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I remember when I was a little eight-year-old girl. I remember that day, that very day that could make forgetfullness a blessing, a wonderful blessing.
I remember myself playing outside of my small house. My two little rag dolls looked quite splendid and jolly that evening and I wanted to let them have a nice outdoor tea party. Daddy was at work in the fields and mommy was taking care of the house. I thought my daddy was the richest man in the world, that just a touch of my girly cuteness could get him to make me whatever I wanted, whether it would be dolls, candy, or even a dog. Daddy was always wearing a dirty jacket, but I always thought of it as a luxury. It suited daddy so well, nothing could be more lavish.
Mommy was hanging laundry outside that day because she could hardly find any other time to. It rained quite often in the region I was living in and we didn't have a dryer like those on the tv commercials. The skies were always cloudy and the air was persistently cool and humid and thunderstorms came without warning, suddenly and swift. That whole week, however, the sky was clear and the air was warm and dry, and so she rejoiced. So did I; I hadn't had newly washed clothes in almost a three months.
My family's land was as flat as a prairie, and weeds grew everywhere, so grasshoppers and crickets liked to hide here. My mommy, while flapping one of my trousers, the one my younger brother wore three years ago, discovered a roach and threw the filthy vermin away to someplace elsewhere, far far away. I asked mommy where my brother was, but she wouldn't answer saying that I never had one. She would keep on attending to her housekeeping. Mommy was exceptionally good at cleaning. She was doing it all the time.
"Carrie, dear! It's time to come in," my mommy called out to me, coughing a little from the dry air.
"But mommy! Suzie and Laura don't want to."
"Honey, it will rain in almost an hour," mommy grumbled as she hauled the laundry in through the screen door.
"Mommy, no clean clothes tonight?"
"Oh, no, they're clean. I'll just let them dry inside the house today."
I didn't favor having my laundry dried in the house. It took a tremendous amount of time to accomplish that task. When mommy was cooking soup, there would be lots of steam rising out of the pot and so my clothes would get wet anyway. I frowned and picked up Laura in my hands, "It looks like I'll be my usual smelly self again when you share beds with me tonight."
Mommy came out again, "Carrie, your father needs to come in too. Go tell him," the sky rumbled some thunder and she looked up at the approaching clouds, "You can play with your dolls when we come inside."
She wiped her wet hands onto her apron. It was filthy and smeared with over five years of stains, as she told me proudly a few days ago. She was a very hard worker. Very. Hard. Worker. And I was proud of that.
Daddy came up behind me and ruffled up my short hair. It felt good to feel his strong hand and I laughed.
"How's my little pumpkin pie?" he said to me.
"Hi, daddy..."
"Let's go inside..."
"Okay," I said, grabbing onto his rough, worn out hands.
As we walked up to the door, I looked up at Daddy's face and said, "I love you daddy," and I put my head on his arm, grinning. Mommy waited at the doorway, turning away to get dinner ready. "You adorable little girl...," she said, playfully.
I lied in my bed that night, shivering. It was cold again, colder than ever before. I turned to my side and hugged Laura and Suzie tightly into my chest, "You two must be freezing."
I didn't hear the thunder, it must have passed over us, leaving us rainless, undersoaked. No wind, nothing could be heard other than the owl's hooting in the still, void night.
Around an hour later...
I stood outside, crying. Daddy ran into the house, "Stay right here. I'll come back with mommy."
I watched him disappear into the flames. I waited several minutes, but their return never became truth.
"What do you think they're doing?" I asked Laura and stroked her red yarn hair. Laura answered, "They're trying to stay warm. Thank you for turning on the stove on your own. You are a brave responsible girl. I'm sure daddy was very proud of you." My sobs accelerated and I tore Laura apart, scattering her remains into the winds of heat. I looked up at the fire that was now covering the whole house like a flame on a candle wick. I stepped back from the torch giant and I thought I saw mommy and daddy standing at the doorway. But, they vanished as quickly as they came. I attempted to focus more so that I could perhaps see them again, but my vision was limited to only the outline of my home.
I ran away that night, the raging flames chasing after me across the dry, balding land. I lost Suzie to the fire, but I continued to move.
A few years later, I found my parents. They were alive, in my uncle's photo album.
My tears fall onto that book, as I sit beside this lovely window, in my room at the top of an apartment located somewhere very, very far away from there: the happiness that could have extended for a few minutes longer...
A roach approaches my chair. I eye it and steadily raise my foot, crushing it with a swift movement.
Copyright 2008 August Blackwood
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