The family

in #writing5 years ago (edited)

Sitting under the barely flowering rosebush she was shocked when the women mentioned her name.

"Karen is harm."

Karen barely knew what that meant. When she repeated it to her mother she couldn't image the bees nest she was stirring up. Mom always embarrassed her. She was always deadly honest. Karen heard the screen door slam shut behind her mother as she stomped off of the cement porch and across the yard. She was heading straight for Becky's house. It was definitely going to end in disaster.

Karen distracted herself by sneaking into the little dresser drawer beside her mother's bed. She listened carefully before unrolling the crinkling cellophane. The buttery taste filled her tongue. She was almost to the end, the disc was so small she could swallow it if she wasn't careful.

She should've been more careful. When Connie stormed back into the house Karen could barely make out the words her mother was spewing. A singular thought flooded through her mind, Don't spit it out or you're dead!

Connie wore a path in the shag carpet when she finally turned and put her finger in Karen's face, "Don't you ever go over there again, do you hear me?"

By the time her mother's piercing blue eyes left her, the choking deep in her throat was replaced by tears flowing down her throat. She didn't dare ask her why she couldn't play there anymore. Deep inside she understood. Becky was a world away. She would stay there forever and after a while it became a matter of pride to ignore her at the bus top and pitch rocks as far as she could at the mailbox. She was a Dirette, first and foremost.

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Poor little girl!

You have a tender heart.

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