flashback

t w o

Ceon

I had just finished making dinner and intended to send Matthew and Sarai to bed. When I went to go lock the door, and I saw Fletcher, bracing against the door, wiggling and squirming. He looked as if he really needed to pee badly. “Um… Fletcher?” he stopped wiggling, startled. I raised my eyebrows, a bit suspicious. “What are you doing?” he continued squirming, without reply. I pulled him away from the door, which resulted in a scream that sounded very much like a girl’s. I opened the door a creak, a bit cautious. The girl screamed again and I took a good look at her. A girl with skin the color of a graham cracker with wavy blue-black shoulder length hair and wide brown eyes with hazel specks and long eyelashes stared back at me. “Yes?” I asked, quietly. Fletcher swung open the door and the girl jumped. He showed her his outstretched hand, and she turned to me. “I…I think he wants this,” she said, her voice shaky and unsure. I slammed the door. Fletcher erupted.

“Why would you do that?” he screamed, “That dumb sandwich was the one chance we had we had in getting some real food for once, and maybe even a friend, and you blew it!”

”We have enough food here,” I said quietly, angered.

Fletcher laughed bitterly. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “We eat like five meals a week, and those are the serving sizes of 6-year-old.”

“We’re going through a rough time,” I said. ”We have enough food for now. Stop complaining.”

Fletcher’s voice grew shaky and his face reddened. That was never a good sign.

“We’ve been going through a rough time for the last three months, Ceon. We have nothing. Nothing. And if we don’t try to do something, one of us is going to get really sick soon… Or worse,” he said taking a deep breath.

“Stop,” I said.

“You know what I ate for dinner last night, Ceon?”

“W-what?” I asked. It’s not like I had any dinner, anyway. I used food money for the water bill so we don’t die of thirst. Dirty tap water or not. Any water’s good water.

“Raw sugar.” Fletcher said, clenching and unclenching his clammy fists. “Raw sugar and watery, disgusting peanut butter that you probably got for free at the mini-mart because no one would buy it. That’s what the twins and me had for dinner. It’s a good hunger killer, but it’s sad. And you know what we had for lunch?”

“I’m sorry, Fletcher.” Come to think of it, the peanut butter wasn’t even free. I paid three bucks for that crap. And that was on discount. What a waste.

“We had a half packet of stale potato chips we found in the drawer. They were almost bad, and Sarai and Matthew were so starved, they fought over the last one.” His face reddened again. “Don’t you see it’s not about me? It’s not about me! I can make this! Look at them and see! They look like shrimps. They look like they haven’t eaten a good meal in months. And that’s not only the thing. I told Sarai to bring me 2 sheets of paper yesterday; she brought the whole notebook because she said only big girls and boys count. They’re forgetting… how to count! Someone could die here, Ceon,” he said, his voice strong again.

“Stop it,” I repeated. “No one’s dying and none of us are close to it.” “What do you know? You’re only eleven!”

“Get REAL, Ceon. I’m only eleven, but I’m old enough to see that we’re slowly starving to death. Sarai and Matthew are in a race to see whose ribs will start showing first without them sucking their bellies. You have to do something. Maybe that girl could have helped us to get somewhere better. But instead, you stay in here doing nothing about our situation day after day. The same stupid routine over and over each day. Ceon, we need to change. Now!”

I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Fletcher stalked off, fuming while I stood there with my mouth open. I sighed and grabbed one of the weathered wooden barstools by the counter. I boosted myself unto it and leaned my chin on my palm. Maybe Fletcher was right. That one girl at the stairwell could have saved our lives. I sighed again. It was too late now, and it was my fault. I slid off the stool and peered through the peephole to outside. A sandwich, wrapped carefully in plastic wrap and foil sat innocently on the stair. I opened the door, reached out and took it.

Danyelle

1 week later, Tuesday

After I got the door to Joe’s deli slammed in my face, I avoided going to the alley. What I had seen and heard scared me. I was scared of the kids in the alley. There were kids down there—living down there, probably four or five kids who didn’t have food. I was frightened that this was happening in my neighborhood—sweet, innocent Cottondale, about which I was now having doubts. But most of all, I was curious. The history of the kids in the alley was extremely intriguing and mysterious. I also wanted to help them and doing so would mean involving myself in their story. I really wanted to, but the eldest one—Ceon, bluntly shunned me. He literally slammed the door in my face, so I was cautious. I knew Fletcher probably would accept me, but Ceon was a challenge and apparently he was in charge. So I stayed away from the deli for a while.

Until about a week later, something happened. It was SSR at Ruby Studebaker High School (Silent Sustained Reading) in which each student in 9th grade read independently for forty-five minutes. I loved SSR. Not because I liked to read or anything, but because it gave me a perfect opportunity to paint my fingernails. Today I planned on using a cool color I found at a thrift shop called Flamingo Pink. However, that morning in assembly, Mrs. Cordero (Ruby Studebaker’s principal) announced that there would be a “Special SSR” for students challenged in the subject of English, mainly on the subject of reading. Then she read a list of names of people were to participate in Special SSR. Actually it wasn’t a list. It was two names. Me and the special Ed girl who drooled all the time. What a list.

Everyone in the assembly burst out laughing, staring and pointing. Even drool girl was laughing, because at least she had an excuse for her condition. It was humiliating. My face turned bright red to the tips of my ears and I covered my face with my hair. The audience in the auditorium roared with laughter. The floor vibrated with the stomping of feet, and I could see people rocking back and forth, gasping for breath. It seemed to take forever for the laughter to stop, but eventually it died down. I spent the rest of the assembly studying my toenails.

After 8th period I shot out of school and automatically headed for the alley. Blinded by my tears, I tore into the alley and plopped myself down on the last step of the stairwell. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks and unto my hands. I cried out to no one in particular, “Why? Why do I have to be dyslexic? All I need is a friend! Anyone!” I cried and cried and my mouth filled with salty tears. I cried until my eyes were swollen. I took a tissue out of my pocket and wiped my face with it. Exhausted, I sat hiccupping on the staircase to Joe’s deli, when a small brown hand reached out from the door to the deli, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me inside.