3

It had been a long time since Cressida got a “C” that day for school; that was months ago. From then on, she never got a “C” again. She studied harder and attempted not to be abs minded. But she did not forget what Mrs. Lewis had told her. She knew she needed a friend.

It was a cold morning. Pale snow was falling gently from the sky above. Children were all dressed in thick, warm, wooly coats. Cressida was wearing a sweater knitted by Mrs. Lewis. She was still in the end of the line of children, STILL walking by herself.

As she walked, she noticed that someone was looking at her. That was a girl from the classroom beside hers. She had many friends; she was a sociable girl. The girl was dressed in a blue jacket over her school uniform. Her face was pale, while her cheeks were bright pink. Her blue eyes twinkled as she smiled, while her blond hair sung wildly in the snow. She was a cute girl about Cressida’s height.

Cressida looked curiously at her. The girl was walking towards her. Her smile warmed Cressida, who was almost frozen in the snow. She left little shoe prints on the sidewalk as she came closer to Cressida. “You’re Angeline Wright, right?” Cressida began shyly, looking at the blond-haired girl.

“Yes, I am.” Angeline responded, “I can see that you need company!”

“Eh,” Cressida stammered, “It’s nice to meet you, Angeline.”

“And, what’s your name?” Angeline asked, looking at Cressida.

“Cressida.” Cressida answered quietly.

“Cressida?” Angeline confirmed, “What a nice name!”

“It’s quite outlandish.” Cressida said softly, trying to keep up the conversation. Angeline just smiled at her.

Angeline continued the conversation with questions like, “What’s your favorite subject”, “what does your teacher look like,” or “Are your classmates nice?” But to this question, Cressida did not answer. She could not. It would not be very good to gossip about her classmates that seldom care about her.

Angeline had many classmates. She was VIP to her classmates. Almost everyone wanted to play with her. Even the boys; she welcomed everyone who wanted to join her. She could bravely invite people from the next class to join her group.

How lucky Angeline is! Cressida thought, as Angeline chattered about her friends and group.

The two girls parted at the entrance of Cressida’s classroom, as Angeline disappeared through the corridor. Cressida seemed extra happy when she hung her coat onto the hooks. She finally had a friend.

Now she didn’t need to worry about what Mrs. Lewis had said, and she didn’t have to go to school by herself anymore. She would be walking with Angeline; she would have a partner, like the other children! She could not wait to tell Mrs. Lewis about Angeline!

Cressida ran out the classroom as the bell sounded for the end of class. The boys were yelling as soon as they were out of the schoolhouse. Everyone seemed extra happy today.

Angeline was waiting for Cressida outside the schoolhouse. Her friends had already left for home. Angeline decided to accompany Cressida back home. Cressida was not as shy as she was in the morning. She tried hard not to be shy, speaking warmly about what she learned that day. She tried to avoid talking about home because she still feared talking about her parents.

“And what do you normally do at home?” Angeline asked suddenly, when she had finished telling her stories.

“Do you go out for family day?”

“Erm,” Cressida cleared her throat, “Well, I normally read and study at home. Sometimes I go talk with Mrs. Lewis.”

“Oh, who’s Mrs. Lewis?” Angeline asked curiously.

“She’s an elderly in the Resting House. She is kind, and nice.”

“That’s cool!”

Cressida was glad Angeline did not ask her anything more about her parents. Angeline could see how she avoided topics about family and home. So, she did not say anything about Cressida’s family anymore.

The next day was Saturday. Cressida woke up seeing the sun high up the sky, over the freezing snow. She lingered in her warm bed, not wanting to get up.

She thought of Angeline, and what she was going to tell Mrs. Lewis. Immediately, she jumped out of bed, and began to dress. The winter dress made by Mrs. Lewis hung at the end of her bed. Cressida’s teeth were chattering as she slipped on the warm jacket. She ate the warm bread in the toaster and warmed the half-frozen milk on the gas oven.

After breakfast, Cressida ran out of the cabin, half sprinting to the Resting House. She banged on the door, till a kind looking nurse opened the door. Cressida was red in the face, while melted snow dripped from her messy, brown hair.

“Good morning, Cressida!” The nurse said with a smile, “Go fetch a towel, Mary.” She told a little girl.

“Good morning, Miss Jennet!” Cressida replied, panting, “It’s very cold outside!”

“I can see that,” Miss Jennet smiled, handing the towel to Cressida, “dry yourself.”

Mrs. Lewis came down the stairs, “so you’re here!” She exclaimed, as they went into the sitting room.

The sitting room was rather a little room. A grey couch was set at the back of the room. A tea table was in the middle of the room, right in front of the couch. The light brown conifer wood was polished and coated; it looked perfectly smooth as it laid in the sitting room. A thick, black carpet laid on the floor. The carpet was like a giant bear’s fur, which shone under the bright, white light.

“What news have you got?”Mrs. Lewis asked, sitting comfortably on the couch.

“You told me I needed a partner,” Cressida began; Mrs. Lewis nodded with a warm smile, “Yes, that was what I said.”

“I met a new friend on the way to school. And-” Cressida hesitated for a moment. How would she present Angeline to Mrs. Lewis?

“She’s Angeline from next class.” She continued, “She was a sociable girl.”

Mrs. Lewis took a sip from her cup of steaming, warm coffee. Cressida was rubbing her red hands; they were just warmed by the warm heated stove after half frozen in the snow. The snow drifted outside; Cressida could see from the window.

A white blanket covered the streets and house-roofs. Everything was pure white, except for the road; it looked wet. Melted snow was spreading throughout the road. The sidewalk was covered in a thin layer of snow; if anyone tramped on it, they could see the bare sidewalk.

“Is it better to have a friend than none?” Mrs. Lewis asked.

“I’m sure it’s better.” Cressida responded, concealing her fears from Mrs. Lewis.

Mrs. Lewis coughed a little; she tried hard not to have wrinkles of dislike upon her face. She could see that Cressida had been hiding something from her, and she hated what she was doing

Mrs. Lewis never liked to have something hidden from her, especially when she was trying to know the truth. But perhaps what Cressida was hiding from her was privacy.

“That’s true, Cressida. Having a friend can help you through hard times.” Mrs. Lewis finally said.

Cressida looked puzzled; how can a friend help me through my troubles? How can Angeline help me? She doesn’t even know what had happened; how can she HELP? Now Cressida was thinking again about a new question: How can friends help each other?

“Thank you, Mrs. Lewis. Well, I think it’s time for me to go.” Cressida announced.

“You just came!” Miss Jennet exclaimed, coming into the room, finding Cressida preparing to depart, “Do stay longer!” She said, trying to convince Cressida.

But Cressida was determined. She wanted to go home, so that Mrs. Lewis won’t need to ask her about her fears. “Thank you, Miss Jennet. But I have to go; there is still homework to be done.” She gave excuse, pulling on her coat.

“But I thought your school does not assign homework!” Miss Jennet protested, looking at Cressida as she opened the door. Cressida did not answer, but disappeared running down the sidewalk.

Cressida ran into the cabin and fell onto the couch tiredly. Her father had been sleeping on it every night; she could see the messy quilt lying on the edge. She then realized she smelled something-a stingy smell that stung her nose; it was something she had never smelled when she was at home. A smudge of dried, dark and purple liquid lay on the couch. It looked like spilled grape juice.

Cressida leaned forward and smelled it-it wasn’t so stingy now, but she could clearly smell something. She recognized the smell; it had the same smell as the one at the winepress. It was wine.

Who spilled wine on the clean, grey couch? Cressida looked unclear. Father did not seem to be the kind of person that would drink wine. Indeed, Cressida had never seen father drink, nor did she ever smell the odor of wine on her father. But that was long time ago. Cressida had not been close enough to her father. That was why she could not smell wine from his body.

What was wrong?

4

Cressida was tired already. She did not want to face the truth; moreover, she was still a little girl that was not the age to face consequential things. So, it was right of her to try escape the truth!

It was still morning; Cressida had a lot of time to think. She could think how friends could help each other, or whether her quiet father was a drunkard or not. But she went to bed instead. As I’d said, she was exhausted.

Cressida’s father came home early that night. He planned to have a private time with Cressida. His beard was shaved clean; he was dressed in his best vest. He dressed himself neatly, to surprise Cressida. He hoped to reconstruct his relationship with Cressida.

Cressida sat lazily in her bed reading “Heidi”. This book was given to her by Mrs. Lewis as a Christmas present a month ago. She was busy playing that she forgot about the book. It was put into her wardrobe. Not till yesterday was the book re-discovered by Cressida.

She kept reading, till she saw her father appear at the entrance of her room with a smile. Cressida was surprised-her father had not been shaving; she was used to his long beard that hung slovenly down his chin.

“Good evening, father.” Cressida said, raising her little head; “You’re early today!”

“Yes, my ‘lilt Cressida!” Her father said mysteriously with a smile, “I planned a surprise for you!”

Cressida fell in silence. She knew what her father was trying to do; he wanted to reconnect the gap between them. But father was not understandable. He came home late every night and drank wine. She never knew what he was doing every night. She could feel that her father was untrustworthy.

“Thank you, dad.” Cressida replied coolly, “but I prefer staying at home.”

Her father’s smile fainted slowly; his face showed no surprise anymore. His plan had failed; he could see that Cressida knew he was hiding something from her. His heart thumped wildly, hoping Cressida had not found who he really was. He himself knew Cressida was too young to know this.

Something even worse happened. Cressida stood up and looked at her father seriously on the face. She wanted to know the truth. “Father, I have something to discuss with you.” She said boldly, “This morning, I was tired and sat on the sofa. I could smell the odor of wine-”

“You could?” Her father interrupted, “You do not even know what wine smells like!” He added, trying to hide the truth.

“Yes, indeed! Spilled wine was on the couch too!”

“Really? I’ll have it cleaned in no time! Wonder who spilled it?!” Her father said, dissembling the truth.

Cressida felt uncomfortable already. Arguing with a grownup was not easy. On top of that, the thing she was arguing about was something she did not have to know--something she should not know!

“No, father. Not just that.” Cressida said unhappily, still facing her father but looking to the ground.

“What then, Cressida?” Her father managed to say.

“I think you spilled the wine on the couch.”

“Yes. What’s wrong? It’s fine for one to have accidents!”

“Where did you get the wine? I do not think we have wine at home.”

“It’s late now,” her father said at last, switching off the topic, “It’s time for you to sleep, Cressida.”

But Cressida was determined. She has decided to know the truth. “The talk has not ended yet.” Cressida said inordinately. Her father frowned at her answer. She did not focus on his face but pushed on with her question; “I want to know the answer to my question.” She said inconsiderately to her father.

“Your question?” her father asked.

“Yes.” Cressida answered, “Where did you get the wine.” She prompted.

“I bought it.” He returned carelessly, hoping she would not ask more.

“I think I can see what you’ve been doing late at night.”

“What? It has nothing to do with your business.”

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” His smart daughter retorted.

“What I’m doing has nothing to do with you.” He repeated.

“No. Nothing to do with me.” She admitted.

“Then hurry and get yourself to sleep!” Her father said, leaving her room.

“Wait!” She called, as her father stopped, waiting for her next question; “Though it’s not my business, it bothers me—every time you talk to me, you look weirder, till you tell me you’re tired.”

Her father frowned with impatience, “I was tired!!!”

“Not really—you drank too much.”

“Alright. It’s half past nine. I am going out.” Her father said, looking at his watch, “See you then.”

“But where are you going?” Cressida called after him; but he did not answer.

Cressida sighed and pulled her quilt over her. She looked at her father’s car, till it vanished down the slope. There was no way to have her father tell her the truth. At least not for now.

Her father moved into the parking lot of a little tavern. He had planned to meet his friends there. The lights were gleaming bright. A waiter was standing behind the table, waiting for one to order something.

Joe entered the tavern and walked to a table full of men, playing with Poker. “Hey, Joe!” One man said in a loud voice, waving at Cressida’s father gleefully, “You’ve come to play Poker?”

“Yeb.” Joe answered thrillingly, waving back.

“I thought you planned to have an evening with your ‘lilt daughter!” A man said roughly, clamming his beer cup loudly onto the table.

Joe did not answer, but turned to the waiter, ordering a big cup of wine.

“Joe’s going to get drunk again!” A man teased, half-drunk himself.

The other men guffawed in rhythm, while Joe impatiently waited for them to divide the cards. “Hurry up!” He yelled at the half-tipsier who was dividing the cards. The others kept drinking and laughing. Joe took a drink of his red wine and felt relieved.

They’re not gonna win this time! Joe thought. He had been drunk every single night last month and had lost. I’ve spent enough for them! I will get them drunk before they win again! Joe took another sip of red wine. “I’M GOING TO WIN THIS TIME!!!” He yelled to his friends. He didn’t notice he was half-drunk already!

The men chuckled again. Joe tried hard not to drink his wine. The glass stood there, showing the good, red wine. Joe investigated his glass of wine—he still had a lot left! Then, he smelled it—oh, how good it smelled! His mouth was droughty, longing for a drink. Ah, how he hoped to gulp down the fresh wine! Then he called the waiter for a cup of water, to stop the temptation of the wine.

The waiter immediately brought him a cup of plain ice water. Joe thirstily drank the water. The water was not like the wine, which had a strong taste; it was clear and wet. It did not sting when it went down his throat.

Joe looked back at his glass of wine. The game was halfway to the end. “Water is so plain!” He exclaimed, breaking the silence. A drunken man wobbled in his seat and roared with laughter at Joe’s expression. It was truly amusing— Joe acted as if he had not ever tasted water!

“I’m winning!!!” Joe shouted; in case his friends could not hear him; one man put his cup back onto the table with a loud “thud”! The expression on his face seemed to say, “You’re not going to win!”

Yes, Joe surely was NOT going to win！

*** ***

Joe stepped out of the tavern with a sinking heart; he had spent again 100 bucks on Poker. He did not win again! Though he did not drink much, he could still feel the wine slowly making him dizzy. He looked at his watch anxiously—half past twelve.

Cressida must be asleep already. He would not get to talk to her till the weekend; or perhaps earlier—tomorrow night if he came home early.

How foolish had he been! He shouldn’t have spoiled the talk with Cressida!

Cressida. Cressida. Cressida...His daughter’s name echoed in his mind. “Cressida!” He exclaimed, sitting up from his seat. He found himself still in his car, the tavern beside him, still lit alight. The music seemed to be louder, and joyfuller.

“What’s the time?” Joe murmured, as he looked at his watch—the hour hand pointed straight at 1P.M. He anxiously got the car out of the parking lot, then stepped hard on the accelerator. He was tired and sleepy, anxious to reach home.

As soon as Joe reached home, his body was craving for wine again. He lied down on the sofa and tried to fall asleep. But he couldn’t; he could not fall asleep without wine.

Just a little bit of wine—you do not have to drink a lot; just a little; why not? His mind seemed to say; “Just a little; just a little...” He echoed the voice; “Just a little bit of my sweet wine—just a little bit!”

Yes, just a little bit. Not a lot. Joe poured ‘a little bit’ of wine into a small glass; as soon as he gulped it down, he poured a little bit again. He repeated this again and again, till it was not a little bit of wine; though he poured little by little every time, he had drunk almost half bottle of the red wine.

“Ah—my red wine!” He murmured in a drunken way. Soon, he fell asleep on the couch happily in his drunken dreams.

He did this every night, for almost a year. Now he was addicted and bound to it.

To be continued...

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