Written with the prompts: book on the table, the dead refuse to talk, floating on a star, Mickey a good surgeon, morning routine, Natalie was bored with it all, only energy, silly like that, strawberries, went to see the orphan lambs, what normal looks like, Henry quite damp, two things a day, one big green eye, cruising, easy life, finger work, gray roadster, he lit up, little sister bit brother

The night my little sister bit my big brother, our cousin Natalie was babysitting.  I was eight years old and I idolized Natalie.  Natalie always fussed over me—you know when I was four and she was twelve.  But now that she was sixteen, I couldn’t seem to do anything right.  I wanted to show her all our new games and our new record albums, but Natalie was bored with it all.  She sat in the study, engrossed with her phone, ignoring us.  She completed ruined the morning routine my mother had laid out for her.  She couldn’t be bothered heating up the water in the tea kettle for the instant oatmeal packets that we were supposed to eat with brown sugar and strawberries.  She just pulled Dad’s Cheerios out of the cupboard and said, “Here.”  Then we were on our own.

The three of us weren’t sure what to do.  Tim headed off to the neighbors who were fostering orphan lambs.  I told him he shouldn’t go, but nobody ever did what I said.  I was livid of course because that was normal for me.  Admittedly though, I was not surprised.  I was just silly like that back then.

My baby sister GinGin was getting near to having a full set of teeth and she seemed to enjoy those Cheerios.  Crunchy, you know.  After that she was eager to run outside and eat herself some dandelions and nasturtiums in the field.  I tried to stop her, but nobody ever did what I told them to do.  I was livid about it of course, for reasons I already recounted.

Suddenly this blue-eyed boy pulled up in a gray roadster and parked in front of our concrete path.  He stepped out of the car and lit up some kind of hand-rolled cigarette.  He was the prettiest boy I think I’d ever seen with ash blonde hair—and oh, if he didn’t have one green eye and one blue!—yes, that’s right.  His eyes were two colors.  I found that very intriguing, maybe even sexy, though I didn’t know much about that back then.  Later I’d think these two colors were suspicious.  Why couldn’t he stick to one color, for crying out loud.  Two things a day, two colors.  It suggests disloyalty.

Natalie came rushing out and planted a kiss on his mouth then took his cigarette and began puffing it herself.  It was hers now, the boy and the joint.  I was quiet, thinking I should point out that GinGin was munching on flowers but not wanting to draw attention to myself, a little girl, no match for my cousin who had no interest in me.  Except she did finally glance my way, her face cloudy with smoke, her eyes piercing with her Cleopatra eyeliner.  “This here’s Henry,” she announced, and that introduction gave me permission to stare full on at the appealing Henry, who looked quite damp in the humid morning, and I weirdly wondered what it might be like to lick him.  

“Where’s Tim?” Natalie asked and I snapped back to reality.  

“Gone to the neighbors,” I said.

“Well,” Natalie informed me, “he’s missing out, cuz we’s all going cruising.”

She gave Henry the cigarette back, grabbed GinGin, and we all tumbled into the car.  Natalie put Gin in my lap and I sat in the back clutching her without benefit of car seat or seat belts.  This, I thought, is life, the way it’s supposed to be lived, an easy life, carefree without restraint.  All the rule books were left home on the table, we were floating on a star, the trees and sky rushing by so fast on the sides and overhead it was all a blur of color, scent, sensation.  This is energy.  I am energy, only energy.  For a quick moment I saw my grandparents flying above us, my dead Nana and Pops. I could feel them, but the dead refuse to talk.  That’s okay, it was enough to know they were there, they were protecting us.  I was aware of that.  Even when we stopped.  We had to stop because Natalie was vomiting from the smoke and the taste and the heady dizziness of the pot and the energy.  Then we went home.

Later that night just before Mom and Dad showed up GinGin bit Tim’s finger real hard and we ended up in the ER with some guy named Mickey the Good Surgeon.  I don’t think that was his real name, I don’t know.  But I guess he was an expert in finger work cuz he put the stitches in Tim’s finger.  Six stitches, they said, and I guess that was a big deal.

Whenever anyone mentions that summer day, that’s the story we tell, the one about GinGin’s new teeth that she tried out on Tim’s finger.  I never told anybody, but for me the important event of that day was the ride in the back seat of Henry’s car.  It was the first time I understood the energy, how it moves, and how it feels.  And that has made all the difference.

Photo by Fujiphilm on Unsplash