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"Under Construction", a Fiction Work by Shygal8414
Copyright © 2001, Age 16
I was never one to tell how I felt. In fifth grade, a kid who hated me ever since I accidentally killed his prize-winning frog, beat the #%!# out of me. I didn’t cry, just walked home bleeding.
It was two weeks later, after that event, that my life changed drastically. Our family, if you could call it that, was poor. Not poor like one pair of jeans and a real supper once a week, but poor enough to be the laughing stock of Appleby Elementary. My sister and I were constantly being beat up and made fun of. I guess it was because our father could never keep a job. Or maybe it was the fact that we had no mother. It could have even been that we were adopted.
I used to think about it a lot. I’d skip school and go sit under the huge maple tree in Shadyside Park. I spent many days there, thinking. Thinking how my life would be if all the things that were supposedly wrong with my life was right. If my father had married, and had us with his wife instead of adopting us with no spouse to speak of. If we weren’t poor and our father had a job with the local factory, like almost every kid’s fathers did. Basically, if we were normal. But that wasn’t a possibility for Luanne and me. And it never would be.
Chapter One – The Old Farmhouse
The house we resided in was really an old farmhouse, once owned by some ambitious Quakers who never quite made it at farming. A one story ranch, the white paint was chipping and peeling, the wood siding rotting and splintery in some places. The front steps sagged, one was even missing. The windows were usually caked with dust and grime, until Pop made us clean them in the spring. The windowpanes were split and cracked. They barely held those old windows in. Once you stepped in through our creaky door ( there was no doorknob), you found yourself directly in the living room, which Pop had transformed into his workshop.
Tools lay scattered about, and old magazines and How-To pamphlets littered the graying carpet. Grease stains were a common sight in our house, often Pop would bring some old carburetor or some such thing home to tinker on. We always had a semi-working radio or television around. It wasn’t easy to get bored. Especially with the large, wilting barn in our backyard.
The barn was a basis for memories when I reflect back on my childhood. Almost everything of importance happened there. That was where I fell and got my first broken arm. It was the site where a stray cat we dubbed Oreo had a litter of kittens. Luanne and I had even used it as a sort of animal hospital. Up until we moved, we had nursed Oreo, a robin or two, a family of squirrels caught in old soda rings, and the most amazing and heart-wrenching, a baby doe. That sweet little doe will forever stick out in my mind. After several weeks of TLC, she finally passed away. Luanne cried for days, and once again I skipped school to sit under the maple, and to question the reasoning of death.
Anyway, the acres of grass surrounding our house grew to enormous heights one summer. We had no lawn mower to cut or trim it, so for several years it stayed several feet high. It was great for Cops and Robbers and Cowboys and Indians. You had to watch out for snakes though, they always were discovered by surprise.
Our yard stretched past the house and the barn until a couple of walking minutes later you came upon a small brook. Cool in the summer and somewhat warmer in the winter, it was considered our ideal play place. Not too rocky or shallow, clear and unpolluted, it was never deserted during the summer. After finding an old rope in the dump, I gladly attached it to a nearby tree. The rope swing was used for many years, and if I’m not mistaken is still hanging…rotting and decayed on that dear old tree by the stream.
If you went two more miles following the brook, you came upon a rusty old gate, which we believe was once a dark red color but is now a chipped and rusty orangish pallor. This gate led to a paradise, literally. Immediately following the gate was a dirt road that went about 50 yards or so until you came upon a sort of natural dirt terrace covered with exotic plants and bushes. Hanging vines hung down from the trees and created a haven-like canopy. Luanne and I would sit there for hours, talking about nothing in particular or just listening to the beautiful sound of the chattering animals. It was another favorite childhood place of ours and we often referred to it as the Garden of Eden.
On long hot summer days we followed the same, wonderful routine. Wake up early, pull on a T-shirt and grubby pair of shorts, run into the barn for a couple of quick jumps down into the hay, scramble to the brook for a refreshing cool swim and then jog to the Garden. There we would sit until we heard the rumble of our father’s ’55 Ford pickup rumbling along the rocky road a mile west from the garden. This was our signal to hightail our butts home, or else.
Pop was never a mean person, only strict. He never so much as touched a hair on our heads but he could give you the impression that he could if you misbehaved. Being a six foot ex-football player and wrestler, this was an easy feat for him to accomplish. Pop had fair sandy blond hair, rippling muscles and an everlasting tan. The summer all our lives changed, I remember several new streaks of gray peeking through. But by taking just one look into his deep green eyes proved that only his hair was changing.
Luanne used to wish for green eyes. She prayed for them every night and during every meal. She said not only were they pretty, but we would look more like Pop. She never did get them though. God knows she sure did pray hard for them. I used to try and bargain with God... "Give Luanne green eyes and I swear I will do all my chores." That never worked. Some point along time we gave up.
Describing my childhood used to bring tears to my eyes and an ache to my heart. It was fine until that one event happened that would rip our lives apart, and ruin any chance we had left of becoming normal.
Chapter Two – The Way We Were
It was on a cold gray day thirteen days after the fight, that the shiny red pickup truck halted to a stop on the muddy patch of grass in front of our house. I was staring out the window, watching rain spatter across the window in shiny rivulets. No one ever came to our house, except for the landlord, who owned an old brown junker. When he came, Luanne and I would run out of the house, to the river. He always yelled. We hated watching Pop transform into a red-faced, cussing, and uncontrollable monster. Those times were the only times he turned into someone we hated.
But this time, it wasn’t the horrible landlord. My eyes widened as the apple red doors opened to reveal two official looking people with light gray suits and black leather briefcases. I gasped as they walked unsteadily along the cobblestones that paved a "path" to our rickety steps. Why were these people here? Had Pop done something illegal? I ran to the back and grabbed Luanne by the shoulders.
"Ow Tommy!" she cried, wincing in pain. She dropped her Sally-doll as I continued to grip her arm.
"Sorry!" I gasped, dragging her down the hall and out the back door. My mind flashed terrifying scenes I had glimpsed on television. Pod people from outer space. Horrible agents from the government coming to carry away innocent people for experiments. "Run!" I cried, releasing her shoulder and reaching for her tiny hand. She stopped, giving me a confused stare. She turned around to look at the house, searching for answers. "Is the bad-man here?" she questioned stubbornly. She put her hands on her hips, knowing the answer. She had not heard the clambering bumps and crashes the brown junker made when it rolled into the yard, nor the bang of the two-hinged screen door as he drunkenly swaggered inside.
"No," I replied impatiently, pausing. Caught off balance, I swayed and toppled over into a patch of mud.
"Oh Tommy!" she cried, helping me up. Forgetting about the uniformed people, I smiled slyly and gripped her hand. I pulled her in and she came tumbling down into the mud. She landed with a splat and loud squelch. We both giggled. Turning around, Luanne started to get up. Instead of stepping out of the puddle, she grabbed a handful of mud and rubbed it into my face.
I cried out in surprise, but not before scooping up a pile of mud.
"You got me sis," I said, lowering my head in mock defeat. We both stood up and I rushed forward, knocking her over again and rubbing the mud into her hair. She giggled and reached up to assess the damage. Her eyes widened in surprise and she reached for another glob of mud. Before she could aim and fire, our father’s deep baritone voice echoed across the yard and vibrated against the trees behind the barn. "Luanne! Tommy!" My heart quickened and tightened.
Taking her muddy hand, I led Luanne home. By the time we reached the back door, the mud in our hair was dry and falling out in clumps. We looked like warriors camouflaged for a hunting trip. We slipped off our muddy sandals and tried to shake as much mud off our bodies as possible. Luanne pointed and stifled a laugh with her hand.
"You look like a dog To-" "Shh!" I said sternly and pulled her through the door. Glaring, she allowed me to lead her down the hall towards the living room. Our father was seated on the old beat up velvet chaise long ago acquired from a junk sale, looking weary and defeated. He was rubbing his temples and tapping his feet absentmindedly.
The gray suits just stood there importantly, each holding a briefcase in the left hand, the right leg crossed over left.
Wearily Pop lifted his head and looked at us.
"Luanne, Tommy, come here," he said, motioning vaguely to a spot near his chair.
Dazed, we silently stumbled over to where he sat. Luanne looked into my eyes, scared and trembling. I just shook my head, I had no idea what was going on. I had a notion that I didn’t want to know.
"We, we have to..." Pop started. He shoulders started shivering, like when he tried to start the truck and the engine wouldn’t turn. We just stood there, waiting. "Leave," he finished finally. He looked up at us, his face streaked with tiny tears. They looked like the rain on the windows I had been watching earlier. Only it now seemed like hours ago.
Luanne’s innocent face bore a smile. "Is that it Poppa, a vacation?" she asked and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. "No honey, we have to leave this house…forever," he choked. Putting his hands over his eyes, he stood up. Finally he regained his composure and took Luanne up in his arms. He glanced at me. "Tommy, please go get your clothes, some of Annie’s things, ok?" I couldn’t move, I was frozen. Leave this house? The barn? The Garden of Eden? Never! I would never leave. "Tommy!" Pop said sharply. I nodded numbly and started to shuffle towards the hallway. I was overwhelmed. I had grown up in this house, eleven whole years. Never again would I cool my feet in the calm flowing brook or sit for hours with my sister in the Garden contemplating ideas. The barn where we had spent numerous hours would never carry the echoes of our whoops and laughter as we jumped from the loft down into the awaiting pile of hay. Memories of past years washed over me and it was too much. Sobbing, I hardly noticed as I piled clothes and toys into our old battered suitcases.
Emotions were something I could no longer hold back. The old ways were dead, swept away...to make way for the new.
Chapter Three – The Hotel and Search for Jobs
After the men had left, taking our lives with them, all was silent. Pop took all of his tools and shoved them into a dark blue canvas bag and threw it into the back of the truck. "Don’t take what you don’t need," he said harshly, throat sore with emotion. Luanne turned to me, her big blue eyes filled to the brim with fresh tears. Her face was blotched. Even though she had only lived there for eight years, she knew the meaning of leaving all she knew and loved. She had been adopted by Pop when she was one, her parents were killed in a car crash the night before her second birthday. Weeks after she came to live with us, she cried out for her mommy and daddy in her sleep. The heart wrenching cries came back to me, bringing a fresh batch a tears which I tried to hold back.
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