Arthur the Author

{{What would I think of myself if I wrote a book?}}

          I was tempted to reach down and sweep the floor with my now wet hand. It seemed like the prompting was more of a command to clean but as I reached down and the dust stuck to my perspiration I felt more like I was collecting the memories that had been laying hidden in this forlorn room for all of the past awkward years. A trail of small but distinct footprints made a trail that led to the far end of the attic and curved back behind a large elegant trunk in the corner. I carved the small footprints out a little larger as I stuttered across the room with caution wanting to preserve the dust floor and the mysterious magic that filled the room. I wanted to call out to (insert girl name) but it just didn't seem right to make another noise when my feet were already disturbing her silence. 

          As my path came to a curve I saw (insert girl name)'s little red shoes on the floor. Then her full body came into view. She was wearing her favorite jean jumper, her eyes were open and staring, without a blink at the still ceiling. Her chest went up and down in slow breathes that seemed to be thought out. Seeing her breathe that way made me realize that I had stopped breathing and I gulped in the reserved air around me that had mixed with a little bit of dust, and then let out a labored sigh. 

          "Whadda you want?" (insert girl name) floated into the open air. 

          "How long are you going to keep this up?" I throw back "I mean, (insert girl name), you know mom didn't mean it don't you?"

          "Ya I know, just the anger talking right?"
          "Right." I fight hard to destroy any quiver in my speech, making my reply round like it is totally sure. Inside I am unsure myself if mothers words were thought out they way she presented them so carefully to (insert girl name) or if they were just thrown out like garbage on a a collecting day.
          "I just wanna be alone for a little bit."
          "Okay." I meander back down stairs not in much of a hurry because I was not successful in getting (insert girl name) to return with me. As I reentered the kitchen I hear my great aunt's questioning voice in full force. Stabbing my mom with questing that don't seen to have a good answer. The thing about Great Aunt is that she thrives off information. She already seems to know everything about everyone and she is always in a race trying to know more.
          "But who? Who did she take to the bar?"
          "I don't know {Candice}, I simply heard that she was with someone, he could have even invited her to the bar."
          "But who?" Great Aunt duplicated the question to herself now. Her face deviated from its original questioning look to a daydreamy look. Not a happy daydream, but a dismal, confusing daydream that had been torn from the caves of her memory and now was haunting her thoughts with even more habitual questions.
          "(insert boy name) honey, I need you to do the dishes now!"
          "Okay mom." I trotted over to the sink while I rolled up my sleeves in dismay. When mom was angry with someone it was best to avoid upsetting her, most people just avoid her altogether but I occasionally stick around for a show, or to do jobs for her in order to stay on her good side. I sat at the sink looking back through the small, window like hole in the wall to catch another glance at Great Aunt. I have found over the years that the more you study someone the more you notice about them.
           "Why do you give a care anyway?" Mother said to Great Aunt. Mother had moved over to the couch and picked up her stitching.
           "I don't, I don't." Great Aunt moved to the couch opposite my mother and began to read her novel. As I studied her I could tell she wasn't reading but still thinking, still questioning in her mind. I studied her worn face as I scrubbed the large pot she had just cooked in. The more I looked the more I wanted to know her thoughts. Wrinkles on her face seemed to straighten out in my repairing mind for just a few moments, her complexion went from a ash to a pearly white and for a moment I swear I saw her slip out a singular smile. As she looked up I was startled and shoved my eyes back down toward the sink. I spent the next couple seconds in silence washing over my favorite ocean green plate. Thinking about my dad who had given me the gift.
          "Where is (insert girl name)?" mother blurted blowing out my sweet silence, "I thought I told you to go get her!" Here comes the trouble
          "I did go," I say feeling a tingle run up my leg to my stomach, "she said that she just wanted to be alone for now." The same tingle was now traveling straight to my heart causing it to lub loudly.
          "Okay then," mother simply stated. Her answer, clam and collect surprises me. Instead of her subtle reaction calming me, it makes my insides scream louder. My whole body is tingling now every instinct is telling me to run, "Well, keep going!" I hear my mom say, but she sounds far off, I fell removed from the small kitchen but as I look down I am still right there, dirty dish in hand and I resume my chore.

{{Not great. But a Start. I need some good names.}}