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Archive for October, 2011

Snap Shots

It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

Blue skies whispered above green trees that stretched their nimble hands and swayed. You were mowing the lawn stealing glances at momma. You admired her as the breeze lifted her blond strands and weaved them together. Our laughter lit the air. Sister chased brightly colored butterflies and her small foot fell over our cat’s tail. He moved quickly, knocking a bird’s nest to the ground next to me. My small, dancing feet were soon covered in yellow and white, and sister had screamed. Your sure arms wrapped around her and I as you carried us to the house.

It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

We were screaming. This time, you didn’t hear. You were too busy yelling to notice our begging and pleading. Or perhaps your thoughts were muddled and your ears stopped by that amber liquid. It seemed to slosh over and float down into your mouth as you cursed. The thunder cracked again and the lightening lit up the room.

The smiling characters made from those orange glowing globes grinned eerily at us as we cleaned the gooey mess. Handfuls of the stringy ooze had found its way to the four of us.

Sister’s honey blonde pony tails flew behind her as she ran into the house. Momma followed slowly behind, white in the face. You looked down at sister and smile.

“Daddy” she said, young eyes crinkling at the corners, a small giggle escaping her rosebud mouth.

“Momma said that I not a’pposed to tell you that she hit the mail box again”.

 

You came home and were confused by the red marks that wrapped their way around my head. Momma look at you, smiled, and shot sister a look. Sister’s head went down.

“Sister wrapped duck tape around her head today” momma said pointing at me. I grinned at you, pressing my sticking cheek to your legs.

“I just got so tired of her following me around all day saying “Didder, Didder, Didder” sister said throwing her small hands up.

That Sunday your cornflower eyes were luminous as you sang, ‘Jesus Loves Me’ to the congregation from behind the pulpit. Your tears found their way to the altar.

Your voice seemed too loud in the silence. Headlights lit up the small living room as people passed by, unaware. Momma had her arms wrapped around us as you spoke. The ground beneath seemed un sure of even itself. We were pulled out the door into the night. You wanted us to leave with you.

You looked strong and unmovable with the baseball bat slung over your shoulder. Your mouth turned up at the corners as the dust devils played around your feet. This was how you met the community. This is how you got them into the hard cool seats of our building. You had wanted to make a change.

Often I would find crumpled pieces of toilet paper in the bathroom’s garbage. There were streaks of black that colored the soft white surface.

I didn’t want to meet her that first time. When you came to get us I buried my face against momma’s tummy. Her shirt was wet after you pulled me away from the embrace I hadn’t wanted to leave. Not yet. The other woman looked at us, two small, dark haired urchins were clamoring for her attention from behind.

We giggled in the back seat as momma drove up the gravelly road. Grandpa was waving at us. Your eyes grew large as momma excellerated. They jumped out of the way and the car drove up the tree. Momma wasn’t laughing.

“I told you she wasn’t ready for her driver’s test yet” you said.

The urchins and my sister and I giggled from behind the cloth walls of our impenetrable fortress. A great figure moved outside of it. You roared like a bear. Underneath the pile of blankets we laughed and you held onto all of us.

You told me those words and I stared at the phone. The woman and her urchins were gone. Tell your sister, you had said.

————————-

It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

We were screaming. This time, you didn’t hear. You were too busy yelling to notice our begging and pleading. Or perhaps your thoughts were muddled and your ears stopped by that amber liquid. It seemed to slosh over and float down into your mouth as you cursed. The thunder cracked again and the lightening lit up the room.

Maybe in that instance you saw us and realized you weren’t alone. Maybe in that moment you knew that this wasn’t the way. You took the gun and set it down. The world began to shake as the salty tears poured from my eyes. I fell to the floor as you stumbled over to me. Picking me up by my hand, you kissed my forehead as though you had not just considered leaving me for the second time.

“Go to bed honey,” you said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

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