Flu Season

Chapter 6

Rays of early morning sun spilled through the slats of her bedroom blinds, waking Sarah before the croaking of her alarm clock. Or was it worry? She sat bolt upright listening for that ugly sound, the retching. But all was quiet.
She tiptoed across the creaky floor to her bedroom door, careful not to wake Gram in case she was still sleeping and peeked out, listening. She was turning into a, what Gram called, a worry wart. But she couldn't help it, Grandma was all she had left in this little town. In her life.
The scent of toast wafted through the stairwell, telling her Gram was awake and doing her thing. A smile crossed Sarah's face, giving her relief.
After a quick shower she quickly dressed. Once in a cozy white ribbed sweater and her favourite black denims
she found herself looking into her red cedar full length mirror, a gift her father made for her twelfth birthday. Red cedar was commonly used for carving and wood work amongst his people, he'd told her. The nation was located along the west coast and her father, though didn't grow up in Prince Rupert took pride in his Tsimshian culture and made carving a priority in his life. Sarah was only a quarter Tsimshian, and though she lacked the Native pigment in her eyes, their almond shape and high cheekbones gave her an exotic look. She wasn't a girl you could walk past and not look twice at. Her shoulder–length auburn hair hung in loose untamed waves. Dark pools of emerald eyes peered through long jagged bangs, squinting in pensiveness. Is my hair ever gonna grow? And figured she was cursed with bad hair. She longed for that long silky strait hair Gram once had when she was young and beautiful. Well. . . Gram would always be beautiful in her eyes. But was any woman happy with her hair? She didn't think so. There were worse things in life to worry about, like Grandmas.
With thought in mind she hurried down stairs to grab a quick bite before heading off to school.
Tootie greeted Sarah at the bottom landing, spinning as usual. Black button eyes pleading for attention. Pick me up, pick me up they were saying.
"Come!" Sarah said slapping her knees in a half squat. A ball of white fluff flew through the air, tongue in mid lick upon landing into Sarah's arms.
As she entered the kitchen Gram tended breakfast. And as usual placing toast and tea with poached eggs on the red–cedar side table that sat bordering the kitchen and living–room area. Another one of Dad's creations. The cedar block was no less stunning but somehow reminded her of a giant cinnamon bun, making her all the more hungry.
They enjoyed their breakfast together in quiet contemplation. Periodically glancing at one another while eating and sipping tea. Sarah decided to break more than just her fast but the quietness about them.
"How are you feeling this morning Gram? You seem a lot better." She placed her cup back on the coaster, careful not to leave a rim on the table.
Gram looked up from her tea, as though she were studying it. She smiled, but Sarah saw something behind those dark eyes. A hint of worry she figured.
"Oh, I'm fine." Not good. . . Just fine. Sarah didn't like the sound of that.
But Gram knew Sarah too well, trying to cover the already discovered emotional tracks left behind wasn't going to work. But she'd try anyhow.
"Like I said. Just vaccination side effects," she said with a wave of her hand.
"Hmm. Still, it worried me."
"Well, there's no need dear," she said picking up a small ceramic sheep from the table. She plucked the head off and asked, "sugar for your tea?"
Sarah glanced at the substance, and shook her head vehemently, "I say no to white death."