opened the laptop to this - maybe her writer's block is ending!
My brother and I sat under the crape myrtle tree, silent except for the soft sound of his breath. I gazed off over the farm, watching the tall corn stalks sway slightly in the breeze, hearing the faraway sound of a truck down on the main road.
Henry played with a piece of grass, twirling it around in his hands. He was shirtless; when we had run up the hill he’d taken off his shirt due to the beginning-of-summer heat. His hair stuck up in the back, but he didn’t care. Yet, anyway. He was approaching that age where people got mean and people started caring more. But he probably already sorta knew what that was like. Henry was probably used to that already.
“Hey, Nora, do you think Dad’s home yet?” Henry said. He looked towards me, hopeful. His nose and cheekbones were sprinkled with freckles.
“I dunno,” I said, knowing perfectly well he wasn’t. The farm was failing, and Dad spent quite a lot of time in town, trying to solve his problems. I think Henry thought he was looking for a new job, but I knew he was trying to solve his problems in a bar somewhere. I think Mom thought that too. I could hear him come home some nights, if I stayed up reading long enough.
Henry pulled his legs up to his bare chest, flinging the blade of grass to the wind. It fluttered for a moment before landing at the trunk of another tree. He didn’t see.
“Maybe we should go down there, Nora. To check.”
I frowned. Henry, he’s not home. Grow up. Notice things, I thought. “Nah, it’s nice up here. Plus Mom’s just going to put us to work,” I said impatiently.
We were quiet for a little while after that. Henry seemed irritated, based on the concerned look on his face.
I took in the beauty of the country around me. To the east, there was a large apple orchard. By now, small green bulbs were showing in the leaves. I couldn’t wait for apple picking. To the west, our house lay, definitely needing a paint job.
My brother and I sat under the crape myrtle tree, silent except for the soft sound of his breath. I gazed off over the farm, watching the tall corn stalks sway slightly in the breeze, hearing the faraway sound of a truck down on the main road.
Henry played with a piece of grass, twirling it around in his hands. He was shirtless; when we had run up the hill he’d taken off his shirt due to the beginning-of-summer heat. His hair stuck up in the back, but he didn’t care. Yet, anyway. He was approaching that age where people got mean and people started caring more. But he probably already sorta knew what that was like. Henry was probably used to that already.
“Hey, Nora, do you think Dad’s home yet?” Henry said. He looked towards me, hopeful. His nose and cheekbones were sprinkled with freckles.
“I dunno,” I said, knowing perfectly well he wasn’t. The farm was failing, and Dad spent quite a lot of time in town, trying to solve his problems. I think Henry thought he was looking for a new job, but I knew he was trying to solve his problems in a bar somewhere. I think Mom thought that too. I could hear him come home some nights, if I stayed up reading long enough.
Henry pulled his legs up to his bare chest, flinging the blade of grass to the wind. It fluttered for a moment before landing at the trunk of another tree. He didn’t see.
“Maybe we should go down there, Nora. To check.”
I frowned. Henry, he’s not home. Grow up. Notice things, I thought. “Nah, it’s nice up here. Plus Mom’s just going to put us to work,” I said impatiently.
We were quiet for a little while after that. Henry seemed irritated, based on the concerned look on his face.
I took in the beauty of the country around me. To the east, there was a large apple orchard. By now, small green bulbs were showing in the leaves. I couldn’t wait for apple picking. To the west, our house lay, definitely needing a paint job.
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