Even in a town full of neo-hippies and urban farmers, the white girl glowering at Holl stood out. She wore faded blue bellbottom jeans and a tight mustard yellow top that turned her yellow hair sallow. A loose ring of clovers slipped over one brow. She stalked up to Holl, flicking imaginary pieces of apple from her hair.
Holl stood, holding her book up like a shield. "I'm really sorry. I didn't see you there." The girl continued to advance and Holl wondered if she should grab up her bike and ride away - or if this would be her first fight. The pirates in her book would definitely fight, but they had swords. She just had a library book at hand and if it got really damaged she could kiss the rest of her summer allowance away. It was too bad she'd already thrown the apple core. Wet fruit in the face would really buy her some getaway time right now.
"What do you mean you didn't see me?" the girl demanded. "I was standing right there!" Her expansive gesture included the woods as a whole.
"Um." Holl pointed at the thick honeysuckle hedge. "Kind of hard to see past that. I swear I didn't see you." She leaned over and picked up her bike, tossing her book in the basket. "Sorry again."
The girl stopped and glanced back at the hedge, then turned back to Holl with a look of consideration on her face. "Okay. I guess I was hidden." She grinned abruptly and stuck out her hand. "No harm, I guess." Holl hesitated, then reached out her hand as well. The girl clasped it firmly and pumped it like a politician. "Pleased to meet you...."
"Holl."
"Pleased to meet you, Holl. I'm Ruth Ann." She glanced around like she was looking for someone. "You know, I could accept your apology but if you really want to make it up to me..."
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
The Queen of the Bridge
It was a long, lazy Saturday in the middle of July. In the lush oak canopy cicadas drummed over the occasional lackadaisical songbird. Really, it was too hot unless you were an insect. Under one of the gnarled oaks Holl lay eating an apple and reading a library book. You could tell how far she was in the book by the apple drippings spotting the pages and where she'd started that afternoon by the kinked page in the middle.
The book she was reading featured pirates sailing the open ocean. There was a sword fight in each chapter, which seemed to Holl to be just enough sword fights to keep things interesting in between all the chatty bits and swooning women.
She finished the apple, folded down a page, and sat up stretching her back. In the bright afternoon sunlight, the best shade the woods could muster was a medium green. There were no deep corners of park in which to toss her apple core. She settled on a clump of bright green honeysuckle filled with a gaggle of sparrows. The apple core landed with a satisfying thump and eruption of enraged sparrow cheeps.
"Ouch!" A girl walked out of the woods, rubbing her head and frowning. "Who threw that?"
And that was how Holl met the Queen of the Bridge.
The book she was reading featured pirates sailing the open ocean. There was a sword fight in each chapter, which seemed to Holl to be just enough sword fights to keep things interesting in between all the chatty bits and swooning women.
She finished the apple, folded down a page, and sat up stretching her back. In the bright afternoon sunlight, the best shade the woods could muster was a medium green. There were no deep corners of park in which to toss her apple core. She settled on a clump of bright green honeysuckle filled with a gaggle of sparrows. The apple core landed with a satisfying thump and eruption of enraged sparrow cheeps.
"Ouch!" A girl walked out of the woods, rubbing her head and frowning. "Who threw that?"
And that was how Holl met the Queen of the Bridge.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Prelude
My dear Holl,
They came to visit you before you were born though we didn't know it at the time, of course. The Small were tiny enough to creep through the mail slot and past the cat (who saw but didn't say anything) and the dog (who snored probably and chased rabbits in his sleep).
They tiptoed across the floor and up the stairs into our bedroom where you lay sleeping in your crib. The moon shone brightly that night, but our curtains were drawn. When you have a very young child you do your best to make good sleep conditions in hopes for four or even five straight hours of sleep at a time. One of them maneuvered a small flashlight to shine through the crib slats onto your face. You stirred and I stirred, so they switched off the light.
But the light had revealed one thing: you were just a normal little baby asleep with a curled fist shoved up by your chin, a line of drool tracing its way across your cheek. Watching a tiny baby sleep, it's hard to imagine that one day it will become a walking, talking, bold little girl. Like you, my Holl.
Our living room walls are full of art prints from comic books. Heroes battle in the pictures, crushing evildoers underfoot. We love a good hero. Or used to. We've been told that you will save them from something great and hulking and terrible. Our little Holl - dress up enthusiast, BMX trickster, hero.
The Small's confidence in you is massive. And it crushes us, your parents. We suddenly know that the parents of heroes often wish their children were small and unimportant and capable only of saving their parents from worrying.
Holl, please come home safe to us. Wherever you are.
They came to visit you before you were born though we didn't know it at the time, of course. The Small were tiny enough to creep through the mail slot and past the cat (who saw but didn't say anything) and the dog (who snored probably and chased rabbits in his sleep).
They tiptoed across the floor and up the stairs into our bedroom where you lay sleeping in your crib. The moon shone brightly that night, but our curtains were drawn. When you have a very young child you do your best to make good sleep conditions in hopes for four or even five straight hours of sleep at a time. One of them maneuvered a small flashlight to shine through the crib slats onto your face. You stirred and I stirred, so they switched off the light.
But the light had revealed one thing: you were just a normal little baby asleep with a curled fist shoved up by your chin, a line of drool tracing its way across your cheek. Watching a tiny baby sleep, it's hard to imagine that one day it will become a walking, talking, bold little girl. Like you, my Holl.
Our living room walls are full of art prints from comic books. Heroes battle in the pictures, crushing evildoers underfoot. We love a good hero. Or used to. We've been told that you will save them from something great and hulking and terrible. Our little Holl - dress up enthusiast, BMX trickster, hero.
The Small's confidence in you is massive. And it crushes us, your parents. We suddenly know that the parents of heroes often wish their children were small and unimportant and capable only of saving their parents from worrying.
Holl, please come home safe to us. Wherever you are.
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