Rosalind: Journey of a Lifetime, #4

1

Being the fourth child had its advantages.

The first child gets all the attention and all the hang-ups. The second child gets benign neglect and can breathe easily.

The third gets hand-me-downs and bullying from the first two who know it all.

But the fourth child is invisible and therefore invincible.

Rosalind was virtually the fourth and she loved it.

It was only a matter of time before number one, Noelle, went off to college and left a vacant room behind. Holly, her twin, would follow shortly thereafter, leaving Rupert and Rosalind to fight over their leavings.

There was not much that Rupert wanted among his older sisters’ possessions which suited Rosalind just fine, thank you. She had the pickings of her sisters’ closets and their rooms.

The only thing that really bothered Rosalind was the necessity of making her mark in the Barlow-Smithson family. With a professor of history for a father and a mother who was a renowned geneticist, the bar was set high from the start.

Noelle followed in her mother’s shoes and determined to be a scientist.

Holly, was a bookworm and would likely end up teaching in a university.

Rupert, as son and heir, was destined for better things, as he often declared. As soon as he was taller than his older sisters, and stronger than either of them, he cast off the yoke of feminine dependence and strode into the field of military prowess, a choice that had not occurred in the last three generations of Barlows, or of Smithsons.

Parental eyes began to turn on the last of the line and Rosalind was at a loss. She had no inclination for the halls of higher learning. She distinctly disliked school in all its forms.

The military life appeared to her to be another type of family structure and of that, she had had quite enough, thank you.

Long nights of thinking produced nothing that really caught her attention. What could she do that was not a repeat performance, but something, anything, that would elevate her out of fourth position and into the top rank of some skill or career in which she had no family competition?

She discarded her ideas on a regular basis until a mental pile gradually accumulated that threatened to collapse and bury her under its weight. She had several disadvantages she finally had to acknowledge.

She did not make friends easily, preferring her own company.

She disliked organized learning but could master the few obsolete subjects in which she developed interest.

She liked being alone for hours with her own thoughts.

She was falling behind her age group with each month that passed.

These facts were disturbing and leading her nowhere.

Until the night of the dream.

She was free-floating on high. Clouds scurried past but she emerged from them unscathed. The feeling was blissful, a pure unsullied joy and delight. She did not know if there was a destination and it mattered not one bit. She was content to exist forever in this state of weightlessness.

Suddenly she collided with a passing bird and everything changed instantly. She assumed human weight and gravity took her in its grasp. Instead of floating serenely, she was now falling and the air that had magically supported her before, now rushed past at such a rate that she could scarcely breathe. Her eyes scanned the ground and she saw she was hurtling toward a village far below. There was no time to think. Within seconds, she was going to die in some awful collision with rock hard masonry.

She closed her eyes tightly but the impact did not arrive.

When she dared open her eyes again, she was floating once more, only this time she was floating in a pond of cool clear water.

Rosalind! Wake up! You will be late for your appointment with the student advisor. Get a move on girl!

When a vivid dream occurs at the end of a night’s sleep its effects linger much longer than usual.

Rosalind heard her mother’s voice but she could not make sense of the sounds. Part of her mind was still immersed in the soft embrace of the water that had somehow cushioned her disastrous fall.

She tried to sit up in bed but her body was heavy with sleep.

In a few more seconds, the sounds her mother made began to coalesce into actual words and she propelled her body out of bed in one leap.

The school councillor had threatened to expel her if she missed this last attempt to complete a survey on her interests and skills so that the advisor, Sabine Malone, could dismiss Rosalind from her office and dispense with her own final class assignment of the year.

Rosalind had already skipped two, or was it three previous appointments, in favour of more attractive choices. The truth was that she had no particular interests and few if any skills. She skirted on the edge of failing every year of high school. Teachers assumed she was a late bloomer purely because her brother and sisters were all high achievers. A resume consisting of some babysitting hours, some household chores her parents insisted on, and a tendency to leave all studying to the very last minute when sheer panic set her brains into high gear, was not going to satisfy the student advisor or bring any glory to the name of Barlow-Smithson.

Mrs. Malone could not conceal the deep sigh she uttered when her most recalcitrant student finally appeared in her office a mere twenty minutes late.

Now you are here, Rosalind, let’s get to it. Have you thought about what I recommended last time we met?

Yes. A little.

Any conclusions?

Not really.

This time the frustration was obvious. Mrs. Malone’s chair shot back from her desk and her face turned an unusual shade of puce.

"Look here, Rosalind Ann Barlow-Smithson, you must make a choice of some kind and you must do it today. Pick something. Please! I will go through the usual list again and you simply must respond."

Rosalind nodded in a show of compliance. She would definitely pick something so she need not endure this interrogation ever again.

Right then! School subjects first. Which subject has made you excited to learn more?

Even Rosalind, the practised prevaricator, could not lie about this. In any case, her teachers would scoff if they heard of it.

Sorry. No subject, I’m afraid.

Another sigh emerged from the substantial bosom of the student advisor.

What about activities then? Is there a hobby or sport that you enjoy?

The time for a decision was imminent, but Rosalind’s mind was a blank. She hated sports, a noisy, messy business. She detested gym. She disliked sporty types, especially the senior boys all the other girls fawned over.

There had to be something that would pass inspection as a plausible lie.

I had a part-time job as swimming pool supervisor one summer.

This response was not exactly the kind of career choice Sabine Malone was looking for, but she was desperate enough to jump on it.

Did you enjoy that?

Yes. A bit.

Sabine’s brain scrambled for a suitable career link.

You could do a social services course and work with children in a community centre. Would that appeal to you?

Actually, it was the farthest thing from Rosalind’s mind. She disliked children. The only thing she enjoyed about the swimming pool job was the ten minutes at the end of each session when she had cleared the pool and she could swim blissfully alone up and down the lanes and stretch her cramped muscles.

This was not the time, however, to confess that truth.

Sounds like a good idea, Mrs. Malone. May I leave now?

The advisor was busy scribbling on a form. She raised her free hand and waved Rosalind away.

She did not require a second invitation. She was off down the corridor and heading for the outside before a hall monitor could stop her. She could always use the excuse that the Student Advisor’s counselling session had occupied most of the last period and it was not worth interrupting a class so late in the day.

Who cared anyway? Her school life was about to end very soon. None of these classmates or teachers need ever see her again and she need never again spend time with any of them.

And that suited Rosalind Ann Barlow-Simpson just fine, thank you.

2

There were parental questions to be fielded, as usual.

There you are Rosalind! What have you been doing? Your hair is a mess and you have a smudge down the side of your new shorts. I have been waiting to talk to you about your session with Sabine Malone.

This was not good news. Beatrice Barlow-Smithson was a valued contributor to the school which all of her children had attended. She was privy to everything in her role as one of the school governors.

In some ways, this had worked to Rosalind’s advantage. When her teachers were in the unenviable position of choosing between a course fail, or a pass for the youngest Barlow-Smithson, they often decided a pass was the better option rather than being required to explain to Beatrice Barlow-Smithson exactly how they had overlooked, neglected, and lacked the necessary skills to sufficiently encourage her youngest child.

Rosalind ran a hand through the long plait of her blond hair where it had caught on the bush under which she was enjoying a forbidden snack before going home. Her mother was holding a printout. No doubt, Mrs. Malone had rushed to inform the governor of her successful session with Rosalind.

That would save time on explanations.

Her mother had a peculiar look on her usually stern face. It could be called a semi-smile.

Rosalind felt a nervous twitch begin somewhere inside her.

"I see that you have been assigned a summer position teaching handicapped students at a community centre with a view to obtaining a possible swimming scholarship at university.

I must say, Rosalind, you have been keeping this quiet. Neither your father nor I knew of your social ambitions, but I am very pleased that you have finally, and at the very last minute, decided on a future career path."

Rosalind was thunderstruck. Mrs. Malone had somehow parlayed the casual swimming comment into some kind of university career that she had zero interest in pursuing.

As the shock began to diminish somewhat, it occurred to her not to protest. Her mother was happy with this weird choice. It was a way to stay out of the house and away from parental supervision during the long summer months. After that, when all the attempts to move her along to a higher learning establishment, (a university career! What was that about?) fragmented in miserable failure, Rosalind would once again be free to do nothing.

Doing nothing, was truly the one thing she did excel at.

With a surprised smile on her face, Rosalind accepted her mother’s praise and ate supper in the glow of this unlikely approval. Even her father emerged from his study long enough to pat her on the head in patronising fashion. He also exchanged a word or two with his wife about her urgent desire to downsize to a smaller place somewhere warm now that all their progeny had almost flown the nest.

This was another revelation to Rosalind. She almost choked on her salad.

If her parents were about to sell the family home, she had decisions to make and none of them were immediately attractive to her.

After a restless night’s sleep Rosalind required a session in her favourite secluded dreaming place.

The tree fort was high in an oak tree near the rear wall of the Barlow-Smithson property. Once a smartly built and much-used feature of her siblings’ playtime, it had gradually fallen into disuse until Rosalind rediscovered it and installed a spare cushion or two for sitting, and a pair of binoculars for spying. The best thing about this hideout was that it was virtually invisible from any of the main house’s windows. When her mother sent Matilda out to look for her, Rosalind could slide down below porthole level and chuckle at the increasing frustration of the calls. Eventually, her mother gave up and another afternoon was rescued for Rosalind’s express purpose of doing nothing.

This particular Saturday, however, was not likely to be so relaxing.

Serious decisions must be made, and quickly.

First, there was the matter of the proposed summer job.

There were, initially, two obvious advantages.

One was the out-of-house opportunity, and the other was the prospect of earning money.

If the swimming thing was run on less-than-rigid lines, that is to say volunteer help, she could abscond on a regular basis and no one would be any the wiser. Her mother had no ties to any social service or community activity that Rosalind knew