The Railroad Tracks
A new story I started...please comment!
Last September.
Two days till my fourteenth birthday.
Sun shining yellow through the kitchen curtains.
Grandma says for me to clean my room because the Arthurs from church are coming over for supper. I pass Grandpa in the hallway. He doesn't even notice me. Just rushes on by and leaves behind the familiar scent of saurcraut. Grandpa has been busy lately with organizing the Halloween parade that marches in October.
Past the splintered bathroom door. The hallway window that looks down on Mr. Richard's lavender bushes. The radiator with white paint chipping off. Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom door propped open with a fan. Spinning cool air into the hall. Then, the door at the hallway's end. Mine.
Brass knob cool against my palm.
Turn.
Push.
I'm in. The only place on earth that is entirely mine. I shut the door behind me. Alone.
Away from Grandma and her talk of the Arthur family. Away from Grandpa and his scurrying about with thoughts of the Halloween parade. Away. Alone.
"Willow! Clean your room, Willow!" Grandma from the kitchen.
Last September.
Two days till my fourteenth birthday. A miller floating dead in Grandpa's coffee.
Shirley Arthur is saying that she's never seen a September as warm as this one. I watch her mouth as she talks. Lipstick on her teeth. Sauce on her bottom lip.
Grandma kicks my shin under the table and I look away from Shirley Arthur's mouth.
"The parade is just around that corner, you know," and Grandpa fills the evening with talk of Halloween.
Thomas Arthur.
Fifteen last month.
Chey calls him Red.
Thomas Arthur. Red hair. Red freckles. Red face when he's around Chey. He sits across the table with wide eyes glancing about. From his father to Grandma to Grandpa to his mother. They land on me and I'm staring straight at him. His face turns red and he shovels food into his mouth. Eyes flicking away from mine.
"Willow will be fourteen on Tuesday," Grandma says and I know she's tired of hearing about the parade. I smile as the Arthurs nod their heads at me and tell me how old I've gotten.
"Fourteen?" Shirley says,"Fourteen already. Where does time go? Thomas here turned fifteen in August. Big now, he is. Big now. Where does time go?"
Grandma smiles. Her face wrinkles up. I know she's wondering where time goes, too. She's wondering, as she dabs at her mouth with a napkin, where time went with her daughter. Where her daughter went with time.
Melissa Emerson.
Thirty four years old.
Daughter of Gregory and Marsha Love.
Mother of Willow Love Emerson.
Went missing September 19, seven years ago.
September.
Two days before my seventh birthday.
Two days till my fourteenth birthday.
Sun shining yellow through the kitchen curtains.
Grandma says for me to clean my room because the Arthurs from church are coming over for supper. I pass Grandpa in the hallway. He doesn't even notice me. Just rushes on by and leaves behind the familiar scent of saurcraut. Grandpa has been busy lately with organizing the Halloween parade that marches in October.
Past the splintered bathroom door. The hallway window that looks down on Mr. Richard's lavender bushes. The radiator with white paint chipping off. Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom door propped open with a fan. Spinning cool air into the hall. Then, the door at the hallway's end. Mine.
Brass knob cool against my palm.
Turn.
Push.
I'm in. The only place on earth that is entirely mine. I shut the door behind me. Alone.
Away from Grandma and her talk of the Arthur family. Away from Grandpa and his scurrying about with thoughts of the Halloween parade. Away. Alone.
"Willow! Clean your room, Willow!" Grandma from the kitchen.
Last September.
Two days till my fourteenth birthday. A miller floating dead in Grandpa's coffee.
Shirley Arthur is saying that she's never seen a September as warm as this one. I watch her mouth as she talks. Lipstick on her teeth. Sauce on her bottom lip.
Grandma kicks my shin under the table and I look away from Shirley Arthur's mouth.
"The parade is just around that corner, you know," and Grandpa fills the evening with talk of Halloween.
Thomas Arthur.
Fifteen last month.
Chey calls him Red.
Thomas Arthur. Red hair. Red freckles. Red face when he's around Chey. He sits across the table with wide eyes glancing about. From his father to Grandma to Grandpa to his mother. They land on me and I'm staring straight at him. His face turns red and he shovels food into his mouth. Eyes flicking away from mine.
"Willow will be fourteen on Tuesday," Grandma says and I know she's tired of hearing about the parade. I smile as the Arthurs nod their heads at me and tell me how old I've gotten.
"Fourteen?" Shirley says,"Fourteen already. Where does time go? Thomas here turned fifteen in August. Big now, he is. Big now. Where does time go?"
Grandma smiles. Her face wrinkles up. I know she's wondering where time goes, too. She's wondering, as she dabs at her mouth with a napkin, where time went with her daughter. Where her daughter went with time.
Melissa Emerson.
Thirty four years old.
Daughter of Gregory and Marsha Love.
Mother of Willow Love Emerson.
Went missing September 19, seven years ago.
September.
Two days before my seventh birthday.
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