Little Sister – by Emily Wright
A novel in the making excerpt.
This is an excerpt from a novel in the making.
The toe of my boot kicked free a loose stone. It tumbled and barrelled over the frozen gravel. A desperate flee to escape the cold and land anywhere but where it was.
November was such a lonely month, despite the rapid approach to 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. After I pushed my toque out of my eyes, I could even see the red stripe of the Pepsi logo. It swayed on the small hill ahead, but we had to hurry. Deb continued berating me, blaming me, but that was not why I ran clumsily 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 minor inconvenience for us to miss the bus. The school was just over the causeway, a mere three minute drive. However, the fury of our lateness ensued would unleash 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 couldn’t hurt. 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 Hughe’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 approached, I might have remembered my place. In my rush, I thoughtlessly climbed 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 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. Silver lining, the worst of my day was behind me.
It’s funny how memories bleed together like a smear of clouds in a bleak grey sky. Every day looked the same. Yet, this one sticks out. I walked that path almost every day, from September through to June. And the memory of one insignificant day overshadows the rest. Perhaps I blocked the rest out. Perhaps they were not remarkable enough to take up precious memory storage. Perhaps, the knicks they left on my memory were so deep that my recollection just jumps right over them.
It was sad. This is not the only gouge carved into my past. I don’t talk about my childhood. I quickly leap through those years when questioned, like a child skipping cracks in a sidewalk. This is done without much thought. I still move more briskly down these dark alleys to avoid getting tripped up by the serpents and demons that lurk within these gaps.
Now that I have my own children, I often reach back into my memories in hopes of offering them worthwhile lessons and anecdotes. Sometimes, I stumble upon one of these many cracks which I am now too big to fall into. The serpent and demon who live there no longer scare me. The loose stones I kick free as I fall are, however terrifying.
