I came to in a new bed under heavy white blankets. I was inside a room with purely white tile walls. It looked like an infirmary with medical supplies atop tables and gloves scattered about. I pulled my shirt up and saw that my wounds were gone. I felt terrified and confused by the new scenery, dreading the idea of being in a stranger’s house.
I was able to climb out of bed and place my bare feet on the cold floor. In front of me was the door and under it was a thin streak of orange light. A long hallway with brown wooden floorboards. On the left wall, were several doors that looked like they led to bedrooms, and the right wall was painted like the sky and blanketed by family photos. I fully stepped out of the room and took a photo off the wall to study.
It depicted a family of seven, five of which with matching white skin, long brown hair, and green eyes. Two young daughters, an older brother, and two parents. The other two kids were redheads and looked to be twins with
I gingerly pulled the door open and peeped from the crack. It led to a dining room fit with a large wooden table and a quilted carpet underneath. Behind that was the kitchen, and to the left of the kitchen looked to be the living room. The air was heavy with the scent of animals, and hot and as if wicking the sweat from my glands. Thin strands of animal hair floated in front of my face.
I stepped onto the creaky floorboards of the hallway and peeked behind the door. Another door was tucked away on the right wall at the rear of the hallway. I walked over and opened it. A dark cramped closet with a foul smell. Dark long-sleeved clothes were hanging everywhere. There was a small gap in the back of the closet made by a tackle box on the left and a pile of books on the right. I sat in the gap and closed the door.
I sat in the with clothes wrapped around my body recounting what happened to my city. Surprisingly, I haven’t been upset at all. My mood has stabilized and remained that way. I’m worried that, eventually, it’s all going to hit me like a truck. With clothes wrapped around my body, I felt happy and secure. It reminded me of the small dark closet I had in my own room. The same closet where I found this notebook. My small room in Ripley, my two friends. These tender memories of once was didn’t upset but comforted me. They slowly ushered my body into a small slumber.
Just as my eyes locked, I heard the sound of their front door unlock. Booming voices of gleeful children filled the air. The sheer reminder that I was not the only one there shocked me awake. They could be killers or psychopaths. Above all, they’re strangers. And I greatly dislike interacting with strangers.
People scattered throughout the house. Some went down the hallway and entered their rooms, slamming their doors behind them. It seemed like someone walked into the room I woke up in.
“Where’s that boy at?” Asked a female voice drenched in a thick southern drawl. Probably the mother, and judging by her footsteps, she was surveying the room. She was authentically concerned about me, which made me feel guilty about leaving. I decided to remain in the closet rather than revealing myself.
Then someone else spoke. Another southern woman, with a significantly younger voice.
“I donno Ma, I’ll find him” She answered.
I heard the slapping of someone’s flip-flops as they left the room and walked down the hallway. Then there was just one person prancing through the hallway. I assumed it was one of the daughters, and silently wrapped myself in more clothes making sure the long sleeves were suspended above. She entered the room in front of the closet. It was the door in front of mine, and slightly to the right.
“The blue hair boy come in here?” She questioned.
“Get out,” demanded the southern male voice. He didn’t sound too fond of the girl, as if he hated her. Then she left the room in a huff and stepped in front of the closet. My heart sank when I saw her bare feet pointing at me from under the door through the sticking of the clothes.
“Hmmm,” She pondered as she placed her hand on the doorknob. She slowly twisted it, only amplifying my anxiety. Orange light from the hallway rushed in. She crouched down in front of me.
“Come own, you know I can see you right?” She asked in a candid voice. I stayed quiet. Then she removed the sleeve hanging in front of my face.
“Howdy,” She said as we met eyes. She studied me curiously with her glimmering white eyes with big brown pupils surveying my calm face. Her face was that of a child. No older than I am. Abundant red hair was everywhere on her head, as if she was wearing. Her thin eyebrows and eyelashes were red too. And it’s not the kind of red hair that’s actually orange. Her hair is a deep, genuine shade of red that emanated a fiery vibe. Then she started asking me dumb questions.
“Why are you crying?” She asked.
“I haven’t been crying,” I told her.
“Well, are you planning on comin’ out?” She asked.
With her staring at me so intently while asking me such questions, it felt like I was amid an interrogation. Why is my life any of her business anyway?
“Nope. No point, so go away,” I told her.
“I reckon you should scoot over then,” She said.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
Then, without warning, she put her small body in the closet, shoving the bag of clothes to my left out of the way and taking its spot. We were sitting shoulder to shoulder and she kept staring at me. With her big brown eyes studying my every feature, it felt like I was under a searchlight. “So, what’s your name?” She asked.
“I just met you, and you expect me to tell you my life story?” I asked.
“Lemme get this straight,” She asked while jutting her head back and placing her fingers on her chest as if offended. “You pass out on our porch, and you expect me not to ask questions?” She asserted.
Her attitude pierced me with the impact of an arrowhead. At that point, I had never talked to any other woman besides my mother speak to me in that way. It made me avoid eye contact with her.
“Then what do you want to know?” I asked in the most humdrum tone I could muster.
“Where are you from?” She questioned.
Out of all the moronic, antagonizing questions, she could ask, of course, she had to ask that.
“Just a city,” I said
“Mhm, and?” She pestered.
I inhaled deeply and picked the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index. With a stomach full of pain and stress, I continued.
“Would you believe me if I said my city was destroyed by a giant robot?” I asked.
“Sounds like a lotta loony to me,” She said with a smirk. It was as if she found what I experienced comical. It imbued me with burning anger that I struggled to tame as we continued talking.
“What month were you born?” She asked.
“Why? You want my horoscope?” I said forcefully.
“You’re madder than a wet hen!” She exclaimed.
“I’m a Scorpio,” I said.
“Oh-” She exclaimed with a great breath as if coming across a great discovery. “That makes sense!” She continued.
“Why does everyone tell me that?” I said to myself.
“I think it just fits you,” She said. “Well I’mma Gemini, that means that we understand each other!”
At that point, I stopped caring for our conversation. Her questions were like mosquitoes pecking on my skin. I about had enough of her.
“Cool,” I said. “Well understand this, I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you, and I don’t like you, and I’m not your friend” I affirmed.
She stayed silent for a moment. I looked at her again. She gave me a shocked expression, and through her furrowed eyebrows, I could tell I offended her. I immediately felt guilty for what I blurted out. Then her face reverted to how it was before.
“Yeah, pretty obvious. That’s fine though. Who would want a blue-haired crybaby as a friend anyway?” She asked.
Stolen story; please report.
Her quick, dimwitted comeback struck me with that of a bull. It pulled my heart down further than it already was. I turned my face towards her, and beamed the angriest glower I could muster. Her smirk melted in response. My eyes met a face of pity as she tilted her red eyebrows up and inward.
“I… I’m sorry…” She said coyly.
“Whatever,” I asserted. “You want me out this closet? Fine,” I said as I crawled out. She followed me out and stood next to me in the hallway, offering me her petite hand. Standing beside her for the first time, I realized she was a few inches shorter than me, at around four feet and four inches.
She’s a petite young redhead about as rectangular as a shoebox, with her body usually wrapped in farmer’s attire. Frayed jean overalls and a dull white shirt. Her dumb red hair always captures my attention no matter what corner of my eye I find it in. She’s like a walking television screen.
Curiously, I took her soft hand. “What’s this for? I asked.
“You’re my friend now,” She said. “Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten in three days,” She said earnestly with the same pitiful eyes locked onto mine. The same look one’s mother may give when their son comes home with a scraped knee. Because of her expression, and the concerned voice coupled with it, I decided to heed her for that moment.
“Sure, I could go for a bight,” I said calmly.
“Really?” She asked excitedly. “That’s great, Jack got some great meat this morning. Okay, wait here, and I’ll get my parents. They’ve been waiting for you, we all have!” She said with electrifying gleefulness as she hummed down the hallway.
I stood in the hallway like a mannequin. Secluded again. And of course, the moment I tried to be nice to her, she decides to off and tell her family. I knew at that moment that I would be the limelight once again, and to a bunch of strangers no less. Three days, those were the words she uttered. She meant I was asleep, recovering from Ripley’s destruction for three days.
She raced back down the hallway, and gripped my right wrist. She guided me through the hallway where I grabbed a seat at the dining table. She sat adjacent to me, awaiting her family.
The static sound of satellite television drifted into my left ear. Someone was watching a program in the living room to my left. They got off the couch and walked into the dining room They appeared to be the mother. A tall white lady dressed in a lengthy chiffon nightgown.
“Howdy,” she said with a grin as she walked into the kitchen in front of me.
She crouched down and pulled open the wooden cabinets and grabbing pots and pans. Doors from the hallway behind me opened, as if queued by the sound of the pots and pans. The rest of the family came from the hallway, congregating in the dining room and occupying their seats.
Surprisingly, none of them spoke to me. They just assumed their seats, waiting for whatever their mother was making. The room did fall silent, though, as if I was expected to introduce myself, which made me feel anxious. Despite that, I opened my mouth intending to strike a deeper conversation with their mother.
“Hello mam, what’s your name?” I asked,
“That would be Betty May Requise Hickley,” She said with her back to me, already occupied by the copious black pans she summoned from the cabinets. She revealed to me four names, which surprised me at the time, since I don’t even have a last or middle name myself.
“And you?” She asked.
“Ekule, just Ekule. Which is short for Ekulious,” I relayed to her.
“That’s an interesting name! Where’s that from?” She asked.
“Mother gave it to me,” I answered.
“You’re mixed, too is your mother white?”
“Mom is black l sure why my skin is lighter than hers,” I continued.
“And how old are you?” She asked.
“I’m twelve years old, mam,” I answered. Then the question of ‘and how old are you, mam?’ spawned in my brain, then almost shot out my mouth. I silenced myself before blurting it out, as asking a woman for her age can be rude. So I just sat there in silence for a few moments. Only the continuous growling of my stomach was audible and reminded me that I had not eaten in three days.
The rest of the family, all five of them sitting at the large table with me sat in silence too. I wondered if this was how the family normally was, or if my sudden appearance altered their dynamic. The largest man, the one whom I instantly assumed as the father, had a massive hairy stomach peeking from between his wrinkled white shirt and the brown belt holding up his dirty jeans. His buff, hairy arms and a frowning face as solid as metal made him look as tough as nails. Probably the result of physical labor.
He had two kids who seemed to be related by blood. Two brunettes, one boy and one girl who seemed to be slightly younger than me, probably around nine or ten. Both white, with straight brown hair and vibrant green eyes like their father.
Then there was the girl whom I’d met, and one other boy. Much like his father his body seemed conditioned by years of manual labor, making his body slightly more brawny than his siblings. But much like the girl, his hair was red too. And he had big brown eyes too, making him her twin. But his eyes looked slightly more cynical, either that or he was just tired. He must have been the one who told her to leave their room earlier, too.
I learned what they looked like, and they must know of my blue hair, too. But they were yet to ask me about it. I felt as required to divulge more of myself to them, but I kept my mouth shut as I waited for their mother, even though I didn’t even know what she was making. This is the first time I’ve been in a different house, better yet been a part of a new family. When she finished she gave us plates packed with food.
The girl whom I’d met was delighted with her large slice of shepherd’s pie. The slice looked bigger than her face. She started eating with two forks clenched in her fists. Her twin was given the same meal.
“Oh, and this is my hubby Tom,” Betty said as she crouched down and kissed the father on the cheek. She delivered two plates, one decked with thick slices of steak with some pink in the middle, and another full of veggies.
Betty circled around the table to the two brunettes. “And these two are Daniel and Heather,” She told me while rubbing their heads, fraying their hair.
“Mom…” The two of them groaned.
“You’ve already met my oldest daughter. That’s her brother on your right,” She said while pointing at the red-headed boy on my right.
“Hello,” I said to him with a wave.
“His name is Jack,” Betty told me.
“Sup bro,” He said back in a smooth, confident voice. Then he continued eating.
“If you can’t tell, these two knuckleheads are twins,” Betty continued.
“Yep,” Tom chimed in. “One afternoon I walk outside, and guess who I find at my feet. Two redheads in a pissy fit tucked in a basket,” Tom prattled. His tone sounded surprisingly reminiscent when he spoke.
“Dad…” Wined the girl.
“Sorry, I didn’t know what you like,” Betty said as she approached me. “I hope you like grilled cheese,” she said as she delivered her last plate.
“I love grilled cheese!” I exclaimed.
“I knew you would!” She replied, reciprocating my excitement.
Sitting on the plate waiting for me, was two long and hefty slices of bread toasted dark brown. Gold cheese oozed from the sides and the buttery aroma beckoned me closer. I gripped the buttery sandwich and took a bite causing more cheese to ooze out the sides. Overwhelming flavor of buttery bread and smooth cheese cascaded across my mouth. There was a hint of spice in every delightful bite. A moment later, I was melancholic. And before I realized, tears were running down my face. I took the sandwich out of my mouth, flabbergasted by it.
“Thank you,” I said softly while whipping my left cheek. “Thank you very much,”
A Grilled cheese was my favorite after-school snack. That, accompanied by a tall glass of milk and maybe a side of tomato sauce made for an excellent afternoon for me. My mom made the absolute best Grilled cheeses. I miss mommy, and that stupid red-headed girl must have noticed
“What’s wrong, Ekule?” She asked.
“I’m just a little bit depressed,” I said.
“Awe…” She sighed.
“Yeah,” I continued while putting my sandwich down. I had only taken two bites and lost my appetite. Sharp pain materialized in my stomach, as if I was being stabbed from the inside. I felt like throwing up.
“Is it not good?” Betty asked.
“No, it’s great! Thanks,” I asserted. My lively voice grew raspier with every word.
“You sure you’re good?” Jack asked.
“Is there a place I can lay down?” I asked.
“Sure son,” Said Tom. “Over yonder,” he said while pointing his big arm back down the hallway.
“I’ll take him,” The redheaded girl offered. She slid off the chair and took me down the hallway. Her thin fingers gripping the sleeve of my shirt, guiding me down the dark hallway. I collapsed in the middle, gripping my stomach with my hands.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I uttered between sharp breaths.
“Oh my god,” Betty yelled as she came down the hallway, the rest of the family following close.
“Ekule, we’re almost there,” She said, reassuring me and hoisting me back on my feet with her hand on my chest. They took me into what looked like a storage room that was cleared out. Only a bed laid in the far right corner of the gray room with cement walls. I climbed into the bed, and the redheaded girl tucked me in, the rest of her family overlooking me with worrisome eyes. I wanted to apologize for making them exert themselves, but I couldn’t make the words come out of my mouth.
“I’ll bring you your sandwich,” said one of the brunettes.
“We’re the Hickleys, welcome to our farm,” Said the girl. She placed her hand on my forehead. “Well, you don’t have a fever,” She said.
“Where’s my backpack and old school clothes?” I asked. Finally, words could flow out of my mouth, but they weren’t the words I wanted.
“Your backpack? We only found you on your porch. You, and that green journal you had tucked in your arms,” She said.
It took me a moment to realize she was talking about this journal. The journal I’m writing in right now. I usually write in it once a day, or right after something happens. And I take it everywhere with me, and log everything worthwhile in it. So it’s no surprise I clenched it even while unconscious.
“Here’s your sandwich, I’m sorry, but it’s cold now,” Said Danie, the youngest boy in the room. “I’ll put it here,” He said softly while placing the plate on a nightstand adjacent to me. The rest of the family, after ascertaining I was in bed, left the room. I assume they wanted me to rest more.
“I think you need some more rest,” Said the girl as she followed. Before she left the room, she placed her hand on the doorframe and turned to me once more.
“If you need anything. A glass of water, some orange juice, fruit, or anything, just ask me,” She said.
I couldn’t even look at the sandwich that afternoon. I knew seeing it would make me feel sick again, so I turned towards the wall on my left and shut my eyes.