Zel

Wrote this about a month ago, and I'd like some opinions. I've done virtually no revisions thus far -- nitpicking definitely welcome!

By Halloween I was tired of Mrs. Swani and especially tired of F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Mrs. Swine-i (nicknamed by us students after her insult of choice) was arguably the worst teacher in Alabama – or at least the worst at Mayfield Academy. Swine-i was an ogre: She looked like one, talked like one, and (especially) acted like one. Trust me – just give her green skin and funny ears, and she’d be on the cast of Shrek.

As the Advanced English teacher, Swine-i apparently wanted to show us who was boss…Fitzgerald. We were about to begin reading The Great Gatsby, and as a warm-up (yeah, for our daily torture session) we were expected to write a biography of F. Scott Fitzgerald. For homework. In one night. On Halloween. Even for the most insensitive teacher, this was a little taboo.

As if to make the upcoming school year even worse, the Standard English teacher, Miss Pinedale, was notoriously nice. If not for my parents, I would be spending Halloween night stealing Fun-Size 3 Musketeers bars from our candy bowl, instead of mixing up birth and death dates.

“You need the best education you can get,” they’d said with those watery smiles on their faces, like I was three again.

At times like those I wanted to yell, “Y’all barely even went to college!”

And so I spent my Halloween afternoon trudging to Austen Park with a full book bag, waiting for Dad to pick me up.

Not many kids from school went to Austen after the dismissal bell rang, so, as usual, I was almost completely alone. I sat down on a bench next to the entrance sign and began perusing my copy of The Great Gatsby. After about ten minutes – just as I finished reading the foreword – I looked up. The park was just as quiet and empty as before, except for a woman who was walking towards me.

The first thing I noticed about her was her clothes. She was wearing a short, ruffly dress and a round hat, some sort of Halloween costume. I tried to think of what she was dressed as – oh, what were they called -- ?

The woman sat down beside me.

“Hey,” she said, like we were mutual friends seeing each other on the street. “What’cha reading?”

Please, please go away, I thought, wanting to be alone, but I showed her the cover anyway. Her mouth formed an O for a second, half a second, but then returned to normal. I noticed that she was chewing gum.

“For school?” she asked. I nodded.

“We have to do a report, too, on the author.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I’m Zel,” she said, and stuck out a gloved hand. I shook it gingerly. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Amy.” I winced a bit as I answered; Amy was such a dull name, compared to, well, Zel. “Are you going to a Halloween party or something?”

She laughed, soft and high, sort of like a wind chime. “Nah, nah, I don’t go to many parties anymore. Still, I liked to get dressed up a bit. For the Halloween spirit an’ all…you know.” She looked back down at the cover of the book. “Say, that author of yours? F. Scott? Pretty sure he lived in Paris for a while.”

“Really?” At that point I had gotten absolutely no research about him. Every piece of information mattered.

“You ever been to Paris, Amy?” Zel asked. Her eyes glittered.

“No – I mean, I take French and stuff, but I’ve never been there.”

“Well, Amy, when you do go, be sure to see the Eiffel, okey-doke? I know everybody says that, but it’s beautiful.”

I smiled politely and flipped to the “About the Author” page in the back of the book.

When I glanced back up, Zel had blown a bubble that obscured half her face. It popped – perfect timing – and instead of the small, cheerful smile that had been on her face, she was frowning. “That Fitzgerald’s wife, you know, I think she had schitzo – schitzo – goddammit, what was it?” She snapped her fingers. “Schitzophrenia, that’s it. The one where you hear voices?”

I nodded. I had heard of it.

“Yeah, they say it’s ‘cause he messed with her mind,” Zel continued. “Had to be in one of those asylums for a while. But before that, she was real different…a big-time flapper, like.” She spat her gum out. It landed silently on the grass.

“Cool.” A flapper, that’s what Zel was dressed up as. “Hey, what was his wife’s name again?”

She pulled a cigar from her purple handbag. I had never seen a cigar before, except in movies; neither of my parents smoked. She lit it with a match, held it to her lips, blew a cloud of smoke out. I saw that her eyes had turned foggy.

“Zelda,” She said quietly. “Her name was Zelda….”

BEEP-BEEP – Dad was in the parking lot, twenty yards away from us, waiting. I turned to her to say goodbye, but Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald was gone, gone until the next Halloween.

Note: Everything mentioned of the Fitzgeralds is true...except for the ghost part, I mean.

So...thanks for reading, all help is appreciated. :]