Stealing Marshmallows

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
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