The Next Chapter
I sat slumped in the cold folding chair as Daddy swapped war stories with a fellow named Pete who lost his right eye in some battle in some country whose name I couldn’t spell. Pete wore sunglasses, the kind of sunglasses Elvis wore when he hit forty and things started to sag, and the jumpsuit fit an inch or two tighter around the waist. Pete was a good man with a good wife, and each week he slipped ten bucks into the collection plate to make good on the things he might do bad if he skipped his meds for a day. I flipped the yellowed page of the cheap romance novel I dug out of Mama’s bottom drawer and tried to drown out Daddy’s ramblings of guns and war and death. He dragged me along to these little therapy sessions – his words, not mine – because he got scared of losing me, too. But some things Daddy didn’t say to nobody. Daddy didn’t talk to Pete about my sister Lizzie swallowing a bottle of pills four months back because it hurt too much, and Daddy got tired of the sad feelings he told me. Mama got tired of the sad feelings too, so most days she just ate the refrigerator dry and drowned herself in the fake world of tv and books. As for me, I got stuck in the middle, yanked like a piece of taffy between the two. I flipped another page, then slapped the book shut. Yesterday wasn’t too bad, though. Mama baked oatmeal cookies and didn’t lick the batter bowl clean. And Daddy told me about the time he pushed his brother Jonny off the tool shed in his little red wagon and Jonny walked away with just a scrape across the forehead. It was a funny story, one I hoped Daddy might tell again. All in all, it was a not-so-bad day. A fluke? Maybe. But I clung really tight to the not-so-bad days until the good days came back around. I picked up the book, turned to Chapter Two, and hoped the story might pick up the pace.
Rebecca Buller is a native Oklahoman. Her work has appeared in various publications including Burningword Literary Journal, The A3 Review and Press, and Everyday Fiction. She's also a Writer's Digest Annual Writing Competition award winner. She's currently self-studying Spanish and the acoustic guitar, and most of her writing is done when the sun goes down.
You can see more of Rebecca's work in 7.4