Audacious August Author: Post 6!!!

Hey everyone!! Here is post number 6!  Sorry I haven't been posting as often, school has just started and things have gotten busy.  I will try to post as much as I can on the weekends, however.  Thanks for sticking with me!

Sunday

Chapter Five

            A loud, resounding knock bellowed through the house, almost as if it was empty.  Nana, however, was on her reclined armchair in front of the cracked TV, weeping over a soap opera, a plate of lunch beside her.  A half-eaten, wheat BLT sat on the blue plate, next to a pile of yellow crumbs from her potato chips.  Her glass of iced tea sat on the side table next to her.

            I, on the other hand, was cleaning up the kitchen, doing my laundry, and trying to get Nana’s dinosaur computer to load my history homework resource website.  When I heard the knock, I gave an open patch of counter one last swipe, threw the rest of my laundry from the washer into the dryer, and kicked the hard drive of the computer.  Then I hurried to the door and found Alice and Charles awaiting me.

            Alice was wearing a baby blue dress with tank top straps and a pair of navy blue flats.  Her ringlet hair was tied back in a blue bow, a few ringlets spilling over her shoulders.

            Charles was wearing a pair of tan slacks and a plaid shirt.  He looked happy to see me.

            “Ready to go?  We were thinking a movie,”  Alice piped up, smiling.  I looked back at Nana who hadn’t heard the knock and then back at my friends.  Nana had said not to hang out with Charles…but what if I was hanging out with Alice and Charles just happened to come along?  I tossed the dish towel on the couch and darted to my room.  I shoved my feet into their sneakers, grabbed a wool jacket, and dug through my wallets to come up with a few dollar bills.

            “Bye Nana,”  I said, kissing her on the cheek.  “Going out with Alice.”  Nana barely looked up at me, but limply waved and refocused her attention on the split screen.

Walking down the street, the refreshing afternoon air flooded my senses and the happiness of being able to have some me time got all up in my head.

            “I’m so glad you could finally come,”  Alice chattered on, bouncing next to me and Charles.

            “Where should we go?”  Charles asked.

            “We could go to the theater for a movie or we could get a bite to eat,”  Alice suggested.

            “I just ate,”  Charles commented.

            “Hey!  Let’s go to that club Ms. Callick was seen at last week,”  Alice joked.

            “Club?!  Ms. Callick was at a club?!”  I responded.  Ms. Callick was our science teacher, uptight and boring.

            “Yeah!  It was so funny because…”

I slipped into the house around five o’clock in the afternoon, full of sweets, a good movie on my mind, and zero dollars in my pocket.  I had had a good afternoon, if I could just get through Nana, all would be good.

            I kicked off my shoes and slid out of my jacket as I tip toed to my bedroom.  Putting away my things, I smoothed down my hair and walked into the kitchen, but Nana wasn’t there.  I poked my head towards the back screen door and slyly looked through the mesh material on the door.  There was Nana again, but she wasn’t just standing looking at her garden.  Nana was on her knees by her broken down, unkempt vegetable garden, with a rusty hand shovel clutched in her hand.  Nana was in black sweat pants and a long white pajama top.  A yellow headband swooped up her head, catching beads of sweat that dripped.

            I watched in amazement as I saw Nana working.  She was excavating a hole and it looked like by the huge pile of dirt to the side, she had been doing so for a while.  Many little holes were dug in rows all around her garden, but it looked like with every new hole she dug, another hole started to fill up.

            I stepped out slowly, closing the door behind me.  I could see Nana breathing hard, obviously tired.  Quickly, I returned to the house and filled a tall glass with ice cold water.  I carefully brought it back outside and approached Nana.

            “Nana?”  I piped up, holding the glass.  Nana whirled around, flinging dirt as she went.  Dodging the flying dirt, I smiled at Nana.

            “Hell,”  Nana gruffly growled.

            “It looks good out here,”  I commented, setting down the glass of water to help Nana up on her feet.

            “Don’t you dare,”  Nana snapped.  “Don’t you lie for me.  This looks like hell and you god damn know it.”  Nana chucking the reddish brown shovel in the vegetable garden and jugging the water.

            “Nana, really!”  I said, laughing.  Nana glared at me as she drank her water, but I could tell her eyes loosening up and lighting up.

            “The holes…”  I started.  “They look…dug.”  I snorted before I began laughing with no end.  Nana put down her glass and crinkled her nose at me.  Her lips formed a tight smile and she snickered to herself a little, then looked at her work, and laughed a lot.  And we just stood there, laughing and looking at the pathetic yard we were in.

            “Do you want to fix it up?”  I asked soberly.

            “Tammy, there’s no way.  This yard is what it is.  I tried, but look at me…”

            “But, I could help you, Nana—“ I tried, hoping this would motivate Nana to get back up and going.  Nana waved me away though.

            “No, Tammy,”  she said firmly.  “It’s a lost hope.  Go on in.”

            “Nana, I really think—“

            “Hell, Tammy!”  Nana snapped.  “Go inside, we aren’t fixing up any yard or doing any…any home improvement.  You damn well know I’m not capable of anything these days.”  Something had struck her.  I opened my mouth to say something but Nana gave me a pointed look and held up her wrinkled hand.  She pointed to the screen door.  I turned and went inside, hearing Nana’s slow, heavy footsteps behind me.

            “Where were you this afternoon?”  Nana asked gruffly, a bit of a distance behind me.

            “…with Alice.  I told you, remember?”  I replied, wincing at the thought of the conversation.  Not with the religion and marriage talk again.

            “I remember,”  Nana growled, noisily shutting the screen door. I could hear her panting.  The walk must have been hard for her.

            “Nana, do want some water?”  I questioned, turning around to see the exhausted Nana.  Usually, Nana would stand right by the door, not all the way by the vegetable garden.  The walk was longer than Nana was use to.

            It was then did I realize how much of a jam Nana was in.  She was deteriorating, but her life wasn’t.  Life was moving and changing too fast for Nana to catch up and then, Nana was left behind without a rope to grab hold to.

            I would help her.  I would help Nana to catch up with her fast-moving life.  Teach her to cook, fix up her garden, get her a membership to the Rec Center gym, take yoga classes with her, teach her to paint, register classes for her at the nearby senior home, and maybe even set up an online dating profile for her.  Nana would be so much happier if she could do things and be with people beside herself and me.  I knew it.  I mean, who wouldn’t want all that anyway?  It wouldn’t be that hard, anyway.  If Nana wanted it enough, which she would, Nana would be renewed in no time.

            I started to tell Nana my idea, when her own words cut at mine.

            “I told you, you couldn’t be with Charles anymore,”  Nana stated adamantly, looking me fiercely in the eyes.

            “I said I was with Alice…”  I half-told-the-truth.

            “But you were with Charles, as well,”  Nana responded, hobbling over to the living room.

            “How did you know?  You weren’t even facing the door,”  I protested.

            “Tammy, I know you would more likely lie to me about who you were hanging out with than tell someone you couldn’t hang out with them anymore,”  Nana said, placing herself in the center of the sofa by the cracked TV.

            “So you understand.  You understand that I can’t just break off a friendship with someone that I’ve had since elementary school because of…religion,”  I returned, happy where the conversation was going.

            “I understand, but I still don’t approve or agree,”  Nana said, reaching for the remote.  “Damn, I wish the tornado hadn’t cracked the television.”  I bit my lips and hid my face in case they would give me away.  Nana had never asked about the TV, so why would I tell her I kicked it and broke it?  I might as well just avoid another argument, right?

            “Why don’t you like Christian people?”  I pressed, meshing my mouth.

            “I never said I don’t like Christian people,”  Nana replied calmly, flipping through the channels.

            “Then why won’t you let me hang out with Charles?”  I snapped.

            “Hanging out with boys of different religions is dangerous to family conflict,”  Nana responded.

            “That’s ridiculous!”  I snorted, baffled.

            “I would know, Tammy.  Pop was Christian before we got married and…you know what?  I don’t need to explain to you, Tammy.  What I say, goes,”  Nana replied firmly.

            “You aren’t Ma,”  I replied, quietly, hoping she wouldn’t hear.

            “Excuse me?”  With no avail.

            “You aren’t Ma or Pa,”  I replied, suddenly getting angry.  Why couldn’t I hang out with who I wanted?  Times were different than when Nana was dating.  I could do what I wanted!

            “Nana,”  I began, “Charles is my friend.  He has been for years and he’s always been there for me.  He takes vocal lessons just like me, we have things in common.  We probably won’t get married, in most minds that know us as friends, would think of the possible idea as twisted and almost wrong, actually.  Charles and Alice and I are all friends, therefore, Nana….” I took a deep breath, awaiting the wrath that would follow my comment.

            “What’s that, Tammy?”  Nana asked, mocking me.

            “You can’t tell me what to do.”  I shut my eyes closed and sucked in a giant breath that stopped up my nose for a little.  When I didn’t hear a noise, I opened one eye and squinted at Nana.  She was looking at and fingering the remote.  She looked soundlessly mad.

            “Nana?”  I asked after a few good moments had passed.

            “I took you in, Tammy.  You had no where else to go,”  Nana replied softly with punch to the end of her words.

            “I had no choice,”  I said.  “I don’t want to be here, anyway.”  Nana’s head snapped up and she looked at me closely, no anger tinted in her eyes.  Curiosity, it seemed.

            “You don’t?”  Nana asked incredulously.

            “No,”  I began once more, seeing that I had her in my grip.  “You have kept me from a lot of things these last month or so.  I’m falling behind in painting class because I haven’t finished paintings.  Why?  Because I’m running around doing your tireless errands day and night.  Then, I don’t practice any of my voice assignments because you can’t hear the TV when I do.  So, you know where I sing?  While I’m walking to get you Bacon Pockets,”  I spat.  I realized what I had said.  The anger that I felt that had been kept in me for a while, whether it was because I had no parents or if it was because Nana kept me slaving around for her all the time, or even a combination of both, I didn’t know.  But I knew it felt good to let it out.

            It seemed that all ideas about helping and advancing Nana through life had slipped from my mind.  She obviously didn’t welcome new ideas or changes well.  Nana was rooted in the past.  She could stay there for all I cared.

            “Well,”  Nana choked, stretching her neck and looking at the remote.  “I, uh…didn’t think living with me would be such a burden, but maybe…that’s why I…um…don’t get out much.”  Suddenly feelings of regret which I knew I would eventually have flooded my brain and body.

            “Nana, I didn’t mean—“      

            “No,”   Nana interrupted, pumping up the TV volume.  “You’re right, honey.  I need to be less high-maintenance.”

            “Nana…I’m sorry—“

            “Don’t you need to catch up on your paintings?”  Nana cut me off again, turning towards the window.  I sighed, feeling awful.  I turned and went to my room.

            In my room, I sat at my desk, my head down on the top.  Out of nowhere then, the world seemed to collapse.  The once in a while feeling of claustrophobia grabbed my throat and my head began to throb.  I didn’t know why, all I knew was that it hurt and I felt dizzy.  I yanked my head up, punched the books to my right to the floor, and relished the moment where the sound of their slamming drop echoed through my room.  I hoped Nana heard it.  I hoped Ma and Pa heard it.  I hoped Tornado Kylie heard it loud and clear.

            “Nana, let me help you with those peas,”  I said, coming up behind Nana and taking the hot bowl of cooked peas from her mitted hands.

            “Don’t patronize me, Tammy,”  Nana barked, grabbing the peas back from me and sliding them onto the wooden table.

            “I wasn’t,”  I protested, catching a few of the lingering peas that tumbled out of the bowl.  “You looked like you needed help.”  Nana didn’t say anything, but sat down at her usual spot at the table and dished some food from the selection sitting at the table.

            While I was in my room, lamenting and agonizing, Nana had been out in the kitchen for a whole hour, heating up a Mara Cassider dinner pouch and a bag of peas.  In the whole hour it had taken her to do that, the table wasn’t set, and the packages were not even thrown out.  When I came out of my room to make dinner and saw that Nana was already attempting to do so, I began to quiz her.  How long did it take?  What are you making?  How could you read the directions without glasses?  And Nana had answers.  An hour.  Peas and packaged chicken and rice.  I guessed on the directions.

            The dinner was silent and awkward.  We hadn’t said anything to each other for the whole day after our impasse.

            “I have painting class on Tuesday, Nana,”  I tried, hoping something could be resolved.  I was angry, but maddening silence bothered me more than anything.

            “Fine.”  She didn’t look at me, she stabbed the still half-frozen peas with her unwashed fork.

            “What are you going to do tomorrow?”  I tried again.

            “I don’t know.”  Nana’s words were clipped and curt.

            “Can we talk about something, Nana?”  I persisted, almost begging that time.

            “About?”

            “I don’t know!”  I whined.  “We always talk at dinner.  It’s weird.”

            “Why don’t you tell that to your unfinished paintings and tired feet from working for me all the time.”

            “Nana, it came out wrong,”  I said.  “I’m not over Ma and Pa yet, you know, and…my anger and sadness comes out in all different ways.  This time, out on you.  I’m sorry,”  I explained.

            “You’re lying,”  Nana accused me, looking up from her plate.  Her beady black eyes narrowed in on my face.  “This was completely different, a whole different issue.  You may not see Charles.  He is Christian, you are Jewish.  Getting involved with religious men who don’t share your same beliefs can cause you to be…oh, I don’t know!  Disowned?  Left nothing?  Neglected?”  I listened in amazement at Nana’s rant.  She was talking from her heart now, from her own experience.

            “But, I‘m not religious myself,”  I said.

            “But he is!  And that is all that matters.  If you get involved with Charles, I will not disown you, but what if Charles’ family disowns him?  You will be the cause and, believe me child, you do not want that on your shoulders.”  I could hear Nana’s heavy, panting breaths.

            “Did something like that happen to you and Pop?”  I quietly asked.  I stared down at my plate, hoping for an answer and not an outburst.

            “That isn’t your business,”  Nana snapped softly.

            “Why isn’t it?”  I asked, finding myself urging and yearning to know.

            “It just isn’t.  Do the dishes, won’t you?”  Nana replied.  “Don’t go shopping tomorrow, by the way.  I got my home delivery grocery truck to start coming here again.”

            Sighing, I said, “Nana, I don’t mind shopping for you.”

            “Doesn’t matter, I’ve already reordered for it.  That way tomorrow, you can catch up on your paintings for class on Tuesday.  If the dishes aren’t too much to ask of you right now, would you just do them?”  Nana responded, getting up from the table and heading towards the hall.

            “You aren’t going to watch TV?”  I questioned, cleaning up my dish and Nana’s.

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ABC 123,

                Maddie :)

Audacious August Author: Post 5!!!

Here is Post 5!! Thank you for commenting and reading.  It means a lot.  Don't forget to add to the bucket list on the side by commenting below!

The Garden

Chapter Four

            As I walked home from the grocery store, I thought of how it had been one month and two weeks since Tornado Kylie had passed through the west side of Luck Mark City.  A lot had changed since then, so much it almost seemed unreal.

            Luck Mark City East Middle School transferred some classes to Luck Mark City West Middle School and others to the West Luck Mark City Rec Center.  Since my original house had been right in the transition between east and west side Luck Mark, I had barely made the cut off to be able to attend Luck Mark City East Middle School in the beginning.  Unfortunately, that had been the school that was destroyed, so everyone attending the east side school had to move, meaning they would have to drive farther and attend bigger classes.  The teachers from the east school had transferred over, some to the west school and some to the rec center.  We got along fine, everything and everyone was very accommodating.  The west Luck Mark citizens didn’t seem to mind that we kind of invaded their school.  Charles and I seemed to mind more than the west students.  We liked our first school, we liked the walking distance to our old school, we liked the structure and the architecture of our school, we just liked our school.  Mostly it was ironic that the east side was the part of Luck Mark that didn’t get demolished, but the east side school did and the west side school stayed up perfectly fine.  Position at the right time and place was all that mattered then, I guessed.

             Charles and I had made up the next day after our small fight, Charles understanding my feelings.  Alice and her family had come back from their grandpa’s funeral, as well, in the few days following, her house in tact.

           

            Apart from the school, the busyness of my assignments, after school activities, and taking care of Nana had allowed less room in my mind for my parents.  Every night I thought about them before I went to bed, but other than that, homework, vocal lessons, painting class, cooking, shopping for food, and minimally dusting so Nana and I wouldn’t sneeze kept me on my toes and in the moment.

            Speaking of Nana, she had more time to think about Ma and Pa than I did.  Since she was retired (with a teaching pension), she spent most of her time at home, watching judge shows and flipping through her weekly picture magazines.  She was most busy the first few days of me living in her house, canceling her home delivery grocery truck and registering as my legal guardian for school.

            But once those few days had passed, I would see Nana often wipe tears from her eyes when I walked in the door, which led me to believe she had been thinking about Ma and Pa again.

            About a week after Tornado Kylie, I went back to my house and sorted through all my things.  My room in Nana’s house had my desk chair, my bedspread, my bedside lamp, and my clothing.  Everything else we had no room for and Nana, in her exact words, said, “If there’s another human being in this house, we’re gonna hafta have some money!”  Therefore, we sold my old furniture.  Ma and Pa hadn’t written out a will, automatically leaving everything to me, so therefore I had all their money in their back account.  But still Nana refused to keep anything in her house that was my Ma’s and Pa’s.  It wasn’t a money issue, I knew.  (I had all of Ma and Pa’s money!)  It was a nostalgic memory issue.  Nana even hired someone to sell my old house, turning everything over to the real estate agent.  She told the agent, “whatever they want to buy it for, give it to them.”  Not a money issue, at all.  I mean, Nana paid (even though it was barely willingly) for my painting class and vocal lessons.

And lastly, meanwhile, Nana’s house was still an overwhelming mess.  At least I bothered to keep my bedroom clean.

“I’m home, Nana!”  I called, nudging my way into the living room, three brown paper bags of groceries in my arms.

            “I’m right here, you don’t need to yell!”  Nana snapped, flinging her weekly Dresses in the Making magazine on the crowded coffee table.  A head of lettuce rolled from the tip of one of the bags and dropped to the floor.  Used to Nana just looking at it, but not picking up to get it for me, I stepped over it, deciding to come back for it later after I had set down the other bags.

            Even though Nana didn’t help out much around the house, I didn’t blame her.  She had taken me in without question or fuss.  She had her own way of doing things.  And most of all, her weight limited her from doing much more than moving around.

            “How was your day, Nana?”  I asked, going back for the lettuce.

            “Fine, did you get my Bacon Pockets?”

            “A whole week’s worth,”  I said, unpacking the bags into the wooden cabinets of the kitchen and into the fridge and freezer.

            “Are you going to trim the hedges this afternoon?”  Nana asked.  Tossing the Bacon Pockets into the freezer, I silently groaned.  Trimming already ugly hedges was not how I wanted to spend my Saturday afternoon.  I had been hoping to catch up on a painting class project that we had to turn in that coming Tuesday.  Although painting class was my favorite after school activity which I took with Alice, I didn’t always have time to finish what I needed to.  Hopefully, by the end of the course, which ended right alongside the school year, I would be in a routine such that I could make time to paint everyday.

            “Yes, Nana…”  I said.

            “Good.”  Nana replied, picking up her Dresses in the Making picture magazine again.

            “Not that you go anywhere but that couch,”  I muttered to myself, slamming the freezer door closed.

            Mad, I tried to suppress my anger, keep calm.  Maybe I could push down my anger, but feelings of disappointment were harder to shove away.

            As I put away the last groceries, a knock sounded at the door.  The vibration of the screen seemed to startle Nana.

            “Who is that?”  Nana growled, twisting around to see out the window.   I hurried to the door and when I opened it, I saw Alice and Charles.

            “Hi!”  I exclaimed, excited to see them.

            “Who is it?!”  Nana repeated, stationary in her spot.  Annoyance danced from the hairs on her eyebrows down to the grooves in chin.

            “Alice and Charles,”  I answered, opening the door to let them in.

            “Don’t let them in!”  Nana hollered, loud enough for not only Alice and Charles to hear, but the rest of the neighborhood, as well.  Alice and Charles took a few steps back.  Mortified, I looked back at Nana who was still sitting on her couch, looking like the Grinch of Saturday.

            “They’re my friends, Nana!”  I hissed, narrowing my eyebrows at her.  Nana looked me straight in the eye and pursed her crinkling lips.

            “I don’t want them here,”  Nana said.

            “Nana, I want to hang out with—“

            “You need to trim the hedges,”  Nana interrupted me.  I could see her throat take in her swallow.  Nana wasn’t yelling, but sometimes her quietness was worse than her yelling…she was scarier in silence.

            I turned back to my friends and gave them a sympathetic smile.

            “I’m sorry, but I can’t hang out right now,”  I apologized, upset that my Saturday had to be spent dodging sticks and leaves with huge, rusty clippers.

            “You said that on Thursday,”  Alice said, fingering the straps of her red and white plaid jumper.  I looked at her curly locks and remembered how I had painted her hair in our first painting class and how Alice had painted my hands then too.

            “I know, but I have to trim the hedges,”  I responded, feeling terrible.  Ever since I had been living with Nana, I had been turning Alice and Charles down left and right.  I only ever saw them at school for lunch, Alice at painting class, and Charles in between our vocal lessons.

            “Well, can we come by tomorrow afternoon?”  Charles asked.

            “How about at one?”  I suggested, making sure to reserve the time for them.

            “Perfect!”  Alice chirped and so Charles and Alice were off.  I slammed the door shut.

            “I hope you’re happy,”  I muttered as I stomped past Nana and to the kitchen to find the clippers.

            “What was that?!”  Nana yelled from her couch.

            “Nothing.”  I yanked the giant sized clippers from the hardware closet and returned to the front of the house.  Before I went out into the front yard, Nana and I looked at each other, without saying a word.

            “You might as well weed the front while you’re at it,”  Nana added right as I walked out to the front porch.

           

            It took me two full hours to finish trimming the hedges and weeding the garden.  By the end, my hands were chalked with bleeding blisters, my arms scraped from the elbow down.  My finger nails were broken, and sweat poured from my forehead to the back of my knees.  My hair was matted and itching at the back of my neck.

            After I threw all the chopped up greenery in the green trash can in the back of the yard, I put away the clippers, and headed for the shower.  Nana wasn’t in the living room when I finished, she wasn’t in the bathroom, or the kitchen.

            “Nana?”  I called as I started the water running.  When there wasn’t an answer, I knocked on her bedroom door.  Peaking inside after no answer and not seeing her in her own bedroom, I headed to the backyard.

            There Nana was.  She was leaning her hand on her lawn chair, her hip jutted out to one side.  She was staring at the back wall, where the half painted mural was.  She didn’t seem to hear me coming.

            As I watched her from inside the house, I thought about not why she was out there, but why she looked so lonely when she did.

            The Sun wasn’t shining for Nana anymore.  The sun just wasn’t shining.  Nana had been living by herself in a messy, overcrowded, unfinished house for years with minimal visits from distant family.  She was crabby and old and letting her chance at good looks go.  Nana had given up and she regretted it.  And no matter how much Nana talked bad about the world, took her bitterness out on me, and woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I knew Nana felt she had spent her time living and was ready to move on to another world.  I hoped for Nana.  I hoped for her because I wanted her to find the happiness in her life she used to feel when Pop was alive.

            “Nana…”

            “Tammy, can you get…um…”  Nana started, turning around as she spoke.  She didn’t even seem to mind I had been there.  She looked from the ground to me.

            “Yes, Nana?”

            “Uh…”  Nana put her frail fingers to her head as she tried to remember.  “My pills.  They need refillin’ at the pharmacy.  I need…um...”  Nana didn’t seem to be forgetting, just too distracted to think of the names and of what she wanted.

            “Mobic, Nana?”

            “And…the other one…”

            “Elavil, Nana,”  I said.  Elavil was her anti-depressant.  Maybe it was time to up her dosage of that.

            “Yes.  Yes, that’s right, Tammy,”  Nana answered me and dropped her hand from her head.  She looked worn out.

            “Anything else, Nana?”  I asked, still standing in the kitchen inside the house.

            “Will you get a calculator at the corner store down the street?”

            “Yes.”

            “And dinner from the Farmer’s Market,”  Nana added.

            “The Farmer’s Market is on Fridays only, Nana,”  I responded.

            “Is that so?”  Nana said, looking up at me.  “When I used to go, it was on Saturdays….it’s been a long time, Tammy.”

            “Yes, Nana,”  I replied, not too sure of what the response to that was.  Nana laughed a little to herself, almost a snort.  Old times seemed to have caught up to her.

            “Well, then, that’s all,”  Nana said, grunting as she toddled back to the back door.  I opened the screen door for her and helped her up.

            “Nana?”

            “What is it?”

            “Can I hang out with Alice and Charles tomorrow after lunch?”  Hoping all my work would be done for Nana by that time, I anticipated her answer.

            “Charles and Alice?”  Nana asked, her gruff coming back.

            “Yes, Nana.”

            “Let me tell you something, Tammy,”  Nana started.  “Charles is Christian.”

            “He is…”

            “Pop was a Christian, you know.  I’m Jewish.  Your Pop converted to Judaism after we got married, decades after we got married.  It did no good, you see.  No good at all,”  Nana continued.  I had never heard much about Nana and Pop’s marriage, I didn’t even know how they met.

            “Look, you might as well just stay right where you are.  I’m not saying Christianity is bad, it’s not.  But with you being Jewish, Charles being Christian…well, it’s just better to stay involved with people your own religion.  It’s a lot less complex, you see,”  Nana said, limping through the kitchen, leaning her weight against the chipping counter.

            “But what about Alice?  I think she’s Lutheran…”  Why hadn’t Nana mentioned Alice?

            “I’m talking boys, Tammy.  Ones you might marry,”  Nana snapped, flinging herself on the sofa in the living room.

            “Marry?!”  I practically hollered.  “Nana, me and Charles are just friends!  Nana, I’m only in seventh grade.”

            “That don’t make a difference,”  Nana responded and picked up her Dresses in the Making magazine.  You would think she would have finished looking at all those pictures by then.

            “Nana, you don’t really mean that I can’t—“

            “Is that water running?”  Nana interrupted me.  I glanced into the bathroom down the hall and then back at Nana.  I made out to say something, but nothing came to mind.  Discrimination against religion was the last thing I thought to be on Nana’s mind.  I headed for the bathroom and showered up.

            Once I was dressed and cleaned up, I gathered the money for the items Nana asked for and headed out to the pharmacy first.  Then I would head onto the corner store, then back home to fix dinner.  I felt like a mother.

           

            Walking around town was a much different experience than it had been a month ago, or even before the tornado.  All the debris had been shoveled up and taken away from our street, the busted sidewalks and porches had been repaired, buildings in the center hub that had been knocked around were gradually getting rebuilt, all the telephone lines were back up, the TV and electricity dishes were working once again, and crewmen were constantly passing by through the east side to get to the west side with large trucks filled to the brim with repair supplies.

            At the pharmacy, I aimed to refill Nana’s medicines, handing over her prescription to the clerk.  The man behind the counter, in a white coat and thick, gray glasses, peered at the prescription paper dubiously.

            “Miss,”  he said, giving me back the paper.  “These prescriptions can’t be refilled for another week.”

            “What?”  I asked, looking down at the paper.  Every third week of the month it stated and I knew perfectly well, it was only the second.  Nana had made a mistake.  Had she forgotten?

            “Third week of every month.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”  I slowly looked up at the clerk, gathered my bag and shook my head.

            “No thanks,”  I replied and walked from the store.  After heading out for the calculator, I walked back home.

            “It is the third week, Tammy,”  Nana said, looking at the prescription paper.  I sat on the armchair opposite of Nana, unwrapping the new calculator, a pot of pasta sitting on the stove.

            “Believe me, Tammy.  I didn’t forget this, this wasn’t a memory thing.  I know it is the third week of the month,”  Nana pressed.  Annoyed at the ongoing conversation we were having, I ripped the calendar from the fridge and brought it to Nana.  I pointed to the week we were on and counted how many weeks we had left.  Two.

            “See, Nana?  It’s the second week,”  I stated, jabbing my finger at the white packet of papers.  Nana glanced at the calendar nonchalantly and shrugged.

            “That’s impossible.  I know my weeks,”  Nana continued.

            “Didn’t you notice that your pills weren’t up?”  I asked, returning the calendar to its rightful place.

            “I don’t pay attention to that sort of stuff.  I go by my inner clock,”  Nana replied.  I took in a deep breath and let it out.  I had something on my mind that I thought Nana should hear.  I needed to spit it out.

            “Nana,”  I said rapidly, rushed.  “Do you think that maybe you didn’t what week it was because you don’t get out much.”  I hurried on as Nana looked up at me from her magazine.

            “All I mean is that maybe if you had a scheduled class or gathering you went to every week, it’d be easier to keep track of the days of the week.”  Nana didn’t say anything at first, so I zoomed my eyes in on the packaging.  There was a double crease at the top and what was that?  Oh, a rip in the left corner.  If I could just cut the left side with my scissors—

            “Tammy.”  She didn’t seem offended so I looked up.  “I used to cook you know.  Good things too, I won awards at auctions, at fairs.”

            “No doubt, Pa always said--“

            “And I gardened,”  Nana continued on.  She didn’t seem to mean to interrupt me, she wasn’t on a ranting rage or anything.  She just seemed to want to tell me a story about herself, let me know about her.  In fact, it was almost like she was telling herself, reassuring herself.

            “I gardened like there was mo tomorrow,”  Nana announced proudly, laughing.  “Rows and rows of vegetables, every day I could pick something new to put into my soup or stew.  And Joe would love it!”  Then I knew Nana wasn’t talking to me, but to herself, because she called Pop by his first name.

            “We were going to paint a mural on the back wall together, me and Jo, but…uh…Joe get to see the finished one before his heart attack…”  Nana looked up at me and snapped out of her reverie.  “New things bring back old memories, Tammy.”

I was guessing she meant Ma and Pa’s death.

            “Nana….”  I began.  “Would you like to garden sometime?”  I set down the calculator package, giving up on the tough wrapping.

            “Garden?  Aw, honey…”  Nana replied, obviously still in memory mode.  “All has gone to hell in this old body.  I wouldn’t be able to bend up to pick up the shovel.”

 Thanks for reading!!

Audacious August Author: Post 4!!!

Post 4, here it is!!

Waking Up

Chapter Three

The next morning I woke up on the sofa, squished against the end with Nana asleep on the other side.  We had fallen into a deep sleep of cries in the middle of the afternoon.  Even though I had well over eleven hours of sleep, I felt tired and groggy.

            I stretched when I stood up and checked the microwave clock.  It flashed seven thirty in the morning.  Light seeped from the open windows and from the cracks underneath the back and front door.  I scratched my head and yawned.

            I hoped the day before had been a dream, a nightmare.  I walked to the front door and swung it wide.  I heard a crack and I saw the bottom of the door chip off, the hinge already snapped in half.  The light was bright, illuminating an only slightly trashed neighborhood.  I was almost given hope when I didn’t seem much of a mess.  Then I remembered it was only Nana’s neighborhood and past that hadn’t been destroyed to ruins.  Pen Pal Inc. and my middle school were still thoroughly kicked and beaten down.

            I closed the door to keep the light out and shut the window by the sofa to keep Nana from waking up.  Seeing that Nana was in a very deep sleep, I switched on the TV, getting only scribbly black and white lines across the screen.  The signal wasn’t picking up.  I jabbed the channel buttons, trying to get a report of missing people, of how far the tornado went, something, but the TV would just not cooperate.  Suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of utter rage, I punched the TV screen as hard as I could with my curled up fist.  Shattered glass sprinkled down by my feet, rising the anger I felt to an even higher level.

            I whirled around and stomped from the living room, and out to the front yard.  I needed some air because my ire was boiling my blood.  The air was fresh, despite the little particles od dust and dirt floating around with the early morning wind.  The grass still shone green, the trees still swayed in the wind.  A few branches were flattened against the road, the telephone wires up above were clearly shredded, broken, and not able to be in use.  The roads were pretty much cleared except for the few piece of wood and glass and metal that were widely scattered about.  Nana had been lucky.  I had been lucky.  But I did not feel lucky.

            Really wanting to hear the news, I thought of where I could get it.  I needed something battery powered or written.  Then I got an idea.  I hurried around to the backyard of Nana’s house and to the cellar doors.  I opened them up and stepped down the crackling ladder until I reached the cold, cement floor.  It was protocol to have some sort of safety item in your cellar and Nana had thrown about every single one of Luck Mark City’s safety packages down there.  After opening up almost each one, I finally found a wind up radio.  I found a station I liked and wound and wound and wound.  Finally, I could make out some words so I scurried back up the ladder and out of the cellar.  I sat against the side of the house, continuously winding.  There were two reporters, Jeremy Cork and Laura Baker.  They’re station was somewhere in the hills that was protected from practically everything with the exception of rare mud slides.

            “Well, Jeremy, that tornado really ran far yesterday, don’t you think?”  Laura commented.

            “I’ll say!  It lasted for fourteen minutes, going through…Luck Mark City, Linden City, and Barker Wood.  It died by hurling some of the last of its contents into Oklahoma. “

            “That’s right,”  Laura said.  “Kylie ruined over 300 homes, 500 cars, and 250 buildings and counting.  Deaths are still be counted, and those injured are still being taken in, but so far the count of dead and missing people is 143.  Man, that’s a lot.”

            “Did you know that only the west half of Luck Mark City got hit?  The transition between west Luck Mark and east Luck Mark only got brushed and then east Luck Mark barely got bruised at all.”

            “The most the east side got was a few floating ashes and dirt pieces, right?”

            “That’s what we have reported.”

            “All right, then Jeremy.  We have to have a few sponsors speak, but when we come back Tina Torrance, flung from the tornado into Oklahoma will speak with us from her hospital bed.  Stay tuned.”  As a plumbing commercial sang it’s jingle, the radio started to die out again.

            I let it die out, set it on the ground next to me, and allowed my head to hit the house side behind me.  What had happened in so little time?  I loved nature, I did.  I love the shattered trees and fallen branches.  Nature was nature, ugly or pretty.  But nature was also that thing that had ate up my parents, ruined my school, and destroyed my city.  How could I love something like that?

            “Tammy?”  I heard a voice call, one that was not Nana’s.  I got up from the ground, not bothering to wipe the dirt off my pants, and went around to the front.  Charles stood at the front of the lawn, in a new pair of denim overalls with his hair brushed.  Obviously, he had had a fine night.

            “Hi Charles,”  I mumbled, looking down at my ripping socks.

            “I thought I would find you here when you weren’t on Parsley Street….I found my parents,”  Charles commented.  “They were in our church, like I said, safe and sound.  Our house is still is pretty good shape, actually.  My dad is working on repairing the window sills today.  My mom is going to clean the dirt and debris off our lawn, too.  They said I could walk around as long as I prayed as I went,”  Charles said.  He seemed happy.  He should have been.  His family was safe, he was safe, and his home was safe.  I tried to smile.

            “That’s…great, Charles,”  I replied, still not looking up at him.

            “Did you find your parents?”  Charles asked me, clearly sensing something wasn’t right.

            “…No…I found my Nana,”  I replied, wiggling my toes in my worn socks.  Charles moved forward on the lawn, toward me.

            “I am so sorry, Tammy.  That’s really awful,”  Charles consoled me, giving me a hug.  I didn’t feel like hugging back, so I stood there, my arms hanging limply at my sides.  Suddenly, a siren whooped from down the street.  Detached, both of us moved to the sidewalk and poked our heads down the street.  A cop car was rolling slowly down the street, an ambulance and fire truck following closely behind.  At an open space, all three vehicles parked on the side of the road, and about three people from each car got out.

            Two police women held flashlights and whistles, leading four firemen holding axes and shovels.  Last came two men paramedics and one woman paramedic, pushing a gurney, and each holding a big red first aid kit.  They all went up to each house on the block one by one.  They knocked on the doors and if there was an answer, they talked to the resident, checking in, Charles and I assumed, and then if all was good, moved on.  If no one answered, all nine workers shoved their ways into the home, calling and searching throughout the house.  Every house they forced their way into, they came out with nothing and nobody.  By the time they reached Nana’s house, no one who they were checking in on had had a disaster and no one had to be rushed away.

            One police woman, with a  name tag, Sloane, came up to me and crouched down so she could look me in the eyes.  She smiled a wide, toothy smile.  She looked from me to Charles as she spoke, her voice sweet and soft.

            “Hi, there,”  Sloane said.  “What are your names?”

            “Charles,”  Charles said quickly. 

            “Tammy,”  I said quietly, not caring to interact with these people.

            “Do you guys live here?”  Sloane questioned.

            “No,”  we both replied.

            “Where do you live?”

            “I live on Apple Mint Road,”  Charles answered.  Sloane looked over at me, her smile not faltering the slightest bit.

            “Parsley Street,”  I responded.  Sloane looked back at her other coworkers.

            “Sweeties, why are you here then?”

            “I’m visiting her,”  Charles said.

            “I’m visiting my Nana,”  I said.

            “Your Nana lives here?”  Sloane asked.

            “Yes.”

            “Is she okay?”

            “She’s fine, she’s sleeping right now,”  I replied.

            “Charles,”  Sloane said, looking over at him, “is your family okay?”

            “Great, they missed the tornado because they were in the church cellar on the far east side of Luck Mark City,”  Charles replied proudly.

            “Good, do they know you’re here?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good.”  Sloane turned to her coworkers and asked them, “Apple Mint Road is on the east side on Luck Mark, right?”

            “It’s in the transition between east and west,”  one of the paramedics replied.

            “So, it barely got brushed?”  Sloane responded, more to herself than to the others.  The others nodded as Sloane turned to me.

            “What about you, darling?  Is your family okay?”  When I didn’t respond, Charles stepped in for me.

            “She’s living with her Nana right now because she can’t find her parents.”  Sloane’s smile immediately dropped into a straight line.  She looked intently at me and so I looked intently back at her.

            “Did you look for them?”

            “No…they were at work and…they didn’t get a chance to go into the cellar.  Their boss…said…”  I had started crying again, too much to continue my words.  Sloane didn’t seem to expect an answer.

            I heard a fireman ask another fireman if Parsley Street was in the transition from east to west Luck Mark City and even though he wasn’t talking to me,  I said, “Yes, it is.  My house is probably fine.”  Not that it mattered because I wouldn’t be living in it.

            “Excuse me!”  a voice hollered a little bit a ways from us.  Everyone turned to see who was calling.  A frantic woman danced down the street, her arms waving above her head.  She looked like me, dirty and recently awaken.

            “I need your help!”  the woman cried.  I did not recognize her, surprising as it was, fore all the people of Luck Mark City were always familiar to me, as I’ve told.  The paramedics and firemen hurried to the woman, their tools at the ready.  As she explained her dire situation and all of them rushed off to help, Sloane and her partner stood with me and Charles.

            “Aren’t you going to help?”  I asked, wanting to be alone and out of the limelight.

            “Is there anything you need, darling?”  Sloane inquired.  Suddenly, I became quite annoyed with how she kept calling me ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie.’

            “You can stop calling me that now,”  I hissed and ran to the back of the house, past the abandoned radio.  Charles came running after me, thanking the officers as he went.

            “Tammy…I know you are afraid and that—“       

            “Charles, I’m not afraid,”  I snapped, standing by the orange tree.  About a dozen not ripe enough oranges had fallen to the ground, small and very green.  Nana would not be happy and then she would probably blame me for not picking off all the oranges.

            “Tammy…” Charles tried to say, but I would not let him.

            “Don’t patronize me, Charles,”  I snarled.  “You don’t have any idea what it’s like, right now.  Besides, I’m not your charity case.”

            “I’m just trying to help,”  Charles tried again, concern showing in his eyebrows and lips.

            “You don’t need to help, Charles.  I am not your…your…project,”  I growled, angry that Charles was trying to help.  Everything then seemed annoying or maddening.  Nothing made sense and crying seemed like my only escape.

            “I wish Alice was here,”  I murmured bitterly to myself.  Alice was Charles and my other friend that we had met in the fifth grade.  Alice had curly black locks and her style consisted mostly of jumpers and dresses.  While Charles shared the same hobby of singing as I did, Alice shared the same hobby of paining as I did.  Alice and I had been thinking of joining the painting class at the West Luck Mark City Rec Center together in about a month.  Who knew if that would happen now….

            “Me too, but she left for her grandpa’s funeral last week, remember?  She’s lucky she wasn’t here…”  Charles said softly, looking at the wall behind me.

            “You can go Charles,”  I said.  Charles’ eyes darted to mine, looking hurt.  He bit his bottom lip and turned towards the side gate.  I watched him unlatch the gate and look back once more before he continued down the side of the house and away from me.  I stood watching the side gate even after Charles had left.  I started crying, standing completely still, not moving my feet nor my hands.

            “That was quite something.”  I whirled around towards where the voice was coming from and saw Nana standing on the other side of the sliding screen door.  She leaned on the door frame as she slid open the door and took one step out.

            “Morning,”  I mumbled, feeling sullen all of a sudden.

            “Get in the house,”  Nana snapped, making room by the door to let me pass.

            “No.”  I didn’t want to and Nana couldn’t make me.  When I said that, Nana’s eyebrows shot to the top of her wrinkly forehead.  She pursed her chapped lips and her wrinkles tightened around the neck.

            “Who the hell do you think you are?  Get inside the house,”  Nana barked.  Nana never took sass and I knew it.  Too tired to dispute the issue, I lazily walked up  the cement steps and into the house.

            When I passed Nana, going into the house, Nana smacked me in the back of the head.  I clutched the back of my head, the stinging reverberating through my head to my sinus pressure points.

            “I hate you!”  I out of nowhere screamed and ran to what was then my room, the guest room.   I slammed the door behind me and pounded the back of the door with my clenched fist.  She had hit me!  She had hit me! …She had hit me.  …Yet she had hit me before without a reaction from me.  What was different then?  My parents were dead.  My town was gone.  I had fought with one of my best friends.  I didn’t have a school.  I didn’t have a real home.  I started sobbing again, but that time that escape didn’t work because I could still see and perceive.

            I still saw the bed with the wooden and carved frame, contrasting with the pale green bedspread.  The paisley pink carpet with dotted brown, coffee spots still circulated through my brain and so did the old ‘70s rock band posters, the set of ’89 encyclopedias, the entertainment center with the mini TV sitting on it, it’s steel antennas sticking out like alien horns, and the vanity, completely empty, nothing but a dusty mirror.

            The window above the bed had yellow, floral drapes, caked with musty, white dust, shielding light very well from the room.  I pulled apart the dirty drapes, waved away the flying dust, shook the dust from my own hands, and looked outside.  I had a perfect view of the left side of the front lawn.  Patches of yellow spotted the wide lawn, piles of dirt where to-be flowers were going to be planted covered the whole lawn, as well.  I could see the emergency workers down the street a few houses, their vehicles still at the beginning end of the block.

            I knew exactly where I was, but I had never felt so lost.

Hoped you liked it! Thanks for reading!

ABC 123,

                Maddie :)