Empha's Children

Haves and Have Nots

Ellena flipped through the pages in front of her; rolling hills, pristine pastures, hot springs and icy rivers all peeked at her from between the words, hinting at adventures and new beginnings. At least that’s how Mr. Monroe had made it sound.

“Ms. Carter,” The man had said as he passed the small package across her principal’s desk, “This is a place where every student begins as an equal and grows into his or her own potential. The test prescribed for you is rarely passed, and I have seen none do so in such splendid fashion. I suspect that you will find a substantial amount of potential to grow into.”

He gushed for some minutes further, though she had no idea why. He had asked her class to imagine folding papers, which was simple enough. Fold a square piece of paper once in the middle, once more in the middle, once by the corners. You end up with a triangle. Imagine punching a hole in the middle of that triangle. Fold the paper again, with the crease over the hole, and punch another hole. Unfold the paper. Draw the holes on the worksheet provided. Once he had given the instructions it was nothing more than a memory exercise. Still, apparently she had done it well, so whatever. Ellena’s mom would be happy to learn that she earned a scholarship. She’d tell her in the next letter she wrote.

“Hey!” A gruff voice bellowed from the back door, “Hey, lemme in there, I need’a piss!”

“It’s not locked.” Ellena said from her bedroom door. “Just pull the latch.”

“It’s locked!”

She sighed and shuffled through the living room and around the couch. Normally her brother would handle him, but he was seventeen now — old enough to get a job good enough to pay a fifth of a share in a two bedroom apartment across the river from school. She put her palm on the glass and slid the door open.

“The bug screen’s locked.” Her father said.

“Okay,” she said, lifting her hand to the edge of the door and flipping the latch that would have held the screen in place if it hadn’t been torn down years before, “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” He said as he pushed past her, “your mom forgot it when she was here, too.”

She watched as he stumbled into the couch and tripped over the tiny stairs that led out of the living room and into the house proper. Part of her wished that she had told him about the strange man and the invitation and the scholarship and the boarding school, but the rest of her knew that no good could come of it. He was a good father before the plant went under. In the mornings, he was so close to what he once was that she thought that maybe he could help her decide, but then the sun went down and the bottles came out and her father died again.

At least she had Robbie, even if he was working five hours a night. He had Tuesday’s off, and she had been able to show him the pamphlet on an early trip to school and talk to him about it after classes were over. He had cried, which was sort of unusual, and told her that he’d never forgive her if she didn’t go. It would be better there. It couldn’t possibly not be better there.

And so she called the number that Mr. Monroe had given her. A soft-voiced woman answered the phone and was extremely pleased to hear Ellena’s positive response. A man would come to her home to collect her, she was told. There would be no need to plan for luggage, as the school required uniforms at all times. Mr. Monroe was unable to attend to her, because he was currently working with a different candidate in Oklahoma, but Mr. Randon would be enjoyable company. All of this would happen immediately. Expect a knock within the hour.

But the hour had come and gone and there was still no knock. She had kept her school clothes on after dinner in the expectation that her white horse would arrive, but now she decided to be comfortable; to hell with keeping up appearances. Even her father had slowed his consumption and chosen to nap in the deck chair rather than yell at the birds.