Cavities on a Stick

Sweet tooth

Ella   

It was a dry afternoon, with the sunlight shining on the turquoise sofas in the living room.
The grandfather clock by the front door struck 4, so was it evening now?

I didn't know when noon turned into night. The information was never required so I never bothered looking it up.

"What are these?" Mom asked coming out of the kitchen, wearing her gym gear.
"What?" I asked not looking away from my phone screen. I was using the front camera to practice putting on eyeliner.
"This."
"I'm gonna need you to be more specific than that." I said. "There are like a million 'this' in this house."

"This... ice..."
"Lemonade!" I shrieked. "I didn't want to drink it earlier so I poured it in the popsicle molds." I smiled.
"These are cute!" She said examining them. "Here you go." She took a lemonade popsicle out of its mold and handed it to me, brown eyes meeting mine.
"Thanks." I replied putting it in the empty gelato bowl.

"Ella you're going to break the ice cream machine!" She said. "It's what, your fourth bowl? And the left liner's slightly thinner than the right."
I looked closer into the camera.
"It's close enough."
"Your eyeliners need to be twins, Ella."
"Well mine are fraternal twins." I signed.

The doorbell rang.
"Be a darling and go answer."
"No, you be a darling and avail the opportunity to walk a bit for your pedometer." Over the years, I'd learnt ways of avoiding chores.
This was how I never had to answer the doorbell.
"Yes!" Mom smacked her fingers and jumped up to pace out the front door, her booted feet falling loudly on the floor.

Earlier this month one of her colleagues had told her that if you wear gym gear, you're more likely to exercise, so now she walked around cooking and eating in her Nikes.

And I inherited the same obsessions, as well as the same features from her. Except you couldn't trick me into answering the bell.

"Who was it?" I asked when she returned.
"Just Mr. Marl from next door asking who painted the graffiti on Mrs. Aina's gate." She said sitting down beside me.
"I heard some kids from A11 were involved."
"Isn't Ann friends with the A11 kids?" Mom frowned. "And why hasn't she woken up yet. Her 20 minute nap started 3 hours ago."

"How 'bout you go wake her up and I'll go grab something for evening tea."
"Sure darling."
I slipped on my boots and ran for the door.

"Ella!" Mom screamed as soon as she realised her mistake. "You're on house arrest! Get back!"
I waved at her. "We'll see."
"We'll see?!" Mom ran after me. "That doesn't even make sense, Ella!"

Outside the June sun blazed- heating the road and wilting the trees. Mr. Marl was now standing by Mrs. Biles, interrogating her.
How's gonna tell him?
Children don't go to their parents and confess their crimes.
Why was he questioning parents.

I walked past them quietly and ran down the road.

25 years ago, my parents moved to the 5th street of the Red Roads. The one housing society in the middle of the city that was surprising silent and peaceful.
Though if you made your way up or down the 5th the peace slowly reduce, not gone, reduced.
And so they chose the 5th.

"Hey Mike." I said as soon as I entered Mikes on the 7th North L street (or Punks and drunks as more popularly known).
See? It gets less peaceful.

Mike stood behind the counter looking down at the computer screen, probably watching fortnite videos.
"Slow down, how did you trick Mrs. Watson this time?" He asked raising his eyebrows. "Should I vent, or are you the only red cloth?"
"Mrs. Watson isn't a bull, Mike." I said. "And get rid of these neon signs."