From Those We Love the Most
Part 3
"You're early." Sister Hazel stood in the door like an obstacle. Charlie could not see her over. Or behind her. Or under her.
"Hi." Charlie was not a boy you could ever harbor ill feelings towards. He had sandy hair and innocent blue eyes. Not all blue eyes are innocent. Think of the Nazis. However, his blue eyes were stained with the blood of millions.
"Come in." She stepped aside and watched him past. He smelled of youth, she realized, that aroma hitting her nostrils like sweat and freshwater.
Veronica would be next. But she didn't want to leave the confines of her older sister's Toyota.
"Veronica, just get out of the car." Anne curled her hair with her spare limber hand.
There were so many fears stacking themselves atop each other in her mind. She couldn't name them all. To name them all would have been impossible feat, like counting the grains of sand on a beach.
"Can I have a minute?" Veronica breathed. She was fifteen. Anne was nineteen and her brain was a catalog of boys and sales bargains.
"No. What am I, a clock? Get. Out."
Soon Veronica was on the sidewalk and counting the cracks in them. She sometimes made up games to play with the cracks in the sidewalk. Was that a sign of utter and complete, suffocating loneliness? When she was very little, she used to pretend the birds in the trees making out songs were her friends. She had names for all of them. Anne made fun of her about this, so naturally she stopped. But the sidewalk-crack-games helped pass some time. Every crack was a life and death decision she had to womp on over. Think Super Mario Brother's. And she had to fly.
Veronica was scared because she knew that Charlie liked her, and she didn't know what to do next. He had touched her knee last week and it left a burning sensation impressed against her jeans.
"I like you," he had confessed to her in a quiet voice. She locked herself in Sister Hazel's lavender-scented bathroom and cried afterwards.
There were a lot of cracks in that sidewalk.
"You're early." Sister Hazel stood in the door like an obstacle. Charlie could not see her over. Or behind her. Or under her.
"Hi." Charlie was not a boy you could ever harbor ill feelings towards. He had sandy hair and innocent blue eyes. Not all blue eyes are innocent. Think of the Nazis. However, his blue eyes were stained with the blood of millions.
"Come in." She stepped aside and watched him past. He smelled of youth, she realized, that aroma hitting her nostrils like sweat and freshwater.
Veronica would be next. But she didn't want to leave the confines of her older sister's Toyota.
"Veronica, just get out of the car." Anne curled her hair with her spare limber hand.
There were so many fears stacking themselves atop each other in her mind. She couldn't name them all. To name them all would have been impossible feat, like counting the grains of sand on a beach.
"Can I have a minute?" Veronica breathed. She was fifteen. Anne was nineteen and her brain was a catalog of boys and sales bargains.
"No. What am I, a clock? Get. Out."
Soon Veronica was on the sidewalk and counting the cracks in them. She sometimes made up games to play with the cracks in the sidewalk. Was that a sign of utter and complete, suffocating loneliness? When she was very little, she used to pretend the birds in the trees making out songs were her friends. She had names for all of them. Anne made fun of her about this, so naturally she stopped. But the sidewalk-crack-games helped pass some time. Every crack was a life and death decision she had to womp on over. Think Super Mario Brother's. And she had to fly.
Veronica was scared because she knew that Charlie liked her, and she didn't know what to do next. He had touched her knee last week and it left a burning sensation impressed against her jeans.
"I like you," he had confessed to her in a quiet voice. She locked herself in Sister Hazel's lavender-scented bathroom and cried afterwards.
There were a lot of cracks in that sidewalk.
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