Excellent A full-circle story of sisters. Time Traveling in Pink Chenille by jackiesmuse This is a short story (contest entry) NOT part of a novel or other larger work.

Category:  General Fiction   Posted:  July 26, 2006      Views: 197

JACKIESMUSE  IN PRINT   ABOUT JACKIESMUSE  Jackiesmuse is a published writer, playwright, and composer. She co-wrote, designed and edited a history book, which is used as a supplemental text in colleges and universities. Jackie represented the United States in Sydney, Australia, where she sang her original songs in concert at the Sydney Domain. Her songs have won recognition in song competitions, and have received radio air play. Jackie's music is also used in video presentations, and can be found in libraries throughout the USA. Her stage plays have won recognition, and have been produced across the USA. Her one act play, Gray Lady's Angel Baby was chosen by the Dramatists Guild of America for a June, 2009 staged reading. TickTock, was chosen by the Guild for a June, 2008 staged reading. Her short play,'Freedom's Last Breath', was also chosen by the Guild for a June, 2007 staged reading. Jackie's play, 'One Flew into the Cuckoo's Nest', has won contest recognition. Her ten-minute play,'Brother Can You Spare Me?' was used by a high school for its state drama competitions in 2005 and 2006, as was her short play, 'The Nest', which was entered in 2007. She directed her short play, 'Gray Lady's Angel Baby' in a university setting (ASU West) in 2001, and was chosen (Fall, 2007-Phoenix College production) as musical director for the Readers Theatre play, "Memorial" by Charles Laborde. Jackie's non-fiction has been published in various publications. Her short story, 'Time Traveling in Pink Chenille' was chosen for inclusion in a national magazine. One of Jackie's musical dramas (Rocket City!) has enjoyed productions in Illinois, Texas and Arizona, and is under consideration for a Broadway staged reading in the near future. Other books by jackiesmuse coming soon... She has won several contests. The contest submission The Beldons, Alone Again was the first place winner in the contest Flash Fiction. Madam Kuro was the first place winner in the contest Strong Character. Freedom's Last Breath was the first place winner in the contest Strong Character. Portfolio | Become A Fan I make my morning trip to the kitchen, shuffling through the hallway in my Dr. Scholl's sandals, granny glasses perched on the end of my nose. I am wrapped in a salmon-pink chenille bathrobe, the final hand-me-down from my older sister. The floor-length robe (with the torn belt loop she never got a chance to repair) drags across the Berber carpet-following me into the kitchen like a bridal train. After filling my favorite mug with cinnamon-laced coffee and adding a splash of skim milk, I settle in at the kitchen table, my chenille cocoon enfolding me. I set the timer and fire up my laptop; the next forty-five minutes will be spent time-traveling, wrapped in Sharon's robe, the conduit to my memories. My destination this morning will be the last Sunday in August, 1954, in McCormick Woods, Lyons, Illinois. McCormick Woods is a lot of fun. There's a big picnic grove and woods; the Des Plaines River runs right through the woods. Lewis and Clark used to paddle down the river a long time ago. I don't know when. I wasn't really listening when Mrs. Stupka told us last year. Maybe I'll listen now that I'll be starting fifth grade. Anyway, we have picnics here every Sunday with our friends from Chicago. The picnic grove is really crowded today, 'cause this is the last Sunday before school starts. Boo Hiss! Aunt Sonia and Uncle Chick, and their daughters, June and Janie, pulled into the parking lot in their new Desoto about ten minutes ago. I don't think we're really related to each other, so June (the oldest) and Janie (the youngest, like me) aren't my real cousins. Boo Hiss! We're just really good friends and do everything together. Ya Hoody! My dad and Uncle Chick are busy setting up the barbecue grill; Mom and Aunt Sonia are covering the picnic table with a red and white checked table cloth so someone else can't call "dibs!" Sharon and June (they're the same age and buddies) are helping Mom and Aunt Sonia get our table ready for lunch. Janie and I are busy fidgeting. My dad says we have ants in our pants. "Aunt Sonia and I will get the rest," Mom ruffles my sister's hair. "Now, I want you girls back in one hour. Is that clear?" June, Janie and I nod our heads all at the same time. Sharon says, "I'm wearing my watch. I can be the one that keeps track, Mom." She is the biggest brownnoser ever. "Sharon's in charge," Mom says. "And, remember what your father said about not going near the river, Jackie." Mom stares me straight in the eye. I look down at my new white sneakers and make sure my laces are still tied. Without looking up, I can tell her eyes have moved on. "Well, girls, I guess you're on your honor. One hour, no river. Have fun," she says, and waves us off. Aunt Sonia says, "Have fun. Be good," then adds, "Remember Janie, Sonia June, no river." With that, Janie and I shake our heads like crazy and tear across the picnic grove, dodging people as we go. June and Sharon follow. We race across the grassy field that separates the picnic area from the woods. Janie and I are neck and neck. With one final burst of speed, I take the lead, pigtails flying. I look back at my best friend and stick out my tongue. She returns the gesture. Boy, I like that girl. June is about ten feet behind Janie. Actually her name is Sonia June, after her mother, but she hates that name. We only use it when grownups are around. Sharon is bringing up the rear, about twenty feet behind June. Sharon and June are both going on eleven. Janie is eight and a half, and I will turn nine in November. I'm small for my age; at least that's what Dr. Hahn says. I don't mind because my dad says I'm all legs and built for running. I love to run. And, I love to win. My sister is older, but I am faster! I'm still in the lead when we reach the tree line that borders the picnic grove. Sharon makes us stop so she can catch her breath. I say, "Come on, don't be an old fuddy-duddy," but I stop. My heart is hammering out of my tee shirt, not that I'll admit that to her. I can smell the river. My dad's warning runs through my head. "Now you girls must promise not to go near the river. Is that understood?"  I play back our reply. "Yes." And, then I remember his, "Cross your hearts?" "And hope to die," we all said, but I crossed my fingers. I think Janie did, too. Sharon chooses one of the paths that weaves through the woods, as she announces, "We will walk, not run. Everyone will stay close behind me." My sister likes to take charge; I don't mind it that much, except when she tries to act like a grownup and boss me around in front of other kids-like right now! The path she picks is way too easy to follow, with no fallen branches, boulders, or boogie men. I am bored already. I look back at Janie and she looks bored, too. We pull out weed stalks to chew on as we walk. McCormick Woods is full of poison ivy, so I am really careful as I reach into the underbrush to choose just the right stalk. I don't want to spend the next two weeks dabbing Calamine lotion on my arms and hands, like last year. Our mighty leader is slower than a snail. Everyone is bumping into each other as we walk. I trip on a big old root that is sticking out of the trail, and jam my right toe. I let out a yelp. Sharon glances back and says, "Walk much?" I am too hot and sticky to zap her back. Wisps of hair that have worked their way out of my pigtails are sticking to my face. Mosquitoes are all over the place, dive-bombing. They attack and gas-up as we inch along! "Can't you go any faster?" I yell up to Sharon as I swat at mosquitoes. "We're gonna get eaten alive!" She ignores me. Truth is, she probably can't go any faster. She has two speeds, slow and slower. "Sharon is overweight for an eleven year old", Dr. Hahn said to my mom when we went for our checkups last week. I think he should've waited 'til he and my mom were alone, so my sister couldn't hear him. It just makes her eat more candy. My blue jeans are too big around the waist, and I hike them up as we walk. I am skinny. Dad calls me beanpole. I never stand still, not if I can help it. My stupid white anklets have slid down into my sneakers and I have to stop to pull them up. My hands are dirty, so now my socks are dirty. My mom will kill me. If I were running I wouldn't be noticing any of these things. There's way too much time to think when you're going slow. I'll bet all Sharon does is think about things! We get to a fork in the road. The river is off to the left, minutes away. I can hear it. Sharon takes the right fork without as much as a look-see to the left. For me, this is the last straw; not even a look-see! Throwing down my weed stalk, I take off running down the left fork, headed for the river. Janie follows. Sharon starts screaming her fool head off, "JACKIE, YOU COME BACK HERE. YOU PROMISED DAD." "I CROSSED MY FINGERS," I yell back at her, barreling down the left fork, with Janie at my heels. Courageously, June has now joined us. She has never crossed Sharon before. My sister can hurt you big time if you cross her. I look back and call out, "Way to go, Junie!" I see Sharon standing at the crossroads. With her forehead all wrinkled up, her feet wide apart, and her hands on her hips, she looks like a parent. I want to crawl under the nearest rock. Doesn't she know how stupid she looks? She yells, "MOM LEFT ME IN CHARGE," as she stabs at her wrist. "I'M THE ONE WITH THE WATCH." I yell back, "IF IT'S RUNNING, YOU BETTER CATCH IT." June and Janie and I reach the riverbank and climb up on a big, cool rock to rest. I am grubby and sweaty. My shoes are destroyed; they are covered with grass stains and dirt splotches. The right one has a hole near the toe, where I jammed it. My mom is gonna kill me when she sees my socks, and what's left of my new sneakers. As if reading my mind, Janie says, "Boy, your mom's gonna kill you. Look at your shoes." June says, "We're all gonna get killed, for going to the river." I say, "Not if we don't get caught," as I look out over the smelly old river. In class last year, Mrs. Stupka said the Indians used to paddle their canoes down the DesPlaines River in the old days. She said it was crystal clear when Louis and Clark traveled down it. Now it is all gooey and green. Horrible monsters are lying in wait, just under the slimy surface. It is so exciting--almost worth it, if we do get caught. Our tree, Janie's and mine, is right next to the rock we are sitting on. This big old oak tree leans way out into the river as it hangs onto the riverbank for dear life. Dad says it's older than dirt. I slide off the rock, and skip over to our tree. I see the initials Janie and I carved in it with our Brownie Scout knives last summer, when no one was looking. Its huge branches, like arms, reach out to welcome me. Its fingers beckon, "Come climb." I climb up onto the trunk; Janie is right behind me, then June. Glancing back, I see that Sharon has decided to join us at the river. She is standing on the bank, next to the stupid rock. Her arms are folded, and her face is all scrunched up like she's sucking on a lemon drop, which she just might be. Boy, she looks stupid. She always looks stupid! The air is hot and still. I wish I could take off my tee shirt. My jeans bind my legs as I climb further out onto the trunk, further out over the river. The bark is rough and knobby and cuts into my hands. I hear Janie groan as she tries to keep up with me. June is lagging way back. Sharon is standing on the bank screaming her brains out. "I'M GOING TO TELL DAD." "SO TELL," I yell back. She is such a pain. "WHAT IF YOU FALL IN AND DROWN? WHAT WILL I TELL MOM?" "TELL HER I DROWNED." "WE ONLY HAVE TEN MINUTES BEFORE WE HAVE TO START BACK," Sharon yells as she stabs at her wrist again. I tune her out. I tune out everything except the river, my arms wrapped around the fat branch as I look down... ...into the clear blue water. I am the Indian Scout, Matumbua. The White Men call me Lightning Bear. On the farthest limb of my friend, the oak, I can see up and down the river. I look upstream for approaching canoes. I am ever so quiet. The Calvary lieutenant is about ten feet back with one of his men. General Makenoise is standing on the bank, barking commands. He is too loud; the enemy will hear us. I cannot say anything, I cannot silence him; I must let him bellow like a wounded bear. They are White Men; they are winning. I see four canoes upstream. Braves in war paint, at least six in each canoe, paddle downstream; their sleek wooden paddles slice silently through the clear blue water. They are armed with bows and quivers of arrows. One warrior cocks his head and looks our way. He has heard General Makenoise. I flatten myself against the trunk, the rough bark biting into my naked legs and chest. I motion to the others to do the same, but it is too late. The Iroquois brave in the lead canoe points in our direction. Now the entire war party sees us. Swift and silent arrows fly our way. We back off the trunk as quickly as we can, while the enemy paddles toward shore. The general has fallen silent. War whoops fill the air, as the braves pull their canoes onto the riverbank. There are too many of them to fight off, so we take off running down the trail. I am in the lead, my moccasins silent on the earthen path. General Makenoise brings up the rear. We burst out of the woods and race toward the field. The war whoops have faded into the distance. We have outrun them. The officer's tent is in sight. One last burst of speed, pigtails slapping my cheeks, I reach the campsite first. Janie is next, then June, then Sharon. We run past the picnic table. Mom is putting out the potato salad. "Well girls, you are right on time. Go wash up for lunch," she says, as Aunt Sonia hands June--Sonia June--a bar of soap and a white terry towel. We run in the direction of the pump. We pass the barbecue grill where my dad and Uncle Chick are cooking hotdogs and burgers; charcoal perfume floats up from the grill. The four of us stop to watch the ritual while we catch our breaths. My dad, barbecue fork in hand, looks our way and says, " You girls have fun? Sounds like you've been doing some running." Then he asks the one question we don't want him to ask, "Where have you been?" We stand downwind from the grill, panting. No one says a word. He looks my way. "Jackie?" I pretend to have smoke in my eyes, and busy myself rubbing them. "Sharon?" he asks. Without moving their heads, Janie and June slide their eyes in my direction. I sneak a sideways glance in Sharon's direction and hold my breath. It is in her hands. It always is.  The 'ding' of the timer brings me back to the present. The computer screen is a blur. I take off my granny glasses and run the knuckle of my right index finger under each eye. Pulling Sharon's robe around me, I search for a hint of her perfume lingering in the fabric as I nuzzle my nose into the shawl collar. Sharon is gone; that fact hasn't changed. Certain things between us remain unresolved; that fact hasn't changed. But, I realize, now it is in my hands.  Recognized Share your own writing! - Information on our membership for writers. Pays one point and 2 member cents.

© Copyright 2010 jackiesmuse All rights reserved. jackiesmuse has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.