Von Tripp The Sublime (Part Two)

The highschool years ended for von Tripp on a mentally and socially disastrous note.

After her bout with the mumps, she was taken out of school and into the protective custody of home schooling. She was deemed too susceptible to disease and was considered a threat to the students.

She was taught the basics, repeating those many times to keep her busy.

After a year had passed, she was reintroduced into the general population by her parents as a bet, to see if she could be asked to the prom.

What does our esteemed reader think happened, hm? Did she manage it? Did the fates spin her some hope?

Haha, no! She’s an idiot.

Maybe it was because they got bored of it or that they had forgotten she was being home schooled, but her parents left her in school. The less time she was at home, the less she was their responsibility.

Pitiful, alone and uncared for, von Tripp made it out of school physically untouched but emotionally empty.

I would add that she was soon forgotten, but she had never made it into the vaults of memory to be able to leave a hole in it.

Now with her whole future in her hand, von Tripp decided to take charge of her life and applied to an online university. She was accepted as a knitting student.

What wonderful news! von Tripp’s head flooded with ideas of franchising factories around the world, finding cheap labor and creating jobs in impoverished areas. The world would never forget her name.

The world never forgot her name. The world never learned her name in order to forget it.

Von Tripp’s post-graduation plans were met with closed doors that people forgot to open and, once again, a hopeful person was given back to disappointment.

An interesting factoid I discovered was that never in her life had von Tripp thought of suicide. But after a little thought, I discovered that those who always fail were bound to fail at failing. Maybe suicide never entered her mind because of all the complications it presented. Von Tripp would never stand a chance.

Following her venture into academia and after battling a spell of psychosis which forced her parents to lock her in her room, it was decided that she would not be safe in any solitary endeavor – her life was not to be of her own choosing. She would be presented into the hands of a wealthy adventurer to act in the capacity of a housewife.

Enter Mr. von Tripp. (A drum roll is to be imagined before this statement is read.)

Mister von Tripp spent many months at a time invading the privacy of indigenous solitary species all around the world. Notorious for never being at home, a deal was struck in which Mrs. Von Tripp would act as a house manager in charge while Mr. von Tripp was away.

Two years after this deal was made, the von Tripps finally saw each other.

That was how the Mister remembers it anyhow.

Soon thereafter, word made it back from Africa that a tiger had escaped from a zoo, attacked some humans at the marketplace and bit a dog’s ear off before making his way into the thick tropical woods to be eventually eaten by lions.

It was Mr. von Tripp’s dog that had been bitten, and licking its master’s hand later that evening, it infected him with a germ that was to kill von Tripp in an internal explosion of worms. Mrs. Von Tripp was left behind with only a name and a fortune.

Desperate, woeful and disappointed, von Tripp decided to hire a simple writer to record the events of her life – most of which had been forgotten by the silent creeping of dementia – and then set off in search of the tiger that bit her husband’s dog’s ear off.

And there she remains, the perfect predator: unnoticed and unloved.

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Want to know how it all started? Read Part One of von Tripp’s adventures here.
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Eat Makeup and Dance In The Rain

It was raining cats, dogs, kangaroos, you name it!
I was driving, and I could barely see the road ahead of me. The radio volume was low for one reason only – a better vision.

My cellphone beeped, I checked; it was her. I told her that I wanted to see her. She said no, because she hadn’t done her makeup. I took a moment to  gulp that degenerate logic down and told her, “It’s fine, I want to see you anyway.” Her concrete reasoning didn’t seem to shift. But after a few long minutes of “You’re beautiful just the way you are” and similar compliments, she agreed to make it quick and meet me at the entrance of her villa.

I drove through the gates, where there was supposed to be a security guard. He wasn’t there. I think it was raining too heavily for bad things to happen. I parked, got out of the car, locked it, and ran through the downpour towards the entrance.

I messaged her that I was waiting downstairs. (Who still knocks on doors?)
She messaged back : “Just a minute. Lol.”
I thought : “Lol.”

I realized I couldn’t see properly because my glasses were all wet. I took them off, wiped them with my blouse, made them worse, and put them back on.

Thus my wait began.

I started smoking, flicking the cigarette butts into a puddle on the road. Some of them floated, others sank. I thought of myself as the father of cigarette-butt-statistics as I watched and counted them. I flicked the last one. The fifth. It sank.

I wanted to call her, but I didn’t want to sound desperate. Who does? Then I thought: “Man! The self-degradation we go through in this world. Lol.”
I paced back and forth in the parking space and tried to memorize the plate numbers of the cars. Life is short, right?

My foot was fidgeting faster than any drummer. I had an idea.

I went back to the car, got the umbrella (Yes, yes. I know, I know! hey! Sometimes you forget things, ok?) and stood on the edge of the building under the rain with the umbrella protecting me from the ‘waterfall’ – the rain.

The light of the entrance went on. It was her. She opened the door and put the doormat in a way so that the door won’t close. Obviously, she was in a hurry to return home. Better not waste precious powders and lipstick on me.

She told me to step out of the rain and I told her to kiss me under the umbrella. She smiled and ignored, then I insisted until she finally kissed me.
I told her: “I like you. I want to see you more often, but I want to see you.”
She replied: “Lol, I’m hideous.”
I paused for a second, smiled and closed the umbrella.
Rain.
We were drenched.
She tried to step out of it but I held her in my arms and leaned in to kiss her. Yes, just like in the movies.

Wake up, Casanova. This ain’t Hollywood!

Even the thunder couldn’t cover up the sound of the slap. My face went red. She was wet and dirty, but not in the good sense.

She ran towards the stairs and didn’t look back. I went back to the car. This was the second girl this week.

But ey! Third time’s a charm.