Burn

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

Outside in the lower-city, under its dark lamp-lit sky and between the allies of its clay-built homes, I stood in front of a broken door. I rocked on the soles of my white shoes and twisted my bracelet around my wrist. I was waiting to be let into my father and sister's house. I was coming back home.

I wanted to kick myself in the gut. I would feel the same, anyhow.

Against the dirt steps of the clay home, I shuffled my feet and looked around the corner. The teal colored windows, the only two left, were boarded shut.

I could have shouted, or tried to knock on the door again. If I was at the wrong home, at least I was wearing my white coat. It was the only thing these lower-city people seemed to fear. I had already spooked a few on the way here by knocking on their doors. I was just trying to find directions. But in a city without streets or numbers, it had turned into an impossible task. Almost impossible.

I continued to rock my feet on the steps and took in a deep sigh. The smell of a hot pot simmering was seeping from the deep cracks of the decaying door. The memories of its taste both consoled and stunned me as a sweat washed over me.

This was the place. No doubt, and unfortunately.

But this time I didn't want to be back through that door. This time I wanted to be kept out.

"I told you I heard something!" a girl's voice shouted from behind the door.

"You know I can't hear nothin' over that stove," a man shouted back.

A pair of steps strutted towards the door and turned the wobbling knob of the door.

The door gave a quick jut before it swung open.

My father stood at the door, wearing a baggy t-shirt that was dingy with coffee colored stains. His dark pants slouched at the hips and were gathered with a string at the top. His bare toes curled backed as he looked me over.

"Still don't feel real, I tell you," he said holding the frame of the door.

As he continued to stare, he let out a deep laugh from his round belly.

"Come in, come in," he said and moved his arm from the door frame, "I'm sure you've got to be some kind of hungry. You've always had an appetite on you."

That was a lie. I had always been more of a picky eater. Sometimes skipping meals rather than eating something I didn't like. He didn't know me at all.

I followed him, watching the slight limp of his left leg and walked through the empty hall that led into the single room of the home.

It was a cramped room teaming with broken wooden chairs, hand quiled blankets lose of their stuffing and stacks of wet boxes filled with papers. The two windows that were boarded up only let in thin strips of light from the outside making it hard to see the corners of the bleak room.

"Macie!" my father shouted, "You let that soup simmer awhile and sit wit' me and your sister,"

Macie was standing over a steaming pot. A single stove coil sat on the ground. Gracie stirred the pot one more time then put the lid back on top before she turned.

"No worries dad, I was making my way," she said and brushed her hands against her apron.

Gracie glanced at me, an awkward smile crossed her lips before her eyes returned to the floor. She wore a plain white scarf around her curls and a dull blue dress under her stained apron.

In the corner, my father let out a yawn and fell into a crimson armchair.

"Had to sit down," he said, huffing for air, "I just have so much happiness in my heart, it's weighin' me down."

Macie smiled and looked down at him, "So that's why you're always sittin' in that chair?"

My father lets out another laugh, "Well, you got me there, Gracie."

They both continued laughed. I stood quietly.

"Both my girls back home," my father said rocking in his chair, "There's so much to tell."

I nodded again, still in silence.

"Your sister here, she's been keeping down the fort," my father said and pointed towards Macie, "She cooks, cleans and brings in the contribution money when we need. You see I haven't been able to work since my knee went bad. And even with a hundred of those upper-city doctors, not one will fix me."

"They'll fix you, dad, with enough contributions," Macie said and leaned against a wall with her arms crossed.

"Whatever they need, I don't have it," he said and crossed his arms to match Macie, "You see, I tripped over a wire on our way here to the Union from the camps about two years ago. Hasn't been the same since. I was able to walk on it for a few months, but seems I been making it worse than better."

Behind him, the simmering pot began to whistle and sizzle as it overflowed with the savory stew.

Macie scurried towards the black pot on the floor, her single arm stretched wide ready to carry the hot handles between the cloth of her apron.

"Well, now," my father said, leaning from his chair, "When it's ready, it speaks."

Macie took the pot off the stove coil, set it on a towel of the dusty floor and stirred it with the large wooden spoon once more.

"How's it taste?" my father shouted to Macie behind him.

Macie stuck the spoon in her mouth and smirked, "Best I've made in a long time," she said.

"That's cause you knew today was special," he said and winked.

Macie's cheeks dimpled and flushed pink.

"Gather some plates and spoons. I'm sure your sister is hungry," he said and looked back at me, "Isn't that right?"

"Um, sure," I said and looked up from the floor, feeling heavy chested.

I would eat anything to leave sooner.

Macie gathered bowls and spoons from the back corner of the room.

"You're sister makes it just like your mother used to," my father said, "I'm sure you remember, don't you?"

Macie let out a loud hushing sound as she poured heaps of soup into a bowl.

"You're right, you're right," my father said and rested back in his chair with a solemn frown.

I stood in the corner, far from my father's armchair, furthest from my sister and listed to the bowls and spoons chime together. I knew he would say something about my mother, I just didn't think it would be so soon. He didn't even remember me well, how could he expect me to remember my mother. She was gone before I could talk, gone before she could keep us together.

Macie turned from the pot of stew with three bowls resting on her uninjured arm, and the other pressing three spoons to her side. She first lowered a bowl to a standing tray that sat next to my father's armchair. Next, she walked towards me, her eyes dropped, and an arm extended as far as she could with both bowls. I met my hand beneath a cracked blue bowl and pulled a spoon from her side.

"Thanks," I said, the steam whipping in my face.

Macie nodded and turned back towards the kitchen side of the room where a pile of mismatched pillows sat. She placed her bowl and spoon next to a pillow then sat herself down. I stood where I was, the bowl of stew cupped under my warm chin.

"Ooooooooo, wwwweeee!" my father howled, and pointed his spoon towards his bowl, "Now that's something to write home about. You should be proud Macie, you know I am."

Macie looked up at my father, her large brown eyes softened to match his.

They both laughed all at once. I stood quietly.

They didn't need me here, clearly.

My father turned from his armchair sharp and at me.

"Now, Lillie - I mean Evee," my father stuttered, "How's is it living tall in the clouds?"

Macie's eyes turned sharp again as if she was about to say hush once more.

"The dorms? It's definitely different," I said, stirring my spoon around the orange bits of carrots in the gloopy brown stew.

"Are they treating you good though?" my father asked.

"They give us plenty to do," I said still stirring.

"And they feedin' you plenty?" he continued.

"There lots to eat, so I guess so," I said, looking at the measly small bowl in my hands.

"Good, good," he said, the tension in his voice breaking, "That's all I want, all I ever wanted for you."

"Me too," Macie said quietly into her bowl.

"Evee, there's been something on my mind, and to be quite honest about it, it just doesn't feel right to not ask you now."

"Dad," Macie whined and reached out her arm.

"She's your sister Macie, you'd do the same for her," he said and looked away from her.

"As you can see," my father said and stopped his eating, "We're not living in the most abundant of situations. We are hard working people you're sister and me. I don't want you to get the wrong idea, now. But, since I can't work no more, it's been harder for us to make it with the contributions we have. And you see, your sister here is mighty handy."

"Dad, no," Macie whispered.

"She can do lots of work, any work even with her one hand. She's applied many times, but they just don't want a one-armed girl being a white coats assistant. And with the extra contributions money, I can get my ankle fixed and be back to work. You're sister maybe she can go to school. All that we're asking is you give in a good word for her. Maybe ask her to be your assistant. But even just a mention, that's all we ask."

I took in a spoon full of the stew and let its warm spices wash over my tongue and dance under my lips. It was as if a memory, however distant had wrapped itself around me like a blanket in a cold night.

"Sure," I said, feeling the warmth hit my toes, "I'll ask."

"Good, good," my father said, a smile curling up beneath his black beard.

Macie sat with her soup, and eyes cast down towards the floor.

A vibration hit my wrist and a notification scrolled across the band.

I looked up and said, "We'll know soon enough, I have a meeting with Gen in thirty minutes."

"Even better!" my father exclaimed, rocking back and forth in his chair.

I looked down at my bowl, still filled to the brim.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Anything, anything you need," my father said.

"Can I take this soup -- you know, back with me?"

"As much as you want!" my father said and pointed to Macie, "You packed some away, right?"

Macie was already standing by with a black container in her hand as she walked towards me.

"Thanks, sis," she said and handed me the black container with the same half-smile she had worn since I got here.

"Don't mention it," I said, looking away from her eyes and taking the container.

Later, as I sat in the stiff metal chair in front of Gen's glass desk and watched her ice colored eyes, all my thoughts and memories were boiling over.

I had lost control, and as Gen nodded her slender face to approve my request, I knew the pot would only burn from here.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net