Jewel
spirited
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Christine sat on her front porch, contemplating lunch. Peanut butter on wheat is a sound combination, but without the sweetness of grape or strawberry to distract you from the thickness and unpleasant sensation of peanutbutter and bread sticking to the roof of your mouth, was it really worth it? There was always honey, but oftentimes honey just didn’t do the trick, and you ended up focusing more on the bread. And was the peanutbutter crunchy? Christine remembered that she did not like crunchy peanutbutter, and especially not without jelly. Maybe she should become vegan. Then, whenever she was hungry, she could just eat nuts, and not have to worry about all of the trans-fat in cheesecake. But, she could still have peanutbutter and jelly, and whole wheat loafs, bringing her back to the original problem: should she make a sandwich, or should she continue to oogle at the new neighbors across the street?
Newcomers. Newcomers just in time for the start of the new school year. This probably meant that there’d be a new kid in their school, and Christine’s mother might encourage them to hang out. Pah! Christine didn’t want to hang out with some new chick from Chicago or Austin or New York. Or worse, what if she was from Georgia, or Florida? What if she and her family were a bunch of hicks? Christine didn’t think she could handle that. So, she stood, placing her hands on her knees and rising to her feet, and she swiveled around to face the porch door.
Sean was standing on the porch, Gameboy in one hand, glass of pink lemonade in the other. He was watching Christine with an expression of mild curiosity.
“Mom wants in the kitchen.”
Christine maneuvered around Sean and she slid past the screen door and into the house. It was late august, and the days were slowly becoming shorter and the ocean waters colder, and people were talking about school, and Christine’s mom was already bringing up graduation, and college, and her moving out. It felt so surreal, yet also, so far away and unreal. A juxtaposition of intense realness and total disassociation from the whole thing.
Christine’s mother was in the kitchen, which held the heavy scent of fresh baked sugar cookies and the sweet sickly smell of pink lemonade. Christine lingered in the doorway, waiting for her apron-adorned mother to turn and notice her.
“Honey,” Christine’s mother glanced at her over her shoulder, “Why don’t you and your brother walk these cookies across the street to the new neighbors?”
Christine groaned. Her mother came to her, holding a plate piled with sugary cookies and wrapped with a piece of clear foil. She ruffled Christine’s hair, and she kissed her daughter on the top of the head. “Go on,” She said, softly.
Christine turned to go, a sour expression spreading across her face when her back was to her mother. She didn’t understand why this was even a thing. Why did neighbors have to feign courtesy to each other? Why couldn’t they just ignore each other? Like in the city, where people avoided eye-contact with each other and kept their headphones in while they rode the subway.
“C’mon,” Christine said to her brother in passing, dropping down the porch steps one at a time. “Mom says you have to come with me.”
Sean didn’t protest- he didn’t even seem bothered- which irritated Christine even more. He was a sheep, that boy. Did whatever he was told. A pushover. Christine couldn’t stand pushovers.
They crossed the street, walked around the moving truck, and approached the front door, whereat Christine knocked, curtly.
BABY YK
code by gr00vy
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The Newcomer
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Christine sat on her front porch, contemplating lunch. Peanut butter on wheat is a sound combination, but without the sweetness of grape or strawberry to distract you from the thickness and unpleasant sensation of peanutbutter and bread sticking to the roof of your mouth, was it really worth it? There was always honey, but oftentimes honey just didn’t do the trick, and you ended up focusing more on the bread. And was the peanutbutter crunchy? Christine remembered that she did not like crunchy peanutbutter, and especially not without jelly. Maybe she should become vegan. Then, whenever she was hungry, she could just eat nuts, and not have to worry about all of the trans-fat in cheesecake. But, she could still have peanutbutter and jelly, and whole wheat loafs, bringing her back to the original problem: should she make a sandwich, or should she continue to oogle at the new neighbors across the street?
Newcomers. Newcomers just in time for the start of the new school year. This probably meant that there’d be a new kid in their school, and Christine’s mother might encourage them to hang out. Pah! Christine didn’t want to hang out with some new chick from Chicago or Austin or New York. Or worse, what if she was from Georgia, or Florida? What if she and her family were a bunch of hicks? Christine didn’t think she could handle that. So, she stood, placing her hands on her knees and rising to her feet, and she swiveled around to face the porch door.
Sean was standing on the porch, Gameboy in one hand, glass of pink lemonade in the other. He was watching Christine with an expression of mild curiosity.
“Mom wants in the kitchen.”
Christine maneuvered around Sean and she slid past the screen door and into the house. It was late august, and the days were slowly becoming shorter and the ocean waters colder, and people were talking about school, and Christine’s mom was already bringing up graduation, and college, and her moving out. It felt so surreal, yet also, so far away and unreal. A juxtaposition of intense realness and total disassociation from the whole thing.
Christine’s mother was in the kitchen, which held the heavy scent of fresh baked sugar cookies and the sweet sickly smell of pink lemonade. Christine lingered in the doorway, waiting for her apron-adorned mother to turn and notice her.
“Honey,” Christine’s mother glanced at her over her shoulder, “Why don’t you and your brother walk these cookies across the street to the new neighbors?”
Christine groaned. Her mother came to her, holding a plate piled with sugary cookies and wrapped with a piece of clear foil. She ruffled Christine’s hair, and she kissed her daughter on the top of the head. “Go on,” She said, softly.
Christine turned to go, a sour expression spreading across her face when her back was to her mother. She didn’t understand why this was even a thing. Why did neighbors have to feign courtesy to each other? Why couldn’t they just ignore each other? Like in the city, where people avoided eye-contact with each other and kept their headphones in while they rode the subway.
“C’mon,” Christine said to her brother in passing, dropping down the porch steps one at a time. “Mom says you have to come with me.”
Sean didn’t protest- he didn’t even seem bothered- which irritated Christine even more. He was a sheep, that boy. Did whatever he was told. A pushover. Christine couldn’t stand pushovers.
They crossed the street, walked around the moving truck, and approached the front door, whereat Christine knocked, curtly.
BABY YK
