Skip to main content

Suds In The Bucket

Grade Six


Kelli always had perfect nails. They were always filed beautifully. They were red more than pink. Kelli did her nails herself.
Her room was wallpapered with flowers. Part of her ceiling was slanted. There were the horses, the dollhouse and the stuffies covering the entire bed.
Kelli was a girl.
Kelli had lots of make-up.

Mid September

We sit in her backyard with her gigantic purple, plastic case of make-up. We have it open, peering inside.
"Well," she says.
"Well," I say.
"What are we going to be today?"
"Depends on if we are doing a play or music video or something..." I trail off.
"Yeah," she sighs.
We sit in silence.
We had not seen each other all summer.
"Betcha I could make you look like you got punched in the face," I say to her.
"Cool," she replies. "I think I know the colours."
I am not sure which one of us came up with the plan.

Testing Limits

We peer down at Kelli's arm. It is covered in eye shadow. Lipstick. Really a bit of everything.
"I am not sure this looks real," she says. "She will never believe it."
"Kelli," I say. "I went up on the porch. It does not start looking not real until she is half-way to us."
"So, you think it will work?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Okay, you know your lines?"
"Yes," I reply.
"Want to go through them one more time?"
"We have been through them lots," I answer her. "We do not have to do this to her if you do not want to."
"Oh, but I so want to," she replies.
And boy, do we grin at each other.
Kelli opens her mouth.
We nod. And she begins.
Kelli sounds like an animal scared and then hurt and then scared all over again.
Kelli deserves an Oscar.
We watch as the screen door opens. We watch her mother running out.
And I leap running to her.
"What is go-" Kelli's mother shouts.
"Oh my God," I shriek, louder than Kelli, at her. "Kelli is hurt. Oh my God." I stumble in the grass and look at her helplessly. I let my eyes start to well. She looks at me.
This is all she needs.
She is off and running and I go with her.
She is wild. It is in her movement. Her eyes. Her hair.
And Kelli and I cannot help it.
We burst out into giggles. We are roaring in seconds.
We watch her stop and look around. Realization hits her eyes even before she lets them lay on Kelli's arm.
You can see the disbelief. You can see the been one-upped in her eyes.
She stands with feet apart in her brown skirt and runs a hand through her long brown hair.
She lets us laugh. Until we were scared enough to stop.
She points at us both, looking directly into our eyes.
"You should both know, I could beat you right now. But instead I am going back in the house. And I am going to do some laundry."
She turns and walks away.

***Learn Your Lessons

Comments

You lied!!!!, you told me those horns on your forehead were just there for decoration. great Memory Queenie
The Writer said…
Wow! That's close to home. I had someone, about a year ago, say to me: "That's just make-up! SO not funny." Then she went to wipe it off...but I'm still really good with the stuff. I believe, Queenie, you've just inspired Dirty Sunshine's next posting.
Queenie said…
I am so glad to see you, Bard. It has been awhile. I hope all is well. How is the training?

Q

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...

What If I Need Them Again Someday

"I am leaving," she said, but he got to them first. "Give me my keys," she smiled sweetly at him. Damn. She still wanted to smile at him. He laughed and smiled right back. "Not a chance." "I don't want to be here," she replied. She meant it. "Give me my keys." "But I already took back everything I gave you. You're shit out of luck." He laughed, right in her face. She had agreed he could have it all back if he wanted, afterall, she knew. And it had not bothered her. Even though she would really miss the Guns n' Roses album. It had not bothered her too much. To give back the things he had gave her. She had not even thought of her car. Or the fact that he owned half of it. So while he laughed, she shook her head and when he was done, she said, "It does not matter. I did not own a car six months a go. I know how to get around this town." She reached down for the coat; near her feet. She put it on. ...

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...