Fifth Annual Wild Violet Writing Contest Winners (2007)
Fiction
— Second Place
Currants
By Gwendolyn C. McIntosh
(continued)
"Won't Frank marry you? Doesn't he know about the baby?" asked
her aunt.
"Oh, Frank would marry me if he knew, but Mom and Dad don't like him. They're just going to kill me when they find out," Caroline wailed softly.
Sophie's heart sank as she sat down. Poor Caroline, how awful,she thought.
"How do you know?" asked her mother. "I thought my folks would kill me, too, but when I finally got the nerve to tell, their reaction surprised me."
"What was Jake's reaction when you told him?" asked Caroline.
"He just said we couldn't wait until we were married to express our love," said Martha. "And now I have Sophie."
"Yeah, but look at the trouble you've been through, the divorce and Jake not helping with anything," said Aunt Abby.
"I'm so afraid Frank will marry me then disappear, and I'll have to move home to live with my parents, too," Caroline sobbed.
A great rushing sounded in Sophie's ears, a heaviness descended on her entire body and a weakness took over. It almost felt like last year when they discovered she was anemic after she fainted while brushing her teeth. Please God, don't let me faint, she pleaded soundlessly.
Some kids in school asked unkind questions about her daddy last year, but she felt so securely immersed in the love of her family that it hadn't bothered her. But soon after that she began to wonder why her father never visited her, never sent a birthday card or even a Christmas gift. Now she knew the reason — she was a mistake. Her eyes burned and tears streamed down her cheeks, spreading into huge wet circles as they melted into her sundress.
She crept downstairs to slip out behind the house, where she stood alone, longing to run down the narrow dirt road leading to Crooked Creek. Until early this summer, she had never gone there with anyone but Mother or Aunt Abby. Her friend Frances turned adventurous this summer, and they spent many hours exploring the hills that banked the creek and investigating overgrown bushes, trees and tall grasses. Despite all that, she was still afraid to go there alone. But she had to be alone until she could stop crying. She could never tell anyone why she was crying. She must stop; she wanted to stop, but she only sobbed harder.
She started to walk down the dirt road toward the creek, arms close to her side, feet kicking up powdery clouds of dust. Hot sunlight quickly dried her sundress, and she lifted her face to dry her tears, as well.
"Sophie!"
She turned, distressed, to see Frances skipping across three neighborhood backyards toward the dirt road. By the time Frances reached her, Sophie had buried her overwhelming sadness deep inside, wiped her nose dry and turned her face cheerful.
"Race you to the ski hill," Frances shouted as she ran past.
They explored new areas, ate berries from bushes and trees, sat on the bank of the creek and dipped their bare feet into the cold, clear water as it rushed toward some unknown destination. They never talked much on their expeditions. This day Sophie was especially glad for that.
Looking up from staring at the pebbles and rocks in the bottom of the creek, Sophie thought, Frances doesn't even act like she can see how different I am. Then she noticed that it was beginning to get dark. "We better get home," Sophie said as they scrambled to their feet and began the uphill climb.
"Want to go to the library with me tomorrow? I've got some Oz books to take back," said Frances.
"We're busy tomorrow with Caroline."
"Sophie, what's the matter? You were so quiet today, more than ever," Frances said, peering into her friend's eyes.
"Nothing's the matter!" she said, avoiding the questions she could see in Frances' eyes.
"Well, see ya," said Frances, shrugging as she skipped back across the back yards toward home, shaking her head.
Could all this have happened only yesterday, she wondered, as she trudged home. Through the evening she relived everything she could remember about her life. One school day last year had been especially hard. She told a very special boy she liked him, and to her great embarrassment he told everyone else in school that she liked him but he didn't like her. As awful as that was, what she felt now was even worse.
After another fitful night with little sleep, Sophie wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood half the next day. From the sidewalk she watched a neighbor's grandson arrive for a visit. They embraced him happily in welcome, and his mother and father embraced him sadly as they left.
Sophie watched Victor, remembering seeing him last summer when he visited. He's so tall and handsome, and his smile is beautiful,she thought. Then her heart swelled as she thought, I'll tell everybody I have a boyfriend from New York City, and his name will be Victor. They'll never know different. This will be way better than a baby bear. She skipped home, thinking how much Victor was going to like her and feeling confident that no one from school would call her family about Victor. As she sat on the back porch steps, she considered how she could tell Frances about Victor. Then she knew Frances would never believe that story — it would never work.
Feeling as if she was drowning in all the events of the past two days, Sophie took refuge amongst the currant bushes, wishing she could fade into their shadows and wondering what else she could do to make everything better. Mother had always wanted her to take piano lessons; Grandpa still wanted her to help in the meat department of their grocery store; Grandma just this year said she wished she would learn to cook; and Aunt Abby always wanted her to stay out of her room. If she did all those things, then maybe they would all feel better.
The moon hung low big, round and red orange. Trees and buildings cast their silhouettes against its bright light, and Sophie imagined them to be skyscrapers where sophisticated people lived. Someday she would live there, too, with people who would never know she was a mistake, and everything would be wonderful.
"Sophie!" Grandma called out the screen door of the little enclosed back porch off the kitchen.
She stood, savoring her imaginary world for several moments. Someone inside turned on the front porch light suddenly, flooding the bushes with transparency. She knew Grandma could see her now, so she walked toward the house. A soft breeze blew a light flowery scent, something she had never smelled before. I'll look for that flower tomorrow, she thought. As she walked up the wooden steps to the back porch, she caught a glimpse of their '49 Ford rounding the corner toward home.
That night
Mother played the piano. Aunt Abby, Caroline, and Mother sang soulful
lyrics to "Summertime" and raucous lyrics to "Sidewalks
of New York." She sat back in her chair, watching the three of them,
pretending to be happy. When she noticed a peaceful look on Grandma's
face while she tapped her foot slightly and a far-away look in Grandpa's
eyes while he barely moved his finger to the rhythm, she walked to the
front door and looked up. High in the blackened sky, the moon had lost
its brilliant red-orange tinge and turned icy white. She shivered a little,
tucked her sophisticated dreams safely away into a safe place in her mind
and joined Aunt Abigail and Cousin Caroline behind Mother. They all turned
and smiled warmly at her, and Aunt Abigail reached out to embrace her.
Caroline bent low to kiss her cheek lightly, and a light flowery scent
trailed after her. Grandma and Grandpa smiled at her as she lifted her
voice with the others to sing "Rock of Ages."
