City who received a birthday card in the mail until I was well into college – and I’ve said everything I need to say about the Mary Janes. Which leaves my old stories.
Obviously, I wrote a lot. I learned how to use a typewriter when I was around 8 and we bought a dot matrix printer for our Apple IIe when I was 11, but the vast, vast majority of my stories were handwritten because I loooved my cursive penmanship. Here are some of the other things I loooved: the names Samantha and Tracy (and especially the name Samantha Tracy, which is what I renamed Babette for a period of time), situations where my heroines were unexpectedly required to live in Victorian houses and/or wear Victorian gowns and/and kiss boys, and making those heroines mirror myself in every possible way – including ways that had yet to manifest themselves, like being a magical fairy princess or kissing boys.
In 1992, I loooved one of my short stories so much that I decided to turn it into a full-length novel. My sister and I kept the Apple IIe in our playroom, a teeny-tiny former servant’s quarters with star wallpaper on the pitched ceiling in the upstairs corner of our Victorian house, and I spent hours upon hours clacking away on the computer with my collie, Lady, snoozing beside me, telling the tale of Victoria Tracy, an intrepid 12-year-old forced to rescue her kidnapped classmates being held in a Victorian mansion and also be kissed by a boy. I bound that manuscript in four navy blue three-ring binders and sent them off to four publishers in New York – and, God bless those people, every one responded and told me to keep writing.
As I said, that novel was sprung from a short story, which I had forgotten about until my mother handed it to me in a manila folder on Saturday. I wrote that short story 35 years ago, and I thought I’d share it with you here because I think we can agree that I peaked in 1991.
“They’re Kidnapped?”
by Amanda Silverman, March 13, 1991
“Finally.” Tracy plopped down in her pink and white rocking chair in the family room of her light gray house. She brushed her chocolate brown hair off her forehead and sighed. School was getting boring. All of a sudden, her collie, Fluffy, bounded in with Tracy’s younger sister, Samantha. Samantha was carrying the two lipstick walky-talkies they had received from their aunt.
“Do you want to play spy?” Samantha asked. Just as Tracy was about to answer, the phone rang. It was her teacher, Mrs. McLauren, and she sounded anxious.
“Tracy,” she gulped. “Are you all right?” Tracy stared at the phone. Of course she was all right. Why wouldn’t she be?
“It’s just that after you left, a girl came in and threatened to kill everyone if they didn’t come. She kidnapped everyone in my class except for me.” Mrs. McLauren said quickly. Tracy thanked Mrs. McLauren and hung up.
“Samantha,” Tracy cried, “I think I will play spy!”
“Tracy, I’m scared,” Samantha said as they went down the path on their bikes. Tracy looked back to make sure she had everything. Mrs. McLauren said she had seen a woman take her classmates to the white Victorian mansion that had been turned into a real estate office but had been bought about a month ago. The house had about three secret passages in it that no one but she and her friends knew about.
As they pulled up to the huge driveway, they stopped in their tracks. There was the watch that Tracy’s best friend, Trisha, always wore to school. They were there in that house. Tracy looked back at Samantha and pulled out an old “Jump Rope for Heart” form and bravely walked up the stairs with Samantha trailing behind.
“Uh, ma’am,” Tracy stuttered, “Would you like to pledge to ‘Jump Rope for Heart’?” The woman stared at her.
“No,” she said in a monotone voice. Tracy racked her brain desperately for another idea.
“Have you seen my dog?” Tracy tried again. The lady was about to close the door when a pot fell somewhere in the house. She ran off into the house. Tracy beckoned to Samantha and walked through the door. She and Samantha just stood there for a minute when they heard the lady coming back. Tracy and Samantha jumped into the nearest secrete passage and closed the door.
They saw a note sticking out of a piece of wallpaper. It was from Cody, Tracy’s boyfriend. She stuffed it in her pocket and went a little farther. She saw a door and opened it. She and Samantha found a flat boat sitting in purple and pink water. They slowly climbed onto it and it began to move.
Suddenly, Samantha told Tracy she was hungry. Tracy looked around the boat and picked up a rock. Out fell a note. It was from Trisha. It said, make a wish on a rock if you are hungry. Tracy said,
“I wish I had a bowl of chocolate ice cream.” All of a sudden, the rock changed into a big bowl of chocolate ice cream. Samantha ate it and Tracy put three rocks into her pocket. It was misty in that room. Finally, they docked.
They were at another door. There was a note from Kimberly, a girl in Tracy’s class. It was stuck to a key. The note said that it opened another door.
Tracy opened the door and saw all of her friends: Kimberly, Baily, Alexa, Cody, and Trisha. She got them all out and they piled into the boat and got out of that creepy house. Just in time, too. The woman who owned the house came out the door. Tom, another boy, knocked her out. Cody was so happy he kissed Tracy. The police arrived at that moment. The woman was arrested and everyone was taken home.
The next day at school, they had to write a story. Tracy’s story started like this:
“Finally.” Tracy plopped down in her pink and white rocking chair in the family room of her light gray house.
The photo above is the first page of the greatest short story ever written.
This week on North Dakota Today, we talked about Mrs. Kruger’s 5th Grade Class, my Nice People of the Week, and a distinguished motorcycle ride to raise money and awareness for men’s health initiatives. (Valley News Live)
Here’s the first paragraph of my latest newspaper column:
Back in the 2000s, Sadie Ripley and I sat next to each other during the Grand Forks Chamber Leadership Program. At the time, North Dakota was battling the out-migration of local 20-somethings toward bigger cities and bigger jobs. As Sadie and I were in the early days of our careers — and Sadie had excitedly confided to me that she and her husband, Eric, were in the early days of pregnancy with their first baby — the community was especially supportive of giving us professional opportunities that would keep us in Grand Forks. (Grand Forks Herald)
Submit your favorite history teacher for the Best History Teacher in North Dakota Contest. (Minot Daily News)
What does a donkey do when you tell him a joke? He-haws. (Dickinson Press)
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