Sketches from Childhood (still in the works)

These are far from complete, far from edited, far from good… just the beginnings of what I hope might be some interesting sketches of childhood. Of course you’re always welcome to criticize as usual, but keep in mind that I myself haven’t even gotten that far.

The two girls sat on their grandparent’s large screened-in back porch, playing, imagining, best of friends. But like any best friends or sisters, they had the uncanny ability to get into small fights. The younger was a stubborn freckle-faced brunette with straight hair that had finally decided to grow after a good two years of baldness, a feature that an older self would always look back on with a mix of resentment and humor. Her sister, the older by three years, was typically the brains behind the play… the imaginer. Carrie, her name was, gave out distinct roles and, naturally, became the director of sorts… the controller of play. Today, however, her control was questioned by the younger Erin, who very obstinately decided to say names at her sister.

Now, in this process of name calling, Erin would simply pick out a word somehow associated with a gun, in this case, fling it toward her sister, and watch Carrie react with perturbed six-year-old superiority and shock. With each new gun-related name (why Erin chose guns on this day one will never understand) she became increasingly upset, scolding Erin, until finally the 3-year-old puffed up and blurted out her final retort:
“BOOSEY-SHOOTIE!” she erupted.

Somehow with that strange kid-luck that seems to allow a younger sister to perpetually win, Carrie ran to her parents and grandparents, yelled,
“Erin said ‘boosey-shootie!’”
and instead of being shocked as she certainly feigned to be, they burst into helpless laughter. And a new word was born into the family’s vocabulary.

* * *

Heads starting to bob to unheard music, eyes gleaming with excitement, a theme song of sorts begins to play in their over-imaginative heads.

Music begins, almost as if a game show is about to start. “Dawwwwww-geeeeee exercise!” The music modulates a step… “Dawwwwww-geeeeee exercise!”

Finally hands start to move, grooving and pawing to the music. No longer little girls, Erin has transformed into a human-like schnauzer named Precious, her sister seated in front of her, now a 25-year-old owner and mother-figure of Precious. Doggy exercise has begun, and paws are dancing wildly to music that can miraculously be heard by the rest of the hearing world. They sit bobbing to the music of Take Six and Donald Faegan, or whatever else Daddy wants to play or has left out.

When the tape is finished playing, the exhausted Precious is taken back to her colorful and spacious cage. Her owner gently tucks the human-doggy in for a small nap. The world again morphs, two little girls named Carrie and Erin take apart a construction of waffle blocks and emerge from their world into the living room.

* * *

Straddling bikes at the top of the driveway, the daredevils strap on their helmets in preparation to do their stunts, a fleeting acquiescence to an over-protective mother. Gripping the handlebars, they ride down the first leg of the track in a flash, sharply turning left down the bottom portion of the U-shaped course, then a quick left at the turnaround point. From here there will be dangerously acute angles to the right as the daring cyclists race back over their course. Race, down… left… left – turnaround – right… right – turnaround – left… over and over… faster, faster sharp turns – CAREFUL – they ride for hours improving their speed of turning and angles at which they turn. They were freestyle cyclists, always in need of new and better stunts… and they took themselves very seriously.

But as it gets dark, the circuit must end, the daredevils must put away their bikes and helmets for another day. Giggling, they walk inside.