Wendy. (Wattys2015)

Three

My uncle sits on the only patio chair he's ever owned that he made with wood and cloth, and stares at the bright sky.

"Don't you want a seat?" he asks me.

"Yeah, but-"

He moves his hands up towards the sky, eyes closed and all, making swooshy movements in the air. "Shush, James. Use your mind. Can't you picture a chair?"

"Uncle Heath, are you going to give us our eggs, or what? I don't have all day."

My uncle Heath is weird. He's all... 'peace' and 'earth love', the art of letting go, yoga, capoiera. He even has a weird last name; Roscoe. Uncle Heath smells a little better than Mr. Fisby, even though he lives without a shower.

I don't know why, but when my uncle got out of high school, he built himself this tiny cabin that would only house one person. If you were to ever come inside and turn around just a little bit, there would be a wall, or coat hanger or something there. Those people with that small-space phobia would hate it. His bed is somewhere closest to the ceiling too, it's ridiculous. To get up there you have to use this ladder he made himself that'll give you splinters the second you touch it. It's like touching a cactus.

Not only does he have a weird house, but he bought chickens not long ago, without a coop. Or anything really. They kind of just walk around his...'house', and cluck until the night. I don't know how any haven't been killed by something yet, or wandered in the road. The rest of his farm is mile away from here on a property he randomly bought for a few hundred bucks he had lying around. Someone else takes care of it though. Uncle Heath is too busy finding his inner soul to do anything.

He goes inside for a second and leaves me by his chair. Faded floral.

Just like Wendy's dresses.

He comes out the front door and hands me a carton of eggs, almost dropping them as he does. Strangely it feels lighter than usual. I raise my eybrows at him, and when he doesn't react, stuck in his hippie world, I open the carton.

"Why are there only two eggs in here?"

"What?"

"There are two eggs in here. Two. What happened to the rest of them?"

"I don't know. There were only two eggs."

"Damn it Roscoe, I'm leaving."

I put the eggs in the front of my bike and make my way home. My childhood memories are clear as I pass by each house, farm, store. How Trevor and Adelaide and I became friends. And the day we met Her.

It was blazing hot, the afternoon sun threatening to set our lemonade stand on fire.nOf course, Uncle Heath made it for us, so touching it would give us the devil's splinters, but we used it. No one came by all day. I thought it was because we were third graders trying to sell lemonade that looked more like piss. Trevor blames it on Wendy.

She came by the stand when we first set it up, and stared at the lemonade.

"Hi!" Adelaide piped up.

Wendy didn't answer, but kept staring.

Adelaide was persistent, though. She flipped back her hair and smiled. "Would you like some? It's only a dollar for a cup. If you buy two you can get a third free."

Trevor tentatively poured her a glass, nervously glancing at me, and back at Wendy. She slightly moved, only to adjust her dress. It resembled the color of the sea, grandma's favorite couch pattern on it. It looked like it had been used a lot. At eight, you never really notice those kind of things. What someone wears, what color their eyes are...

I did though , and as Addie and Trevor tried to speak, their words went right past her ears as if they were pulled back against her head.

"What's your name?"

"Where are you from?"

"Ever had lemonade?"

Soon enough, someone passing by shouted at her. "Hey! You leave those kids alone, Wendy Townsman! They're going to get lice from you!"

Something in her face changed, but I'm sure I was the only one to catch it. She ran away from the stand, her filthy, bare feet being scratched with every step on the rough pavement.

The passerby came up to the stand, a man in his late 40's with a balding head and the usual bearded face. It was Isobel's dad. "You three should know better than to talk to her."

I frowned. "We were only being nice. Isn't she new here? I've never seen her before."

"Yeah, she's new alright. And dangerous. I heard she's got lice, that's why her hair is so short. You wouldn't want her to spread that around, would you? Be careful, kids. "

As he walked away, Adelaide shivered. "She's a weirdo. She kept staring at the lemonade."

"Yeah, she is weird." Trevor agreed. As the hours passed, Wendy was seemingly our own customer. "She did something to the lemonade, I swear. I bet Isobel's dad knows too and told everyone, that's why no one is here, right Addie?"

"Yeah."

I sat there, drowning in the town's outlook on people without a word, the bottom of Her feet, fresh on my mind.

Dirty, just like our town.