Roots [Completed]

Chapter 1 - Part 4

I have nightmares, sometimes.

They're not so bad, usually. Sometimes they'll send me, crying, to Mom and Momma, and they'll fold me up and keep me safe. But usually they just startle me awake and so I'll lie, staring at the glowing stars I've taped on my ceiling, waiting for sleep to come again. It always does.

The worst nightmare sounds so silly, whenever I try to describe it. In the nightmare, I'm standing in a field, and the sky is purple and dark and it's windy, so windy that my hair is blowing in thick poufy curls around me. I'm not scared, usually, at the beginning. But then I see a lion - or - or something coming from far far away. As it gets closer to me, it seems to move faster, it's teeth tearing through the wheat on the way to me.

I can't move. My arms and legs are frozen and useless, keeping me in place. I can't even scream, for help or terror; every time a sound enters my throat, it's torn away by this wind that burns my eyes. But I try to, every time. I stand, mouth agape and silent, and then the creature catches me and I wake up.

It scares me.

I can't talk about it. Not to Mom or Momma. The details start to fuzz, anyway, as soon as I wake. And in the light of day, it doesn't sound as frightening as it feels, at night, with my heart thundering in my chest, my body refusing to retreat.

Not even Topher knows. At least, I don't think so. I'm not sure.

I'm not sure.

-

We're having our annual tea party in the backyard, in the shaded area below the treehouse.

"Sir, can I interest you in a spot of tea?" I ask in my best imitation of a fancy accent.

"Of course, miss," Topher replies, holding out his plastic cup.

"Pip pip!" This is the thing that is said, you know. I pour him some.

With anyone else, I would be worried that they would think we're too old to play tea party. But not with Topher. Even though he's three years older than me, he never makes me feel like a baby.

I pass Topher the old sun hat Mom let us borrow. He puts it on with a fancy little twist of his hands. I giggle at the silliness, and this makes Topher smile.

"Someday, we're going to have real tea and sandwiches," I tell Topher, pretending to bite into a cucumber sandwich, "It's gonna be so fancy."

"And you'll wear," Topher replies through a fit of laughter, "a real tea hat, bigger than your head!"

"Bigger than the whole house!"

Topher laughs so hard he tips over his cup, sending pretend tea everywhere. But I don't mind.

I right his tea cup and pour some more into it, adding three spoonfuls of sugar because Topher doesn't get any candy at all at home. He lifts his pinkie when he takes a drink, perfectly postured.

For a moment, we continue like that. We take a break so I can teach him "Lemonade Lemonade Crunchy Ice" and it's as we meet standing on the shaded sidewalk that I ask.

"Can you show me, again?" I whisper.

Topher smiles soft. Then, he holds his hand towards me, his face screwing up in concentration. A moment later, his hand is taken over in that clawed form.

I giggle in delight. Topher lets me trace down his fingertips to the strange, tough claws at the tips, the skin of my hand dark against his.

"So sharp," I say, impressed, "I bet you could cut through an entire tree!"