flashback

t h r e e

Fletcher

I don’t know what I was thinking when I pulled the girl at the stairwell into our home. In fact, I wasn’t thinking at all. But I knew that it sucked to be on the receiving end of torture. And apparently she had been humiliated a lot, judging by her wailing. So I pulled her in. She stood there, wide-eyed, staring at me from head to toe. I looked down at myself. Did I really look that bad? I raised my head and looked at the girl, who was now staring at my bare feet. I went behind the counter and handed her a tissue, with which she wiped her cheeks and hiccupped. “So…” she said. “You guys live here?” she asked quietly, looking around. “Yes,” I replied. A small shuffling was heard from behind the curtain leading to the storeroom of the deli. I turned around to see Matthew, a furious look on his face. “Fletcher!” he said, his fists balled tightly at his sides. I knew he was ready for a fight. His small pink lips were pursed and seemed ready to pop. I sighed. “Yes, Matt?” I asked. “Don’t ‘yes, Matt’ me, Fletcher!” he said, stomping over. The girl giggled, as Matthew scrabbled up on the stool next to me. I pulled him up by the arms and helped him up unto the stool. He slapped my hand away lightly. “I don’t need your help,” he huffed.

“Guess what, Fletcher?” he said, annoyed.

“What, Matt?”

“You’re in big trouble. Why’d you move my stuff?” he asked.

I was confused. “What stuff?”

“My. Stuff.” He said, voice rising through clenched teeth.

And I remembered. Matthew had a pair of teddy bears that he treasured above all his other toys. He didn’t like anyone touching them or moving them from the place which he had allotted for them: the top of his shelf a place that annoyed everyone, especially Sarai. She was about as tall as the shelf, and she couldn’t walk around without knocking into the grimy old teddy bears that hadn’t been washed since we got them on Matthew and Sarai’s 2nd birthday. The twins were now six. Go figure.

“I didn’t move them,” I said quickly. “Maybe Sarai did.”

Immediately, upon hearing her name, a small curl-covered head with a great discolored pink bow popped out from the curtain from the storeroom. She scrambled up unto the stool next to Matt. She wiggled her toes in her little pink footie. Matthew turned to her. “Fletcher says you moved my stuff!” I laughed, as did the girl from the stairwell. The curly heads of Matt and Sarai turned to her. The loss of Matthew’s “stuff” was forgotten, and he nudged Sarai as to question who she was. Sarai stopped laughing and stared at the girl. “What’s your name?” she asked. The girl looked immediately shy and answered, “Danyelle. I assume you’re Sarai?” she said.

“What does assume mean?” Sarai asked.

“It means… to suppose.” Danyelle replied.

“Well, yes. My name is Sarai.”

“Mines is Matthew,” Matt butted in. “Mine, not mines, Matt.” I interjected. Matthew scowled and slumped his shoulders. Danyelle smiled and reached across the counter to Matthew’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Matt. I always struggled with that darn ‘mines’ too.” Matthew literally beamed and his dimples pierced through his cheeks like razors. He was in love.

She reached into her pocket and gave him half a piece of gum, which he gladly took, popped into his mouth, and proceeded to smack until Sarai jumped off the stool and stared at Danyelle, hands akimbo.“Well?” she demanded. Danyelle’s face was clearly skeptic. “Huh?” “Don’t I get a piece too? Mattie got one, so I assume I should too!” Sarai said. “Sarai…” I began. “No,” Danyelle said, smiling. “She’s right. If Matthew can get one, she deserves one too.” Sarai smiled cutely, with her two front teeth missing. She looked especially happy that someone understood her logic. Danyelle reached into her pocket and gave Sarai a half stick of gum, which she began to smack. “You must be Fletcher,” Danyelle said, smiling. I smiled back. “I am.”

I grabbed my notebook from the counter and began sketching a picture of Mom and Dad before the accident. Mom was smiling, the shadow on her face making it seem more angular around the chin…

Mom was a beautiful woman. She was tall and slim, had skin as smooth as a marble tabletop, and just as shiny, too. She always wore her hair in a ponytail and kept her nails manicured and cut neatly just above her fingertips. Her hair was as straight as horsehair, with light brown streaks on dark brown. She sang a lot. I didn’t remember her as well as I remembered Dad, but sometimes I got flashes of snippets of her humming little songs around the house. I remembered a song she used to sing to me when I was sick. It had something to do with a mockingbird, but I didn’t remember the words. Her voice was as sweet as sugar, and Dad said one time that he wished he could bottle it up and open it to hear it whenever he wished. I paused and thought about that. I was always a Mommy’s boy, and it was the same with Matthew. Sarai and Ceon took to Dad more.

Dad was also tall and slim, but he had broad shoulders and large beefy hands with fingers as thick as bratwurst. I remembered the time he came home from one of his expeditions. (He and Mom were paleontologists, and traveled the world without us. Sometimes they took Ceon, but when they couldn’t they sent us lots of love and postcards and souvenirs. We stayed with our godmama Suzanna whenever they left.) Dad went to Germany this time, and he brought back some thick bratwursts about the size and width of each of his fingers. He also came back with his hand in a cast because he accidentally wounded himself with one of his digging tools. However, when Dad fried up the bratwurst and gave them to us for dinner, I refused to eat them because I thought they were his fingers. He found this very amusing.

I remembered his laugh. It was more like a song than a laugh, and it was very entertaining. When Dad laughed, you wanted to laugh too, even if you didn’t know what he was laughing at or if it was you. Dad was a laughing man. He laughed often, but he did with his eyes. They would sort of crinkle and turn up at the corners, but when he did laugh aloud, it was like a flood of ha-ha and ho-ho and hee-hee. And all of sudden he would sober like nothing ever happened. I was attached to my Dad, but more so to my mom. She was always there when I needed her. I fell? She had a band-aid. I procrastinated on one of my assignments? You bet Mom would stay up all night with me and help me get it done. I remembered. I smiled.

 I drew and drew. I drew all the time. I drew Ceon, and S&M, and all sorts of stuff. I drew because words are too limited and unpredictable. Everyone could understand drawings; no matter what language they spoke. But not everyone could understand English. I feel important with a pencil in my hand. It gives me reassurance that I can make something perfect, that no one can take away—because of my ability to draw. I think, that in my broken world of a flooded river, my drawings are tiny little lifesavers.

In my drawing, Mom and Dad were holding hands, in the park and in Dad’s hands was a corked bottle with a music note inside. Dad was laughing; his face turned to Mom and Mom was looking straight ahead, smiling, her eyes bright. In Mom’s free hand, she held a paleontologist’s shovel. It was one of the best drawings I had ever done in my life, and I intended on keeping it forever. I got my colored pencils and started shading in the sky and grass. Danyelle sat watching the twins and their game of thumb war when Sarai, after her victory, jumped from her stool and took Danyelle by a small sticky hand.

“Come into the storeroom,” she said. “Storeroom?” Danyelle asked. “Yeah!” Matthew said, joining in. “Sure, I guess,” Danyelle said. She stood from her stool. So did I, just when Ceon burst inside with a red face and balled fists.