Minuscule Conductors and Men Shoveling Coal

From an exert of a story of a girl of little care.

Big Sister Little Sister

              So here I am now. A junior in college majoring in early childhood development. My goal is to maybe make a change in someone’s life one day. I’d like to open up a big boarding house and fill it with kids who are in troubled homes. I’d have a huge dining room table and we’d sit together and pray to a hundred different gods so no one felt left out. I’d cook every meal but have some of the kids help set the table. Everyone would get their own special place mat. Everyone would get a turn to talk. Everyone would get a chance to shine.

          Christmas would be beautiful. We’d have the biggest tree on the lot and everyone would get their own little section of the greenery. Every year I would buy ornaments with their names on it so they would be able to place them on their chosen branches. There would be a tiny train that would roll on little plastic tracks throughout every room in the house. Sometimes they would look up and watch it pass through a ceiling panel at night and enter into the next room. I hope their dreams would be of minuscule conductors and men shoveling coal into the engines.

          We would have a big back yard and a swimming pool. I could see us all running through sprinklers and laughing. I would love them all so much. I already do. In my mind they are the brightest, most broken children and I’m holding them each with my heart. I won’t marry and I won’t have kids. I won’t even need to sleep because all of my time will be used to protect my house: to protect my kids.

            I know I'll end up behind some god forsaken desk with pictures of the places I want to travel but will never get the chance to. I'll probably join a hundred different dating websites and go on a million different dates only to find my future husband in front of me in line for some outhouse at a public park. We'll buy a house with three rooms, have two kids and a dog named Lucky. Give or take some of the minor details I'd say that's about where we all end up.

In Big Sister, Little Sister two girls from similar backgrounds meet and change each others lives through silence, screams, and travels.

However, little sister seems to know something about big sister that can only be uncovered through time and healing. The reader follows the thoughts of big sister, Red, as she speaks to you in every moment.

Big Sister Little Sister - Crude Language, Drug Use, Violence.

RATED : ADULT FICTION

Dad Died

Dad Died

            The only people who were allowed to the after funeral diner were the people who actually showed up to the viewing and funeral. Between my brother and I there were about five of my dad’s close friends. He wasn’t a popular guy but he sure knew more people than the five who sat quietly around one of the circular tables. I had planned for at least ten tables.  That would come out of my pocket somehow. I didn’t care.

            “Hey, Mikie, do you remember that swing in the back of our old house?” I asked my brother who was cutting a dry steak.

            “No.”

            “You know. The tire swing that dad used to push us on? You have to remember. He would never push me longer than two minutes because you would be yelling about having your turn.”

            “No. I don’t remember.” He washed that terrible steak down with some terrible champagne.

            “Michael. The tire swing. You have to remember. It was right behind the house! Whenever it would rain a little puddle would be underneath it and we wouldn’t be able to swing on it until it dried up three days later!” I leaned over the table. “The tire swing… he would push me on it while I waited for the bus to pick me up in the morning.”

            “Alison, if you don’t stop carrying on about this tire swing I’m going to leave.” He was finished with his meal before I had the chance to even pick at mine. All of the other men were grabbing their coats from coat rack in the door way. I watched the servers pick up their plates and head to the kitchen. I never ended up finishing my meal. Hell, I didn’t even start it. I felt too crazy to even find the strength to pick up my fork.

            It was a nice day. The school kids were walking home and the high school sweethearts were holding hands and laughing. It reminded me of the time my boyfriend had cheated on me a week before prom and I was left alone with a hundred dollar dress, a forty dollar ticket, and a broken heart. He saw the two of them holding hands in the parking lot as we pulled away and watched for my reaction. I didn’t have one.

            He cried the entire way home. He told me that my boyfriend was an idiot to be doing that to me and he couldn’t believe that a girl like me could have been thrown away for someone so bland. He said if a girl like me even looked his way in high school he would drop dead. It was a quiet ride home.

            Flash forward to dad’s funeral day and I had finally reached the old house on Baker Street. There were two big shrubs that parted in the middle where there was a walk way. I parked in front and walked towards the front door. The paint was faded but it was still that baby blue I remember. There was a baby stroller on the front porch next to a doll house and a couple of pool toys. Not a single noise was heard on the street. Not even a gust of wind blew.

            I walked towards the back of the house and saw the old oak tree. There was some sort of shredding machine stationed next to it. They were going to cut down the tree that my grandfather had planted when my father was born.

            “Excuse me, ma’am? Can I help you with something?” A woman in a night gown walked toward me. She was young and beautiful.

            “Are you cutting down this tree here?

            “What? I…yes, why?”

            “This might sound strange but I was wondering if I could pay you for that branch right there.” I pointed to a branch that jutted out at one of the lower parts of the tree. The entire branch was a dark brown other than the small piece that was worn away by the rope that once held that tire swing. Underneath it was a small groove in the Earth. That was where my feet wore out the ground and the water would sit for days.

            “I’m sure I could… I mean if you’d like I can…” She looked at me strangely. If some random stranger dressed in black snuck around in my backyard and asked about a tree branch I would look at her the same way.

            “How much would you like for it?”

            “I don’t need your money for a tree branch. What I need is to ask my neighbor to cut it down.”

            “Do you have a hand saw in that shed over there?”

            “Why, yes I do.”

            Two hours later I was driving home with a long tree branch sticking out the two back windows of my car. I might have looked crazy but at least I didn’t feel it.    

Rather be Blind.

“Papa, do our eyes ever grow?”

            “Hmm.” The grandfather placed his coffee cup down and peered out from behind his newspaper. “I’m not sure.”

            “Do you think the more things we see the bigger they grow?” His grandfather looked long and hard at the boy and then tapped his fingers along the kitchen table in thought.

            “If that is true then my eyes would be very big now wouldn't they be?” The boy took a good look at his grandfather. He had hooded eyes with thin rippled wrinkles along every edge and corner of his face. A scar ran through his left eyebrow and drew attention to his grey, fogged over irises. His bottom lip quivered and the only thing that seemed to stop it from doing so was by taking another sip of coffee. He had a scruffy looking face that made a loud scratching noise whenever he had an itch. There was a lot to him. It was almost as if every wrinkle on his face was a chapter of a book that couldn't be read for a very long time.

            “Papa, I want my eyes to be just as big as yours one day.” The boy stated proudly. His grandfather put his paper down and let it rest on his crossed legs.

            “My boy, I could only pray that your eyes stay as small as they are now.”

            “But what if they start to grow?” The young boy asked concerned.

            “Squint.” His grandfather laughed as he picked up his paper and began to read again.