A quote: “Now it seems to me, some fine things have been laid upon your table. But you only want the ones that you can’t get.” lyric from Desperado, Eagles
I’ll start with a story …
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I met 7 year-old Susie right on these stairs last year when she and her mother moved into 2C. I’m 1A, an early riser with a small-bladdered dog.
The chatterbox adopted us.
Susie is the bellwether of life in 2C. When daddy stays, there’s a new lunchbox or shoes and her eyes sparkle. When he’s gone, her socks are mismatched, and her hair unbrushed.
Today there are dark circles under those eyes. Her lower lip trembles.
“I can’t wake mama and she’s so cold! I got the extra blanket and let myself out.”
I tremble, too, as I dial 911.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image cropped Adobe stock standard license.
dribbl3r says: I was in trouble. Grandmother’s screened-in porch was at the top of a curved stairway. Along with this enchantment were the light switches. One button switched the lights on. Another button switched them off. Despite warnings, I switched them back and forth throughout the day. I also raced up and down the steps. I had claimed the screened-in porch as MY haven. No little siblings allowed. My paper dolls were my company; I wanted them intact. I guess I pushed that light button one too many times. I was grounded. Serving my time on the stairs was a small consolation.
Fletch says: I was doing hard time on the stairs – the long stretch – six minutes for being six years old. My brother had already served his time – three minutes. Three minutes – ha, that was nothing. No, it was six big ones for me. You know, it’s the time that gets to you. Just sitting there watching life go by.
My prison mate, stuffy bunny, was with me. He wasn’t handling it well. He’d already collapsed – the hard time getting to him. I had to be strong for both of us.
Y’up, two minutes to go – hope I can make it.
Navig8r says: Some of my peers tease me because I do not share their molded plastic good looks. I pity them. I am blessed in ways they could only try to imagine. I am unique in ways their mass produced selves could never be. I have a family, and my family is in me. Grandma sewed me by hand in pure love. My hair is yarn from her knitting basket. My face was Mommy’s blouse, my eyes, buttons from Daddy’s shirt. My body was Big Sister’s skirt, and my cap Big Brother’s sock. I am loved beyond words by Little Sister. Forever.
Cameron says: She can hear the arguments from the steps.
“It’s just easier to put her in a foster home.”
“Easier for you that is.”
“What of it? She’s not my child-”
“She’s your granddaughter. And I made up my mind.”
“You’re too young. And this-”
“You were younger than me when you had dad.”
“I’m not going to help you with this.”
“Then this discussion is over.”
The door slams shut and she looks at him with haunted eyes. But the anger is not directed at her. He just smiles and holds out his hand.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s go home.”
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