Skip to main content

Four In The Afternoon

Seven Years Old

Momma's shirt slipped from her shoulders as she leaned over trying to concentrate. The sunshine from the window hit her hair just right, sending a halo of pure white around her head. As she sat at the kitchen table, she almost looked beautiful. If only her bones did not appear so sharp.
"Hold still Sissy," she said, annoyed. The red nail polish coated thick on the little girl's fingers, wet and sticky on her skin. Small bubbles of it splattered the yellow Formica.
"I am," whined Sissy, but she really wasn't. It was not too often she caught Momma's attention and it excited her.
Momma reached for her drink with shaky hands. Tommy watched the sweet brown liquid spill and trail down her arm, a long thin stream. Momma raised her arm a little higher and tasted her arm, licking it all off in one quick moment with the tip of her tongue.
"Waste not, want not," she brought her head back up.
"Momma, I am hungry," Tommy spoke.
She turned to look at him, nostrils full of annoyance. "Tommy, hold on. Can't you see I am busy doing your sister's nails?"
"Yeah, so can I have one of the apples Aunt Lynn brought over?" he asked, quieter than he had spoke before.
"Tommy, just wait," she sighed.
But Tommy was getting mad. He had been getting madder all day.
"Momma, I have not had anything to eat since last night."
Momma snapped her head up, fast with anger. "Will you give me a fucking minute?" she said.
Tommy looked his mother in the eyes, until she turned away, back to Sissy's nails.
Tommy walked over to the refrigerator, his shoulders high, his footsteps firm.
He took a red, red apple from the crisper.
He leaned on the table between his Momma and sister, with the apple up to his lips.
As she started to raise her head, Tommy took a large bite, crunching, letting the juice and spit slightly coat his fingers.
Her lips pulled back and her arm reached out fast.
She slammed Tommy's face into the edge of the table.
There was so much blood.
Sissy started to scream.
Tommy brought his head slowly up. He was not crying. He breathed normally. He stared at her until finally she wiped her mouth with her pale, colourless hand, then raised her face to him. He looked deep into the depths of her eyes, so he would never forget.
"I will not remember your birthday, either, Momma."



Labels:

Comments

Phoesable said…
Holy cow, Queenie. That seriously knocked the wind out of me. Phoebe
Monday, 12 July 2004 at 20:08:00 GMT-4
Traci Dolan said…
Such a sad story.. but with such strong characters.
Monday, 12 July 2004 at 20:39:00 GMT-4
Phoesable said…
wow. this piece of writing knocked the breath right out of me. that last line's a doozy, Queenie.

[tried to post something similar earlier but appears I was unsuccessful.]
Monday, 12 July 2004 at 21:03:00 GMT-4
Phoesable said…
oops. the first comment didn't appear until I posted the second.
Monday, 12 July 2004 at 21:05:00 GMT-4
Queenie said…
That's okay! I like how you wrote both of them! lol

Q
Tuesday, 13 July 2004 at 03:42:00 GMT-4
The Writer said…
Very well done. I love reading your work, Queenie.
Tuesday, 13 July 2004 at 10:30:00 GMT-4
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Village Itself

Across the road from my home is an apartment building. It is made of brown brick and has three stories. It also has plenty of windows I often forget about while I go about my daily and nightly routines. I also forget my curtains are white, lacey and see-through scraps purchased from an aisle in Wal-Mart. Fifteen apartments. That may all house people with binoculars. It was the muggiest night this past summer had owned. Brenda was down for a visit and when she comes, it usually means a night spent over on my couch for her. Brenda lives in another town. It was one in the morning, no sleep to be found between the two us. We sat slouched on my front porch trying to capture the occasional breeze offered, sucking it deep into our lungs, praying it would cool us down. Our glasses of Pepsi sweated warning us how warm the drink would taste in our mouths. "Tilly! Tilly!" the shout sat our spines straight as we looked across the street to the where the sound was coming fr...
17 comments
Read more

Rosy Cheeks

My son's circle and lined wall, created with the permanent red marker, became something he liked to show-off. I guess the other kids who come here liked it, too.   I guess he wanted to show-off more. That is one of the many hypothesis I have about how the Map of Africa came to be. I just keep hoping my kid is some kind of odd little genius.  On the morning I discovered the map of Africa, I was not speechless and I could breathe. "What is this?" I demanded. And loudly. My son shrugged his shoulders. "I like it. It's nice. Took a long time." He had chipped paint off the wall. His walls are white. That morning, it was discovered his room used to be beige.   And it was starting to look like a room in an abandoned house. I thought to myself that maybe this look would be the in thing  20 years from now and he could make millions. He could be a visionary. It was a good enough excuse for me to leave the room. I used it...
22 comments
Read more

..What Are You Waiting For?

She had a real calm smile; it took its time creeping up into her eyes. And there she was looking up at me. She was sitting, right down there on the sidewalk, up against the wall of the bank. Her hand was wrapped around a red pen; buried into a magazine. And I was walking by her. Her eyes were brown. I did not smile back at her. One can never be too sure about anyone who is downtown. A few days later; it was grey and chilly, and I saw her again. With the same simple smile; this time growing into recognition. She stood just inside the entrance way of the video store, ducked, despite the fact she was barley five feet tall and the doorway was at least ten. Funny girl, I thought. Her smile passed by quickly, and then she bent her head down, to the inside of another magazine. She took a long, lipstick drag off a cigarette. "What are you doing?" she asked, when I was passing by her a day and a half later. And I stopped my step, for I was truly stumped. I looked down at my br...
11 comments
Read more