If We'd All

Home

It's a hot afternoon, I estimate about 90°. A yellow sundress moves around my knees as I stride across the field now, out of of the woods. I curtsy at the sunflowers that are feet taller than I. Who knows? They could possibly have feelings. After all, they are living things, and living things enjoy being treated with politeness.

"How do you do, Cay?" I fancied they said.

There is something pleasant about talking to inanimate objects. I won't take away that pleasure just because the others think it's strange.

I cut through the tall yellow-green grass of the field that marked the almost-there point to home. I skipped and danced and laughed and sang when the birds put out a melody they knew by heart, and I joined in whistling.

At last the yellow grass faded and I stepped through the last of it to make my way. My feet pit-pit-pattered up the steps with plants lining the sides. The porch had 2 rocking chairs on it, both facing out, and plants and plants galore covered almost every in of the entryway. It was painted light blue and white, but was chipping.

"Needs to be painted again," Haiku ruffed.

He pushed open the unlocked door and entered the warm yellow house.

"Mmm, what is that?" I sniffed the air.

"Cay, thank goodness you're home, mind setting the table, dear? Please and thanks you," my hurried mother gave me a tired smile.

"Use the nice plates! We're having company," she hollered at me from the next room as I was opening the cabinet doors in the kitchen.

"Yes, mum!"

Just my luck, as I was carrying the nice plates into the colorful dining room, seven boys ranging from ages 2 to 17 galloped around me, yelling up a storm. 

"BOYS," my father's voice could be heard from his upstairs office, "IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO HELP, PLEASE GO OUTSIDE AT LEAST."

They scampered outside, still screaming.

I ran outside after them and called, "Where are you going?"

"To the pond, sissy, care to come?" My eldest brother, Lucca, smirked.

"I still have to set the table," I answered, but contradicted my conscience and skipped down the steps and into their posse.

"Up," baby Oscar blubbered, "Up."

"You wanna be a koala? A koala?" I baby-talked him. "Gee," he smiled with a spitty wet mouth, and lifted him up onto my shoulders. 

"CHARRRGGE!" Emothy, my 15 year old dyslexic brother howled. One hand held onto Oscar's fat little foot draping down my shoulder and the other onto my six-year old brother, Tapio's, hand. We were the last ones running after the big boys, into the sunset, just beyond the shimmering pond reflecting the bright pink- orange sky.