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 3!!!

Post 4!!!

After the initial shock was over and we needed a few more moments to regroup, Charles and I wandered around the flattened patio, picking up parts of objects that had been spit out by the tornado as it rolled along.  We found half of car tire, what looked like part of a Lazy Susan, a couple of pieces of straight lumber, rope, green glass from beer bottles, clear glass from windows, and a piece of a metal fender.

            “Do you know what this is?”  Charles called from across the grounds.  He was bent down, peering at the floor.

            I walked up to him and looked down at the debris Charles had found.  A misshapen, squishy piece of something, lay flat on the ground in front of us.  It was pale, slightly pink and pretty tiny.  The edges were lumpy, tints of red outlining the ends.

            “Food?”  I suggested.

            “Doesn’t look edible,”  Charles said and flipped it over.  It looked almost identical on the other side. 

            “What does it feel like?”  I asked, crouching down further to get a better look at it.

            “Like…like…”  Suddenly Charles’s face went hazy, his eyes glazed over a little, and his cheeks flushed white.  He looked sick.

            “Charles?”  I asked, helping him to stand up.  I put my hand on his back, looking at him closely. 

            “It felt like….skin,”  he said.  My hand dropped from his back and my stomach started to churn.  I glanced at the object again, but quickly looked away again.  I walked away.  I walked past the flesh and hurried towards the end of the patio, hoping I’d be able to navigate through the second mess of debris. 

            “Tammy!”  Charles’s shaky voice called after me.  “Where are you going?”

            “I have to see if my family is okay!”  I called back, not looking back.  I heard Charles’s feet running after me as I stepped over broken down and caved in walls, ceilings, and doors.  Parts of desks and particles of whiteboards caught my glance as I climbed through and out the shambles which was my school.  I could sense Charles on my heels.

            “I’ll come with you,”  Charles said, climbing over a block of fallen ceiling, avoiding a flickering light fixture.  I didn’t answer, but kept moving.  I knew I was heading in the right direction, towards the front of the school where I could head to my parent’s work and see if they were safe in the building’s cellar.

            Railings, gates, rocks, and trees were toppled over each other, some broken straight down the middle.  The front gate I saw had been tossed back to the first hall of classrooms, completely crushing my sixth grade science teacher’s room.  Close to the front, Charles still following, no thoughts on my mind, I heard the beginning of several footsteps.  The rest of the school had gotten out of the school cellar.  I could not be kept in school, I had to make sure Ma and Pa were all right.  I hoped Pa’s prediction of the tornado’s destiny had changed earlier than mine had, ensuring that him and Ma had gotten in the work cellar, safe and sound.

            Both Ma and Pa worked at a book publishing company, Ma as a secretary, Pa as an accountant.  They walked to work together, they walked home together.  They even worked on the same floor.  They were the Pen Pal Inc. couple.  I knew that Ma and Pa would be sure to meet up before going down to the cellar, making sure the other was okay.  So, I knew it had to be all or nothing.

   

Out of the school, past all the fallen in classrooms and random straights of lumber, Charles and I had another shock coming seeing the other part of the town.  Trees were making home on tireless cars, homes had gone from two story estates to a stair there, a window pane there, the roads were crumpled in, an uneven surface for no one to walk on.

            “Charles,”  I breathed, seeing the horror of my hometown reveal itself before my eyes.  Charles had his sick to his stomach look to him again.

            “My parents would be at our church today…”  Charles said, thinking to himself.

            “Should we meet up later after we go see our parents?”  I asked, my mouth twitching as I tried to think about something other than the catastrophe in front, behind, and all around me.

            “Okay,”  Charles barely replied and so we walked down Main Street where the Farmer’s Market usually was and then departed, me going right, Charles going left.  I hurried along once I left Charles, eager to see if my parents were okay.  I hopped over and around boulders of stuff, blockades of people’s furniture, belongings, and memories.  My shoes cracked a sorts of lumber as I sped along as fast I could.  The streets were deserted, so the crackling of wood echoed in the silence of Luck Mark City, a silence rarely heard.

            Past the center hub by Main Street, down Peppercorn Road, and to the right of the desolate intersection of Main Street and Mustard Avenue, I walked.  My parent’s work was farther from the center of Luck Mark City than most buildings, it was near my school.  Both my school and my parent’s work stood just outside the hub of Luck Mark City.

            Finally I approached Ma and Pa’s workplace, crumbled and crushed.  It was funny that I was able to get to what was left of Pen Pal Inc. with all the road signs gone, my good sense of direction that I had since I was little really came through for me then.

            Shards and shards of glass from the big windows of Pen Pal Inc. spilled out in front of me, coating over rocks and iron wrought gating.  I knew where the cellar was, I had been to my parent’s work before where I explored and scoured the place of all it’s places thoroughly.  The cellar was to the left side of the building by the dumpster.  I had never been inside, but I expected it to be big, spacious, and stocked with safety items.  The big head boss, Joshua Marlinson, was all about safety, being prepared, and organizing his office so dust could not be found within the slightest nook or cranny. 

            I found the door leading to the cellar, it was firmly shut and still in tact.  I got down on my knees, pulled on the door, but couldn’t get it open.  The workers must have still been in there.  I pounded on the cellar door, calling out for Ma and Pa.  As I waited for anyone, I looked around me.  A green road sign bent itself around a toppled over trees, the sign twisted like a lollipop.

            Then I heard the trap door to the cellar unlatch from the inside and the door was thrown upward, very nearly missing my chin.  I stood up, stepped back, and brushed off my dirt-caked knees.  I peered inside the cellar to see Joshua Marlinson on the ladder leading up to the door looking right back at me.

            “Hi there, Tammy,”  Joshua said.  He looked and sounded tired, old and worn out.

            “Are my parents there, Joshua?  I’ve got to see them.  Are they down there?  Are they okay?”  I pressed for answers, trying to get a look of who was down there.  The cellar certainly was spacious and big, like I thought.  It was also packed with safety items.  I saw barrels of salted beans, packages of wool blankets, boxes of wide-tooth combs, piles of feather-spilling pillows, stacks of hard bound books, a basket of freshly picked oranges, apples, and limes, and lastly jugs of freshly stored water, all of which were lining the wood and steel walls.

            Heads poked up, trying to see who I was.  I recognized and personally knew each and every person down there that I could see:  Carly Court, the head editor, Mason Driver, the new intern to Carly, Sheila Setar, the secretary that worked with Ma, Hannah Wrolen, a supplement editor, Terri Toms, the head publisher without a secretary, Todd Childs, the janitor, and many more heads stuffed in the back of the cellar that I couldn’t quite make out.

            “Where’s Ma and Pa?”  I asked, when I didn’t see them right away and Joshua wasn’t answering my questions.

            “Tammy…”  Joshua started, his small eyes watching my forehead.

            “What is it Joshua?  Where’s my Ma and Pa?”  I continued, refusing to look at the intent Joshua.

            “They didn’t come into the cellar, Tammy,”  Joshua told me quietly.  My head felt kind of funny when he said that.  My heart started beating very quickly and I felt my cheeks grow red like when I had to speak in front of the class and said something dumb.

            “But, they’re here somewhere, right?”  I asked, knowing it was hopeless.  They had to be somewhere, right?  Alive, right?

            “We closed the door right after they went up, Tammy.  They weren’t close enough to be saved.”  I turned around and walked away from the cellar.  Joshua called after me, wanting to know where I was going.  I ignored him, hoping he wouldn’t hold it against me later.

            I kept walking past the lollipop sign, past the shredded windows, and went to find my Nana on Coriander Avenue.  I had to walk for a while from Pen Pal Inc. to get to Nana’s house, but I didn’t mind because I needed time to myself.

            Ma and Pa were gone.

            Gone up with tornado, the thing we had no fear of the evening before.  I couldn’t think of anything but what wasn’t there.  No Ma, no Pa.  They literally weren’t there.  There bodies weren’t there.  And I didn’t know where to look.  The tornado could have still been spinning them across town after town.  At light speed, they’d be hurled round and round, hit against parts of trees and buildings and houses.  Tires, planks, ovens, trunks, and fenders could be beating the dead horses.  I didn’t know where they were and I didn’t feel like caring.  It was too much of a thought.  It was an overwhelming, claustrophobic thought, crowding everything else in my brain out through my ears.  Maybe that was why my ears started to ache.

            I could feel tears swelling from the under part of my eyes.  My shoulders started to shake and that awful lumpy feeling in my throat started to push it’s way up.  Cold, cold tears wiggled down my cheeks, against the grooves of my nostrils, and finally dripped off my chin.  They were non stop, eternal, and freezing.  I had cold tears.  Didn’t everyone have hot ones?  Why were mine cold?

            As I walked to Nana’s, I thought of how without Ma, I wouldn’t get oil and vinegar brisket, no homemade scented laundry detergent, no late night snacks of popcorn and caramel.  Without Pa, I wouldn’t have anyone to laugh with over the weather, there would be no cradling with a nice, heavy book read to me, no long walks in the evening just before sun went down with conversations of Pa’s childhood on the farm.  I would be alone.  Would I be homeless?  Who would I live with? ….

Nana.

I would most likely live with Nana.  Unless Nana hadn’t gotten in her cellar in time.  Or unless, Ma and Pa’s will said otherwise.  Would I have to go down to Alabama or Georgia and live with my aunt or uncle, enthralling myself with a new school, a new neighborhood, and new friends?  Would I not see Charles again?  What about my vocal teacher, Marcia?  Would I not take singing lessons anymore?  Where was I headed?

            By the time I had successfully strangled my brain with the tormenting thoughts of no family, no friends, and no home, I had reached Coriander Avenue.  The block was barely beat up, a few cracked windows, tossed to the side cars.  The tornado had been fast, but narrow.  On Nana and my house’s side of town, the tornado barely brushed us, blowing up a few things here and there.  Even my school didn’t get the worst of it.  Charles and I were lucky no to be swallowed up, seeing that we weren’t even underground.  Pen Pal Inc. was probably one of the few buildings in Luck Mark City that got a good, hard beating from it.

            Coming up to Nana’s ugly blue and modest house, I went around back, forcing my through the rigged chain link fence to find the cellar.  The underground cellar was in the backyard on the side of the house.  When I got there, the white cellar doors were shut firmly, the latch not moving a centimeter.  Just like most of the workers of Pen Pal Inc., Nana was safe and sound in her cellar.

            I bent down to pound on another cellar.  Then, did I realize I was still crying.  I saw the drips rain down on the dirty cellar doors.  It was funny to cry when you didn’t know it, funny to cry without a thought in your mind.  But, if I didn’t have any thoughts, why was I crying?

            “Is it gone?!”  a shrill voice shrieked from underneath the cellar doors.  The voice bounced around the neighborhood, the only tone being out.  Every other citizen of Luck Mark City was too afraid to come out just yet, the usual bustling town was desolate, quiet, eerie.

            “Nana!”  I yelled, my voice trembling.  “It’s me!  It’s gone!  Ma and Pa aren’t here!  They’re dead!”  It didn’t take long for the cellar doors to open up fiercely.  Nana’s big head come up through the opening, already soaked with tears.

            “What the hell do you mean?”  she barked, glaring at me.  Her tears looked warmer than mine, gray instead of clear.

            “Joshua from Pen Pal Inc. said they didn’t come into the cellar,”  I tried to explain, but my voice couldn’t keep steady.

            “Speak, Tammy!”  Nana snapped at me, heaving as she climbed out of the cellar from her breaking wooden ladder.

            “They’re dead, Nana.  They didn’t get in the cellar, they got sucked up,”  I repeated, choking on some of the tears that fell into my mouth.

            “You have dirt on you and you’re neck is bleeding,”  Nana said, pressing her rough thumb to my throat.  “You got into the cellar, didn’t you?”

            “Well, no….Charles and I didn’t get a chance to.  We went into the basement instead,”  I replied, wishing Nana would stop fingering my neck.  Her fingers were chaffing and hard against my whipped neck.

            “You didn’t?”  Nana questioned, not seeming to want an answer.  Her hands dropped from my neck and she let out a sigh.

            “Nana?”

            “Are you sure they aren’t anywhere?”  Nana asked me, kicking shut her cellar doors.

            “Joshua saw them go up,”  I said, suddenly getting an overwhelmed feeling of grief.  Nana remained quiet, she seemed speechless, even at a loss for thought.  She walked toward her house, hurling a broken potted plant with her foot.  Following her, I felt my knees grow weak, tired, and hopeless.  Why didn’t Nana say anything?

            “My house looks fine,”  Nana commented, trudging up the cement block steps to her back door.  “I suppose your is, too.”

            “I haven’t…I haven’t….”  I couldn’t speak.

            “Get inside,”  Nana growled, opening the sliding screen door.

            “Nana, aren’t you sad?”  I dared to inquire as I stepped inside the house.

            “I don’t want to talk about this, Tammy.  Go to your room,”  Nana ordered, slamming the door shut.

            “My room?”  I asked, confused.  I didn’t live with Nana…yet.

            “Did you have trouble hearing?”  Nana barked.  “Your room.”  When she saw my continued blank face, her lips crinkled and her eyebrows narrowed.

            “The guest room is now you room,”  Nana snapped pointing past the messy living room and down the hallway.

            “Nana…don’t you think we should try looking for—“     

            “Tammy!”  Nana belted.  “Your Ma and Pa are gone!  You said so yourself, sucked up, swallowed down, taken away!  They aren’t coming back, they’re dead!  This town has been hit hard and fast.  Luck Mark City is ruined!”  Nana fell down on her newspaper covered sofa and leaned back against a few throw pillows.  Nana’s tears fell fast then, her shoulders shaking like an earthquake.  She hid her face in her weak hands, her elbows resting on her knees.

            Nana was right, though.  Ma and Pa were gone, and even though Nana’s house hadn’t been hit too hard, Luck Mark City just wasn’t the same.  A tornado like the one that had just came hadn’t been seen in Luck Mark City for years.

            I sat next to Nana and put my fingers to my quivering lips.  They trembled, catching my tears as they shivered.

Thanks for reading!

ABC 123,

               Maddie :)