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 :)

Audacious August Author: Post 1!!

Hi everyone,
  If you haven't already read the new August Introduction post, I shall tell you that I have taken away my August goal of 5000 words a week and have decided on not setting a goal whatsoever.  I shall post when I have a good part of my story to post and hopefully I'll have another finished novel by the end of August.  No promises about an ending by the end of August, but I can hope!
Please enjoy these 3700 words!

*WARNING!* There is bad language in this story.  Please do not be offended.

Nana

Chapter One

My vocal lesson was just about finished, all Marcia had to do was write in my practicing chart.  Marcia was writing with her inky ballpoint pen that made her capital letters slope into a ribbon-like shape.  When Marcia wrote with her red ballpoint pen, her words looked like a present.  I collected my sheet music and tucked the pages under my arm as I waited.

            And as she wrote, I looked out the hazy window, outside to the stretch of land called Luck Mark City, a little sub-city of Kansas City.  The skyline was short, but the roads were long and I loved every bit of it.  Luck Mark City was my home where I could run barefoot through the sand and dirt and the cold air could never bother me.  I could run for scores of grassy fields out my back door and swing in the trees until the sun went down with no jacket and no socks.  That is how much I didn’t mind Luck Mark City’s bitter wind.

            “Tammy, you are all done,”  Marcia said, capping her black ballpoint pen and handing me my practicing chart.

            “Okay, thanks Marcia,”  I said, heading out.

            “Wait a moment, Tammy,”  Marcia stopped me, halting me right at the brown chipped door with the bronze doorknob.  “It doesn’t look too good out there.  Look at all that dirt the wind is kicking up.  Let me drive you home.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Marcia.  This weather is nothing.  Besides, you have another lesson,”  I replied, twisted the doorknob, and put all my weight on the sticky door.  After the door sent me tripping over the floor end of the door frame, I waved good-bye before Marcia could say another word.  I loved that unsettling Luck Mark City weather.  I liked the brewing of a storm feeling as I trotted on home.  If the wind got strong and rain started dripping from the clouds, I would not mind a bit.

            Walking out of the musty building that Marcia occupied, I waved to Charles who was waiting in the lobby, anticipating his lesson with Marcia.

            “You’re up,”  I said.

            “Thanks, Tammy.  Watch out for that weather.  It looks pretty bad,”  Charles said, peeping out the window nervously.

            “Don’t worry ‘bout me, Charles.  Just enjoy your lesson!”  I said, skipping out of the building, my face immediately hit with the whipping wind and whirling dirt.

            “Whoo!”  I shouted, listening for my voice as it got lost in the gale.  “It’s strong tonight!”  I ripped out a page of my practicing chart, faced the wind, let the paper free from my grip, and ducked before the paper hit me back in the face.  I twirled around to watch the piece of paper dance along the skyline until it was out of sight. 

            I wondered if a nearby rancher would find it and wonder where it came from.  He would probably crumple it up and throw it in the trash, not giving it a second glance.  If I had found something suspicious like that, I would examine it line by line.  Then, I would hop over the backyard fences of all my neighbors, waving to them as they waded in the pool and waved back to me, then I would run past Kansas City’s center hub where all the restaurants and stores were, nodding at people and calling out to family friends across the street.  Luck Mark City was perfect for calling out across the street to people you knew.  And even if you thought you knew the person, but it turned out to be somebody else, it didn’t matter, ‘cause they would turn and wave to you anyway.  But that rarely happened because, in Luck Mark City, everyone knew everyone since birth.  After I had hopped over the fences, ran through the center hub, and reached the earthiest part of Luck Mark City, the trim of the city, I would find the quietest, clearest place and make my own story.  I would start the novel, speaking softly, then crescendo louder and louder until I was shouting the climax of my story.  My story of my discovered practicing chart.  That is what I would shout to the no one around.  After I had finished the novel, I might run back to the center hub, and find a mailbox to leave the practicing chart in for someone else to find and make their own novel about.  Then I would run home and tell not a single soul about my story.

            As my daydream came to an end, I felt the wind picking up while I passed the center hub and went down Parsley Street, where my house was placed.  My hair was practically tearing from my scalp and I noticed no one else was around.  The center hub was deserted which was unusual for a Friday evening, especially since that was the Farmer’s Market evening.  In fact, as I snapped back to reality, I noticed the Farmer’s Market farmers were not even out with their tables and banners and foods.  However, I did not worry, nor speed up my pace.  I knew Luck Mark City weather like the back of my hand and the sky had not a hint of horror in it.

            I opened the door to my house to the smell of brisket and English muffins with potatoes.  Ma was in the kitchen and Pa was sitting on the sofa in the living room, staring at the TV.

            “Tammy, look at this tornado warning,”  Pa said the minute I stepped into the house.  Kicking the door closed, I headed over to my sofa and plopped down next to Pa.

            “The dirt in stirring in little areas around Luck Mark City, folks.  Take care and get your cellars ready.  This tornado looks like it’s gonna be fierce.”  Pa turned off the set and laughed.

            “It’s that a laugh, Tammy?”

            “Sure is!  A little stirring dirt isn’t gonna hurt a soul.”  I stood up to kiss Ma hello.

            “Smell this, Tams?  This is my favorite kind of brisket.  I’m putting my oil and vinegar on top,”  Ma told me as he sprinkled some spice into the pot of boiling water and meat.

            “Did you visit Nana today?”  Pa asked me, lumbering into the kitchen.

            “No, I didn’t get a chance to stop by,”  I confessed.

            “She’s been asking for you, champ,”  Pa answered.

            “I’ll go by tomorrow, Pa,”  I promised.

            “She wants you to harvest her orange tree so bring our ladder.”

            “Doesn’t she have one?”

            “Not a high enough one, ace.  She wants to do lunch, so bring a picnic.”

            “I’ll be over there for hours, Pa!  Nana loves to talk about what we should do and what she wants me to do for her.  Can’t I just pick her orange tree and leave?”

            “Tams, you gonna hafta get your monthly visit done sometime before next month rolls around.  Nana’s got no one else.”

            “She’s got you,”  I mumbled and ambled off to my bedroom down the hall.

            “Dinner in ten!”  Ma called as I shut my bedroom door.  I kicked off my tennis shoes and slid open my drapes to look out at the hazy, brown sky.  While the rest of Luck Mark City was getting ready for a whopper, I stood there with my drapes and window open, my body entirely exposed to the natural disaster.  If that natural disaster ever came.  The weather people who were reporting this news were even living in California with a few cheap cameras to tell them what they thought was the truth.

            The next afternoon, I packed a wooden picnic basket full of last night’s oil and vinegar brisket, sugared, sliced grapefruit, and cranberry muffins we had bought from the Farmer’s Market the week before and had stored in the bread cabinet.  I put in a red checkered picnic blanket for fun and a set of silverware and dishes.  I added in sparkling lemonade and matching wineglasses to go along with it.  I found Pa’s high ladder and folded it as small as it got.  Then I put the picnic basket on my arm and balanced the ladder on my two palms.  Heading out, I called, “Out to eat!”

            “Well, it is about time you got by here to say hello,”  Nana said, limping over to her screen door.  She pushed it open just enough to let me squeeze on by.

            “Good afternoon, Nana,”  I said and pecked her on the cheek.

            “You bet your ass it is.  Don’t you watch the news?  They say there’ll be a whopper in the next few days.  Well, your Pa better get his lazy self over to board up my windows and unstick my cellar door.”  Nana hobbled over to her dining table that was piled with newspapers and magazines from years prior.  She pushed a few papers off, half-heartedly and sat at a table chair.  I set down the picnic basket and leaned the ladder against the wall next to the dining table.

            Nana was wearing gray curlers in her gray hair, but some of her hair had missed a roll.  She was wearing her pale pink bathrobe over a pale pink nightgown.  Rolls of wrinkle fat massaged her face and her imprinted frown supplemented her freckly, foggy skin.  Her eyebrows needed tweezing and her fingernails needed trimming, but the downward action of her angry eyebrows showed she had no desire to do so.  Nana’s house was a mess, too.  Everything looked old to match her own.  Photographs hung crooked on her walls and her TV was always flashing with a Judge show.  Nana’s window remained closed at all times and her drapes became faded with age.  Her kitchen looked only remotely managed with the minimum amount of dishes washed to make the next meal for herself.  Her refrigerator door still had pictures of when I was three taped to it.

            Nana used to care very much about her appearance and the appearance of her property and of what others would think.  That was why Nana would clean her home, herself, every day and make herself up every morning before she even went out for the newspaper.  Nana never tolerated dust or cluttered papers.  Once she had read a magazine, she tossed it or even if she hadn’t and a week had gone by, she told herself she was out of luck and tossed it.  But ever since Pop had died, ten years ago, Nana seemed to have given up.  I never really knew Pop, me being only thirteen, but I knew Nana missed him so much it killed her inside.

            “Pa and I don’t think there is really anything to worry about, Nana.  The weather people never know what they’re talking about anyway,”  I said, unpacking the basket.

            “That’s ridiculous!  Your Pa and you aren’t weather people.  How is it you know so much about these damned tornados anyway?”  Nana snapped, pouring herself a wineglass of lemonade.

            “We’ve just been here for a while, I guess.  We aren’t 100% sure, of course, but we do know a little stirring of dirt can’t hurt a soul,”  I replied, setting a place setting before Nana.

            “Ah, hell!  You tell me that when I am safe in my cellar and you and your Pa are spinning around the inside of the goddamned whopper!”  Nana barked, taking a slice of sugared grapefruit for herself.

            “So what are you reading lately, Nana?”  I asked, diverting the conversation.

            “Reading?  I can’t read with these eyes.  Hell, I can barely see a red stoplight from a green one.  Reading, that’s a joke,”  Nana responded bitterly, chomping and chewing away at her slice of fruit.

            “Maybe you should get glasses, Nana,”  I suggested.

            “Jesus!  I am only seventy years old, I don’t need that yet!”

            “Ma and Pa have them,”  I said, cutting my brisket.

            “Aren’t you gonna warm the brisket up?”

            “Only if you want me to,”  I answered.

            “Well, I be damned!  Warming up meat?  What an audacity!”  Nana cried out sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

            “All right, all right.  Give me your plate,”  I said, taking Nana’s plate from her.

            “Well, how so goddamn kind of you,”  she snapped.  I walked to the microwave and put in Nana’s plate first when I heard a knock at the door.  The buzzing of the hit screen door vibrated the photos on the wall near the door.

            “Well who the hell could that be?”  Nana asked, pushing back her chair.

            “I’ll get it, Nana.  Sit down.”  I hurried to the door and opened it.

            “Tammy?”

            “Oh, hey Charles!”  I said, opening up the screen door.  Charles, a boy who went to my school and had the vocal lesson right after me, was holding a stock of postcard fliers.  Charles’ dad was standing at the head of the driveway, waiting for him.

            “What are you doing?”  I asked, peeking at the postcard fliers.

            “Oh!  I’m handing out scripture sayings from the Bible with my dad,”  Charles said, selecting the top paper and handing it to me.

            “I didn’t know you were Christian,”  I said, turning the laminated card in my hand.

            “Yeah, aren’t you?”  Charles asked.

            “No, I’m Jewish,”  I said.

            “Really?  Well, cool!  Oh, I got to go, Tammy.  See you tomorrow at school!”

            “See you in science!”  I called as Charles jogged down the steps and to his dad where they walked on to the next house.

            “What the hell?”  Nana asked, squinting her churlish eyes at me and the cardstock in my hand.

            “That was my friend from school, Charles.  He was handing out Christian papers, I guess,”  I said, flitting the piece of paper onto the dining table.

            “Are we gonna eat or what?”

            “Nana, I can’t reach this orange.  Can’t you just wait until it falls,”  I said, then mumbled under my breath, “like normal people.”

            “Well, how about this,”  Nana started, looking up from her picture magazine as she sat in her blue, plastic lounge chair, “when that goddamn orange falls from the tree and splatters all over my grass, you can come over and clean it all up with a toothbrush…or, you can reach your puny, T-Rex arms a little higher and pick the goddamn orange right now.”  Rolling my eyes, I stood on my tiptoes on the top step of the ladder and grabbed hold of the squishy orange that already had a dark purple spot on one side.  I yanked it from it’s branch and tossed it in the beige, wooden basket that lay next to my ladder on the ground.  The beige basket was already half full and the tree was not nearly half harvested.  I was going to have to empty the basket into Nana’s pantry and refill.

            As I picked and tossed and moved my ladder around, I thought about how Nana’s backyard used to look.  It had a running, silver fountain of a mermaid and fish on the far end of the yard where fresh, blooming flowers grew around it.  Nana even had a small tree orchard along the backside of the grounds where she had a healthy apple tree, lemon tree, orange tree and pear tree.  The only tree left standing alive was the orange tree.  She had a small outdoor kitchenette that she promised she would build upon once she learned to stand the cold.  She use to have long rows of basil and oregano and jicama and tomatoes next to the kitchenette and each crop had had a cute, handmade painted sign stuck in the dirt in front of the row.  Nana had even started painting her own mural on the back wall of a beach and vowed she would take Pop to see the real thing one day.

            I stopped harvesting for a moment to look at what the yard had become.  The fountain had stopped running and now was a rest stop for pigeons, all the flowers surrounding the fountains were dead to match the deceased fruit trees and vegetable crops.  The mural was half finished and looked like a dark blue asteroid about to explode.  Her handmade crop signs were broken into several pieces and her jicama sign just said, “jic.”

            “What are you gaping at?  Do the oranges look like they’re going to harvest themselves?”

            “Usually, that’s what they do,” I muttered and continued picking and tossing.

            “Damn,”  Nana muttered as she read her magazine, a few moments later.

            “What is it, Nana?”  I asked.

            “Nothing, none of your business,”  Nana snapped suddenly.  Obviously something in that magazine had struck her sensitive bone.  I climbed down from the rickety ladder and noticed Nana’s cheeks growing freckly red.

            “What do you think…you’re doing?”  Nana sniffled, trying to maintain her bark.

            “Just…moving the ladder,”  I lied as I watched her wipe a tear from her cheeks.  I kicked the beige basket full of oranges over a little and moved my ladder over a tad.  I looked back over to Nana who hadn’t seem to have turned the page yet.  I silently walked over to her and moved behind her to see what she was reading.

            “I’m not that stupid,”  Nana said, slamming the covers of the magazine together.  “You get back to your work, it’s the least you can do.”  She had obviously gotten her spunk back.

            “I’m going to get another magazine,”  Nana snapped, grunting as she pushed herself off of the plastic chair.

            “Do you want me to get you another one?”  I asked, hurrying to the back door and opening it.

            “Get back to your work!  I’m not as old and unable as all you idiots think,”  Nana snapped and shouldered me away.  I stumbled and went back to my work.

            When Nana came back she had her black sunglasses on and a new magazine.  This magazine was another picture magazine only and the heading on the cover read, Farm Livestock and Crop Edition!

            The rest of the day, I spent picking Nana’s orange tree and emptying and refilling the beige basket.  When evening reached, I climbed from the ladder, folded up the tool, and wiped the dirt off my hands.

            “Are you done?”  Nana asked me, almost decently.

            “Indeed.  I’ll just empty this basket, clean up lunch, and be on my way,”  I answered, wrenching the beige basket from the ground. 

            “Fine.  I’ll be in my room.  Feel free to take an orange or two,”  Nana called as she shambled back into the house with her magazine.  Nana leaned on the door frame as she took a step inside.  I emptied the last of the oranges into her storing fridge, grabbed two oranges, and went into the kitchen.  After I had cleaned up the picnic basket, I realized we hadn’t even set out the picnic blanket for fun.  Shrugging, I plopped the two oranges in the basket, and left.  I thought I might have heard a faint ‘thank you’ as I shut the door, but I thought about that every time I visited Nana, so by then it could have been just my imagination.

            At my home after dinner and dessert, I realized I had forgotten my ladder at Nana’s house.  It was around eight o’clock when I reached Nana’s street, Coriander Avenue.  I knocked on her screen door, but no one answered.  I called out for Nana, but still it was quiet.  I opened the screen door, since Nana always left it unlocked, and walked inside.  Since lunch, nothing looked touched.  The papers Nana had pushed on the floor for lunch were still lying on the ground and the table still had two open gaps of pure wooden table.  Maybe she was just getting ready for bed in her room.  I would just grab my ladder from the back and leave without actually having to interact with the woman.

            I opened the back door and stepped outside, but before I progressed toward my ladder, I saw Nana kneeling in front of her half painted mural, her head bent.  Just above her head, a magazine clipping of a sunset beach was crudely taped to the concrete wall.  I remained silent, simply staring at the taped photograph and at my praying Nana.  I didn’t want to interrupt her, but I didn’t want to startle her either when she turned around and saw me just standing there.  I tried to creep back inside, but the concrete stones next to her door were in my way and without me noticing, I tripped over them and sent them tumbling on top of each other, making an immense racket.  Nana whipped around and saw me there, trying to keep my balance.  I laughed a little to keep the encounter light.

            “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  Nana barked, putting one hand against the wall to aid her in her footing.  As Nana leaned against the wall to stand up, she tore down her sunset beach picture, ripping it straight down the middle.  Nana crumpled the fragile piece of paper and threw it to the ground.

            “Do you like to spy on me?  Huh?  Do you think it’s funny that you were just going to stand there until I turned around and scared the shit out of myself?  Is that what makes you laugh?” Nana yelled at me, towering towards me uneasily.  She had dirt caked on her kneecaps, and her curlers were letting loose and flapping against her neck with every stomping movement.

            “Nana, I was just getting my ladder,”  I tried to explain, backing away from her.

            “Well, god forbid you should wait until the goddamn morning to get your damn ladder!  What, is all hell going to break loose, if you and your precious family don’t have your straight-to-hell ladder by tonight?”  Nana was really shouting now and I was surprised that the neighbors weren’t peeping over the adjoining walls to see what was going on.  I was steadily backing away each time Nana came threateningly towards me.  I curved around her as I backed away, so I wouldn’t back into the house.  I tried to get myself near the side gate, finally in a position that would enable me to maneuver my way out of the backyard. 

            I was used to Nana yelling at me, she was a yell-y person, but it was definitely obvious she was getting worse with everyday I saw her.

Did you like my first chapter?  What did you think?  PLEASE tell me what you think!! It's a different style of writing, but I really like writing this way.  What kind of way do you like to write?  Thanks for reading and sticking through my changing of the goals!

ABC 123,

               Maddie