Bizarroville

A Wink for a Gift

The girl sat besides her window and watched the field. The air was dense, the sun was high up in the sky, and a fly kept nagging her left ear. Her summer dress seemed to glow in the midday light, and her hair was illuminated by the back window.
She spied movement on the field, and saw that the men her father had hired were headed back to the house. This was her queue. She stood up and headed towards the kitchen; the lemonade her mother had made being almost ready. She added more sugar, put some ice in, and poured it in seven glasses, struggling with the weight of the pitcher while she tried to serve exactly the same amount in each glass. There was a little bit left in the bottom of the pitcher and she quickly poured it down her throat - before her mother could see her.
She set the seven glasses on the tray set out for her, and hurried to the kitchen window. She had to stand on tiptoe to be able to look out, and as she saw that the men were almost at the porch, she decided to set out.
The tray was heavy for her tiny hands, but she walked slowly - picturing a tightrope and sheer drop in front of her feet, and of course, an amazed audience down below.
She slowly made her progress towards the door, pushed the door open with her hip, as she'd seen her mother do, and finally stood beaming in the porch while the sweaty men swarmed around her. Grateful smiles were given to her as the lemonade was chugged down. She stood still as it was drunk, for she had to take the glasses back to the kitchen. Not long passed, for they were all very thirsty. One man ruffled her hair, something she was a bit annoyed at, for it meant another hour of combing to set it back were it belonged. A big man with a jesting face, on seeing this, gave her a wink. This baffled her. Smiles, jests and ruffles she knew what to do with. But a wink she had never had. What should she do with a wink?
After the glasses were set back on the tray she hurried back to the kitchen and set the tray on the counter. She then went to her room, still holding the wink on the back of her eyes, and sat beneath the window, wondering what to do with the wink. It certainly made her feel strange. She'd never been winked at before. Was it good? Was it bad? Should she ask someone about a wink? She continued to ponder while she scratched at an insect bite on her right leg until she drew blood. Looking at the red smudges on her fingernails, she decided that the wink was a good thing, and that she had enjoyed it. She then treasured the wink in her right-front pocket, along with other things she had received over the years.