Textick

The following is an excerpt from my story “This House,” recently selected for publication by the Spiny Babbler Anthology of Student Writing:

See this house. This house, with its unvarnished door and its windows like gaping sores. It towers above the rest of the neighbourhood, its peaked roof thrusting above trees and powerlines. This is where they met, the girl and the boy. This garden of weeds and pumpkin vine is where she stood, smiling a gap-toothed smile that didn’t light up her eyes. He walked up the dirt driveway, his wagon trundling behind him. It was loaded with newspapers and brochures, stacked in teetering piles. He shivered and hugged an arm over himself against the wind. She stood in a tattered white dress, not even trembling.
“Hi,” she called. Head down, he didn’t respond.
“Boy!” she called again.
Now he looked up, the wind bringing tears to his eyes. The girl was a few years younger than him, a petite, china-doll of a girl. Her body seemed tense, her smile fixed. He waved a quick, awkward wave.
Her smile relaxed and she bounded out of the garden, her skirt ballooning around her stick legs.
“You’re cold,” she said. “Come inside until the storm passes.”
“It’s not a storm,” he replied. “I can still make it home.”
The girl looked up at the gathering clouds. Rain began to shoot down, the droplets like tiny knives on the boy’s shoulders. Lightning splintered the sky, the rain increased, slamming down on the children.
“Just until the storm passes,” he agreed, letting the wagon’s handle go. It rolled a few feet off the path, and tipped over into a juniper bush. He didn’t notice. She had all his attention, with her little girl body sucking the wet material to every inch.
This is how she got him. This is why he walked up those sagging front steps, tip-toeing over the rotted boards of the veranda. This is why he walked through that door, that door warped and swollen in the middle like a pregnant woman.

Inside, they stood on threadbare rugs that were expensive once. The girl’s feet were turned inwards as she played with the hem of her dress. The boy stood in dripping clothes. He was wearing the outfit his mother selected for him every day; a freshly pressed shirt, smart khaki shorts and polished black shoes. One of his socks drooped down his ankle, and he bent to straighten it. It sagged again, the elastic gone.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the girl said, and she slipped her hand into his. Her hand was as light as air. She smiled an uneven smile.
“My name’s Thomas,” the boy told her.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said with an apologetic giggle. “I’m Emily.”
“Where are your parents?”
She shrugged. Her shoulders were angular, the bones poking up through her dress.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked. She shook her head.
“But you are,” she said. “Let’s find you something warm.” She paused and looked at him, her head tilted to the side. “I am really glad you’re here.”
She squeezed his hand, then began to walk, pulling him behind her. Her grip was tight, her fingers like binding around his.
She led him up flights of stairs and along winding corridors. They passed too many rooms to count, all their doors shut. The walls were a bleak grey, the carpets faded and worn. He wanted to keep his eyes on Emily’s back, but fissures kept catching his eye, and he’d find himself tracing their spidery paths up the wall and onto the ceiling. He slowed his steps, gazing up at the patterning of cracks above his head. But she just tightened her hold on his hand, jerking him back into motion.
Eventually she stopped and pointed a finger at the ceiling. There was a small hatch with a short cord dangling just above their heads.
“I can’t reach it,” she said. “Could you get it for me?”
He stretched up on his toes and jumped for the swinging cord. He finally locked his fingers around it, the hatch creaking open as his feet landed back on the ground. A ladder slid down.
He turned to Emily. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her eyes wide and shining. She grinned at him, and then scrambled up into the roof. He hesitated, one hand on the closest rung…

Details on the publication of the full version of this story coming soon.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 6th, 2005 at 12:21 am and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.