Her name was Scamp. Really it was Sara Campton. But everyone always called her Scamp. She was 26 and had a nickname. Scamp. Did she like it? She didn't even know. It seemed more like her real name then her real name. She was Scamp to everyone that knew her.
But Tia didn't know her.
Yet.
Scamp lived on the second floor of a small apartment building on a busy street that headed downtown. This was her house. Her first place. Her pad. Her escape.
It had two small bedrooms, just enough for her and her piles of accumulated junk. Did she need it all? No.
But how do you part with things that are part of you?
You keep them in boxes and totes and bags and never touch them. But you keep them.
Someday you might need them.
She had a balcony that overlooked, well, a few sparse trees, a maintenance alley space with overgrown Eleagnus, and someone else's bare yard. She could see and easily hear the traffic that passed by on the busy road. Most of the cars that passed by had their music too loud. That was irritating. Do they want to be deaf? Does anybody care what they are listening to? Why must the house windows shiver as the music blasts past? Nothing should be that loud, not even thunder.
So many people. Going. Coming.
Busy people. Hectic lives.
Broken people. Devastated lives.
Bad people. Sinful lives.
Hardly anyone stopped, and no one every waved.
They all passed by her house, yet she never knew them. How could so many people all be going the same places and never cross paths?
Her small balcony was bare, except for a beach chair, a candle, and a random shelf thing. It had nothing on it. There were plans for it, like so many other things in Scamp's life, but it was still empty. Maybe it would work for propping her feet up? Scamp always wanted to sit out there, but the mosquitoes were too bad. That's why she bought the candle. That was five months ago and she had never lit it.
Maybe she would sit out there and do cool things.
Someday.
Her favorite part about her little haven was the big room.
Ah, the big room.
The only part of the house that looked like a house. It was decorated, in some odd, artistic yet uncoordinated way. The fireplace had great plans. Christmas would cause everyone to be green with envy over the dreams of the fireplace and mantle. Right now, it was full of a random collection of glass. Scamp had a problem. Glass is cool, but is it necessary to have a bazillion odd-sized jars, pitchers, and candle holders? It just added to the room's eccentricity.
The two fabulous old parlor chairs were antique and delightfully mustard yellow. Eventually they would be a more subtle color. Probably some variety of blue. The plaid couch added plenty of personality. Someday it too would endure a makeover. Hopefully not a DIY one.
The rug was one of Scamp's first big purchases. She went with neutral and traditional. She hoped it wasn't a mistake.
There was a rickety painted metal shelf in one strange-shaped nook that had a few games and picture albums on it. It used to be 70's green. That would be avocado. Then it was spray painted barn red. Then it was poorly spray painted brown by Scamp.
That is basically who Scamp is. She always has great ideas and good intentions, but things end up done half-way and not with great care. Like the strand of twinkle lights that burned out and was draped haphazardly across the rug. The strand burned out long ago but Scamp liked the little beaded globes that were on it. She started taking them off last week to put them on another strand, probably to hang on the mantle, but the project was abandoned one night, never to be picked up until she cleaned. Cleaning at this house meant hiding things in other rooms. Another project that started out hot and ended up not, was the basket of yarn under the coffee table. It contained the remains of many a craft begun with good intentions, but abandoned when interest was lost.
The coffee table, however, and the entertainment center, were Scamp's pride and joy. A successful example of a completed DIY project. At this house, those are few and far between. The coffee table was coral with the intentions of being the pop of color in the living room. Unfortunately, with the other above mentioned pieces, it was one of many pops of color. Colors that did not mesh.
The entertainment center was an old dresser from the garage of an old house. The bottom drawer was broken so a shelf had been put in it's place. It was painted a smoky gray-blue. Scamp loved it. It held her bizarre old TV that looked like a computer screen with funny ears. Many a happy hour was spent snuggled up on the busy plaid couch watching delightful movies on that goofy little TV.
With a last ditch effort to try and create a designer living room, Scamp had hung two gorgeous landscape canvases on the wall. Only those two things were on the wall, though, so it still looked a little bare.
This is where Scamp spent most of her time, when she wasn't sleeping.
Tonight was no exception.
She was sitting on her plump couch, staring at the blinds, and listening to traffic going by on the road.
She really wished she was going somewhere, too. To be with people. She needed people.
That's why living alone was so hard. Yes, it was nice to come home and not have to take care of anyone or impress anyone, but being the only one in this patchwork house got old. Really fast. Really, really fast.
It's not that Scamp didn't have friends and it's not like she was antisocial or awkward. It was just hard getting someone to hang out.
People in their twenties are just beginning their careers and are always busy. There has to be a very good reason to give up their time and commit to doing something. Most of their closest friendships have already been established. It's a pity if you have to move elsewhere and start over, because all the good people are already befriended and bestie-ed. Friend groups are created and people just run in certain circles. If you're in a circle, you rarely lack for a social event! If you are between circles, you get some benefits of the circles, but there's no consistency. You end up sitting on your couch, on a Saturday night, listening to traffic when those two friend circles both spin off in different directions, leaving you standing in the middle, staring at the blinds in your living room.
That is where Scamp was.
She sighed and stood up. Maybe tonight was a good night to use her balcony porch for something. A disco ball and dance party sounded great, but she resisted. Her balcony was still slightly visible from the road and people might stare.
Instead, she pulled on her sweats, grabbed a cold drink, lit her tiki bucket-candle for the first time, and put on some music. She watched the evening sky darken. She felt the first stings of bugs that dared to brave the weak tiki bucket-candle. Did it even work? Soon, the moon was rising up through the trees. She couldn't tell if it was full, but it was at least bright. She dragged the little bucket-candle closer and closer each time she felt another bite. Finally it was sitting directly in front of her feet and she could feel the smoke floating against her legs. There were not as many bites now but if she shifted too suddenly she might burn down the apartments.
She quietly sang along to her favorite songs as they played and swatted a stray mosquito.
"Hi," said a voice.
The voice was a little high pitched and scratchy. It came from the bare yard that Scamp's balcony overlooked.
Scamp sat up and leaned towards the railing to get a better look. Who was that?
She had never seen the pitiful little swing that hung dejectedly from an old oak. As it swung slowly, the big limb slumped a little bit and then would slowly rise back up.
Now she saw the body that belonged to the voice.
"Hi," Scamp said back, smiling.
The voice belonged to a little light brown-haired girl gracefully swinging on the old swing. Her hair was pulled back in a long, tangled ponytail. Her bangs were fluffed some from the breeze and parted a little in the middle. Stray wisps floated around her face as she swung back and forth. Her shirt was purple and orange striped and her shorts were a pale blue and white polka dot pattern. Both were distinctly faded and well worn from hours of play. Neither matched the other.
Her dirty feet grazed the ground in a steady motion each time she came back down on an extra bare part of the yard. That spot had been hard earned by hours on that swing.
The little girl stared up at the tree and swung a few more minutes.
Then she spoke again, confidently.
"My name is Tia."
