Stealing Marshmallows
A short story by Diana Weeks
The first thing I taught my new brother Bubba…was not to ever tattle tail. I was five… and already… doing… forbidden things… like eating marshmallows straight from the box… while Mama hangs the wash… on the back yard clothes line.
I had… to pull out… the bottom kitchen drawer… and stand on the edge; to reach the second shelf… in the tall red trimmed… closed door cabinets… then I could reach the delights:…twenty-four puffy… powdered sugar coated… confections.
When I lifted… the tucked lid of the box…they were packed layered… three rows of four. Two each is what got me caught. …four marshmallows were missed… and affected Mom’s dessert recipe. The cereal flaked off.
Marshmallows were only purchased to make Daddy’s favorite …rice krispy treats… I was deemed too young to cook, as I might burn myself… Mama didn’t make them often… the tempting…white rounded… squarish… squishy… sweet lured me… to snitch a few once in a while.
Bubba was my look- out… sitting around the corner… because as soon as he sees Mama… he shouts “Mama”… she stoops to hug him… I climb down… to merely be… peering into the wax paper drawer. …to get a piece… to cover my crayola drawing…alibi ready.
If pressed the truth; “but we only wanted to play pretend… cowboys… and roast the marshmallows on the meat fork… over the top front gas burner… then I could flatten… the melted charred marshmallow… between two graham crackers… and add two hershey chocolate squares… to make smores.
Mama didn’t believe in spanking… she frowned at me… and said “I'll talk to you later”…never good news. I had coached Bubba on the “Mama” warning yell. I would clap… when he did it as a baby…until it became a habit Mom loved.
I never stand to near Bubba… when I mis…behave.
It’s best to be way out of sight.
The End
All Rights Reserved
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Cousin's Compete
Cousin's Compete
a short story by Diana Weeks (422 words)
I peeked through the living room white wooden venetian blinds and groaned. Rats, aunt Gwendolyn and uncle Arthur were already pulling into our empty gravel driveway.
Earlier I had heard my mother, in her desperate for company voice, say into the kitchen wall phone. 'We'll be home after supper, come on over”.
Darn, now we won't be listening to fibber Magee and Molly on our radio. Their boy mickey, my little brother Roy's age and their prissy pants girl, a stuck up year older than me were getting out of their 39 green Chevy's back seat. And oh no, Gayle was lugging the big case that held her accordion. Hoisting it made her golden nger coils spring against the tug of a wide blue grosgrain ribbon tightly bowed.
I have mousy unruly brown lank hair that does whatever it wants to. I plan to peroxide it when I'm old enough. I bite my nails. Gayle paints hers pink and smells of lavender.
The running water sound was cut of in the kitchen and daddy put down his Sunday paper and winked at me. Mother came in drying her hands on her apron, and Roy came out of the back bedroom carrying his deck of go fish cards.
Aunt Gwen did bring a smile to my cheeks carrying a merange topped pie. She got a hug and kiss. Uncle art patted me on the head. Mama took the pie.
'You children can play in here while the coffee perks, then we'll; have some lemon pie' auntie announced, clapping her hands. 'And maybe we can get Gayle to play the new songs she's learned on her accordion.
Daddy piped up ”and we'll see what Lois learned in her dance classes”.
He would have known if he didn't work nights printing newspapers and missed my recreation department recital at the big Will Rogers auditorium last week. Me and a line of kids sang and tapped to “old McDonald had a farm e i e i oh”.
My brother laughed. He didn't have to take dance lessons, he was only seven and I was nine and bashful. “Make her put on her costume” the little blabber mouth shouted.
”Yes” momma agreed, eager to get her five dollars worth, paid to a seamstress to make the red and white poke a dot short dance dress and the half moon brimmed hat, that tied under my chin. Mother grinned, her niece didn't have a costume to go with her accordion performance.
The End
All Rights Reserved
a short story by Diana Weeks (422 words)
I peeked through the living room white wooden venetian blinds and groaned. Rats, aunt Gwendolyn and uncle Arthur were already pulling into our empty gravel driveway.
Earlier I had heard my mother, in her desperate for company voice, say into the kitchen wall phone. 'We'll be home after supper, come on over”.
Darn, now we won't be listening to fibber Magee and Molly on our radio. Their boy mickey, my little brother Roy's age and their prissy pants girl, a stuck up year older than me were getting out of their 39 green Chevy's back seat. And oh no, Gayle was lugging the big case that held her accordion. Hoisting it made her golden nger coils spring against the tug of a wide blue grosgrain ribbon tightly bowed.
I have mousy unruly brown lank hair that does whatever it wants to. I plan to peroxide it when I'm old enough. I bite my nails. Gayle paints hers pink and smells of lavender.
The running water sound was cut of in the kitchen and daddy put down his Sunday paper and winked at me. Mother came in drying her hands on her apron, and Roy came out of the back bedroom carrying his deck of go fish cards.
Aunt Gwen did bring a smile to my cheeks carrying a merange topped pie. She got a hug and kiss. Uncle art patted me on the head. Mama took the pie.
'You children can play in here while the coffee perks, then we'll; have some lemon pie' auntie announced, clapping her hands. 'And maybe we can get Gayle to play the new songs she's learned on her accordion.
Daddy piped up ”and we'll see what Lois learned in her dance classes”.
He would have known if he didn't work nights printing newspapers and missed my recreation department recital at the big Will Rogers auditorium last week. Me and a line of kids sang and tapped to “old McDonald had a farm e i e i oh”.
My brother laughed. He didn't have to take dance lessons, he was only seven and I was nine and bashful. “Make her put on her costume” the little blabber mouth shouted.
”Yes” momma agreed, eager to get her five dollars worth, paid to a seamstress to make the red and white poke a dot short dance dress and the half moon brimmed hat, that tied under my chin. Mother grinned, her niece didn't have a costume to go with her accordion performance.
The End
All Rights Reserved
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)