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TITLE (EDIT)
Just Me |
DESCRIPTION
The story of a little girl home from the hospital. You would think her parents would be happy to see her, wouldn't you?
[888 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Biography |
AUTHOR
Stormy |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[August 2004] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4)
A New Beginning (Poetry) A poem about a very misunderstood man. [188 words] [Relationships]
Boundaries (Short Stories) It is only natural that we would seek out and discover the borders of our kingdom, for a kingdom it is, and each of us its proud king or queen. [1,178 words] [Relationships]
Good As Gold (Short Stories) Getting good grades in high school shouldn't have been a bad thing. [2,359 words] [Relationships]
Of Peppermints And White Knights (Short Stories) I took my first drink at age 10. [2,179 words] [Biography]
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Just Me
Stormy
She was hungry. She couldn’t remember when she had eaten last. Meal trays had been wheeled up to her in the hospital, but she didn’t know if she had eaten anything. She had no recollection of eating any one specific thing such as a hamburger or mashed potatoes or green jello. She would have remembered green jello.
The girl had come home from the hospital the night before, but you would never have known it from the silence in the house. There had been no welcome back party or special meal. Her most favorite food was pizza. She had hoped for pizza, even a plain one, but knew deep down it would never happen. Though she was no longer in a catatonic state, she remained quiet for those first hours at home. She sat on the edge of her bed and waited. It was good to be back in her own room with her shelf of stuffed animals and familiar paint by numbers on the walls. She was good at paint by numbers. But she was hungry. She had never been so hungry.
She could have talked, if she had wanted to. She had said hello to her mother when she had walked her down the long hall of the hospital and outside into the frigid air. It was almost dark already. The little girl had no idea what time it was except for the growing ache in the pit of her stomach. The ache told her it was dinner time, or perhaps way past dinner time. Her mother had been late picking her up.
The little girl didn’t talk because no one spoke to her. Not a word was exchanged during the long car ride. When she had reached home, she had gone into her bedroom and shut the door. She needed to be alone for a few minutes, to center herself with her things and her surroundings. She heard movement in the house, someone walking down the hall, her father, a chair sliding across the kitchen floor. She waited for the sounds of dinner being made, but there were none. No one came to be with her. No one came to sit on the bed beside her and ask her how she was feeling. She was left alone.
She heard water running in the bathroom and then the sound of her parents bedroom door closing. It was bedtime. Her parents always went to bed early.
Neither parent so much as stepped into the girl's bedroom to check on her. Neither parent asked her if she was hungry or thirsty or tired or hurting or sad or angry. Neither parent cared to see if their little girl was coping with having seen a little boy die. A little boy her age. A little boy who had been her friend. Neither parent cared to deal with her at the moment.
That evening, when she could stand the pangs of hunger no longer, she opened her door and went to the kitchen. She knew her mother and father couldn't stand the sight of her. They blamed her for bringing chaos into their quiet life. They blamed her for everything. The weight of the world was becoming heavier and heavier to bare.
"What are you doing?" a voice asked in the darkness. The little girl jumped. It was the first time since she was home that anyone had actually spoken to her. Her father was sitting in his favorite chair in the living room. The room was totally dark except for the glow of his cigarette. She didn't know if she would be able to find her voice to answer.
"I'm hungry," she stammered. Her voice was weak and raspy.
“Didn’t they feed you in that place?” he asked. He was annoyed. She still could not see his face, but she knew he was annoyed. “Hundred bucks a day and they don’t even feed you.”
She watched her father put out the cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray. She hated the smell of cigarette smoke. The entire house reeked of it. She heard the springs in the tired old chair squeak as her father rose. Then he turned and walked away.
She stood very still for a moment, then opened the refrigerator to find something to eat. Food did not seem to be a priority any more. There was no milk, no fruit, no juice. She suddenly had a craving for orange juice. It had been a long time since she had been offered any. Half a stick of butter sat on a plate on the middle shelf. A pot of burned macaroni and cheese had been tossed onto the bottom shelf. A bag of slimy hotdogs was oozing a sticky substance down the back of the refrigerator. She reached for the plate of butter. In the freezer she found a loaf of bread.
She took out two slices and put them in the toaster. She filled a glass with water, spread lumps of butter on the toasted bread, and proceeded to eat at the counter.
“You’re going home today,” a nurse at the hospital had told her. She had wanted to smile. She had wanted to be happy.
“Your mommy and daddy will be so glad to see you,” the nurse continued. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
She had shook her head and looked away. “There’s just me.”
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READER'S REVIEWS (2)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"I think this is a very well written story. (This is my first time to this site and I hope to come back and read some more.) I would definitely love to see this story continued though. There's so much that could be done with these characters. Why are the parents so angry with the little girl? Who was the little boy? (I thought maybe it was her twin brother??) Have you ever thought about continuing with this? I hope you do! " -- Jill.
"I like this nice story,I want to translate it into chinese,can you send me an email to tell sth about the author?thanks." -- sun.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2002 Stormy |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
November 2002 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2311
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