Little Sister – by Emily Wright
A novel in the making excerpt.
A loose stone was kicked free by the toe of my boot. It tumbled and barrelled over the frozen gravel. It skipped and jumped as if escaping the cold, desperate to land any place but from where it was dislodged.
November was such a lonely month, despite the rapid approach of my birthday. It was like being born in the dark. The trapped sky ached for the sun as it dragged heavy clouds that threatened snow across the vast desolate space. A soaring blackbird cut through my line of sight with an ominous cry. Snow would be a welcome change after the recent days of endless rain.
“Ashley!”
The sound of my name hurt my ears. Her bark snapped through the crisp morning air as if it had gone unanswered several times, but I knew better. That was just how Deb spoke my name, with an urgent exasperation reserved only for her little sister. I hadn’t realized that I had stopped to admire the anxious gloom from above until her screech caused my spine to flinch as if poked with an icy finger. The thick wool of my mitts scratched when I used it to rub at my raw nose. Deb stomped back towards me and tugged me along by the sleeve of my jacket at the elbow. I hated those morning walks to the bus, even more than I hated school. At least, whilst at school, I was free of my sisters.
“Come on! Let’s go! God, you are so braindead.” Chapped lips snarled around unmoving teeth.
As I wiped at my dripping nose again, I saw a flash of yellow between the two enormous blue spruce trees that skirted the property line. It was the school bus. I twisted out of Deb’s hold and quickened my pace. The bus still needed to run the length of the fence before it rounded the corner and stopped at the stop sign. The meeting place was at the phone booth beneath the huge hanging Pepsi sign. It creaked in the wind which I could hear. Once I pushed my toque up out of my eyes, I could even see the old Pepsi ball perched on the small hill just ahead. It was only a minute away but we had to hurry. Deb continued berating me, blaming me, but that was not why I began to clumsily run in my hand-me-down still too-big boots. Avoiding the cuss-out from my father was incentive enough to ignore the sting of frozen air in my chest and the burn in my legs from running as if weighed down by cement.
It was never a small inconvenience for us to miss the bus, although the school was just over the causeway. The fury our lateness ensued was one that unleashed a barrage of insults and inevitable one liner life lessons. His lectures were in harsh tones, full of put downs that did nothing but crush one’s spirit. The walk across the near frozen lake would be worth the risk if it meant we could avoid our father driving us to school. From behind the grill at the restaurant, beyond the breakfast rush, Hugh had a clear eye shot of the phone booth, the Pepsi sign, and the school bus that failed to stop for his two lazy girls who thought time waited for them.
Deep down I knew that the bus driver wouldn’t just drive away, especially when she could see the Watt’s girls on route. A dramatic display of running helped too. The effort alone would show we were trying to hurry and we could stay in Mrs. Darling’s bus driver’s good books. Not to mention running past the restaurant would not go unnoticed by Huge’s watchful gaze either.
By the time I reached the bus my cheeks were as red as my nose. If the door hadn’t folded open as soon as I got there I might have remembered my place. In my haste to get there, I forgot to think and began to climb the bus steps. When I fell back, I landed hard and felt my lunch crunch beneath my weight. Yep, my Thermos digging into my back would surely leave a mark. Stupid, stupid Ashley. Deb always got on the bus first. The bus driver’s eyes followed my older sister to the back of the bus before they dropped to me. The smile she offered was weak, as if she pitied my foolishness. When would I learn? As always, the only available seat was beside Mrs. Darling’s toddler strapped into his car seat in the front row. At least the worst part of my day was over.
It’s funny how memories bleed together like a smear of clouds in a bleak grey sky. Every day looked the same, yet only one sticks out. A path I walked almost everyday from September through to June and a single memory of one not so significant day stands in the place of many. Perhaps, I blocked them out. Perhaps, they were not remarkable enough to take up precious memory storage. Perhaps the marks they left on my memory were so deep my recollection just jumps right over the narrow dark gouge left in my childhood.
It was sad, this gouge is not the only one. I don’t talk about my childhood. When asked, I skip through it like a child avoiding cracks in a sidewalk. This is done without much thought or consideration although, I still move more briskly down these dark alleys as a way not to get tripped up by the serpents and demons that lurk within.
Now that I have my own children, I often reach back into my memories in hopes to offer them worthwhile lessons and antidotes. Sometimes I stumble upon one of these many cracks which I am now too big to fall into. With age, the serpent and demon who reside there are not as scary as they seemed long ago.
