Sapphire Eyes ~ 10 Chapter Challenge

Ten Years Before the Letter

Turn Off ~ Mirna

The world turns on, like that slow fade-in that the TV does when you pull the knob out. Everything slowly comes into focus, tinted yellow from the towel hanging in the window.

The TV is still on from last night, playing a Pillsbury Doughboy commercial with cinnamon rolls covered in frosting. Yummy. The little white Doughboy lets out a giggle as someone's hand comes in to poke him, and my tummy rumbles and twists.

I look around the living room and see a box of crackers on the floor and a bag of M&Ms. I push my blanky away and slide off the couch to sit in front of the box. It feels empty when I pick it up, it looks empty when I peek inside, but I reach in anyway, pull out the bag. A few crumbs. I turn the bag over and catch the crumbs, shove them into my mouth, and chew. Swallow air.

The M&Ms are gone. I remember, because I ate them last night for dinner, but I pick up the bag anyway, tear it open. The tiny broken colored pieces slip out of the wrapper before I can lick them up, and they fall into the carpet. I can hear Momma's voice in my head: "Don't eat off the floor Miri. You're not a dog."

I think Momma came home last night. I remember the door went bang and woke me up, and she stumbled in and stomped around the kitchen and then went to her room. Maybe I can have a real breakfast today, like the kind that Travis used to make for me before he left. I close my eyes, and I can see him: black shiny hair, big nose, scratchy face, goofy smiles, cooking at the oven and blowing smoke from his mouth. Yelling about something stupid that Momma did, making me laugh. I miss breakfast with Travis.

I stand and walk past the kitchen and bathroom to Momma's room. Her bed has a nice lump of covers, with her long black hair trailing out. Yes, she did come home, it wasn't just a dream. I pick my way across the floor to her bed, careful not to step on the jewelry, the trail of clothes, the high heels and dirty spoons. Her bed is so high, but I can climb up, and that's why Travis called me Little Monkey.

"Momma." I whisper. I rub her hair, but she doesn't move. "Momma." I shake her, but she still doesn't wake up. "Momma!"

"Go back to sleep Miri." Her words sound scratchy and muffled from her pillow.

"I'm hungry." My voice sounds whiney the way Momma hates it, but I can't help it. My tummy just hurts so much.

"I'll make you something when I get up, I promise. Just give me a couple more hours." She pulls on her covers, and her head disappears. For a while, I can't do anything but stare at the lump where she's hiding. Then I slap her. Even through the covers, it hurts my hand when I hit her head.

"Uh, you little beach! Get out, right now." She rolls at me, and I fly back off the bed and hit the floor on my bottom. The tears flood my eyes. I scramble to my feet, put my hand over my mouth to stop the crying, and hurry out.

I run back to the TV, grab my blanky, collapse on the floor, and let it out long and hard into the frazzled yarn. Until I can't feel anything but the hunger pains, and I get up and go to the kitchen. The food is in the higher cabinets, above the counter where I can't reach, but I open all the bottom drawers just in case. Pots and pans, empty butter tubs, and dish towels. Not a single thing to eat.

The fridge is probably empty, but I look anyway. Jar of something red, bottle of ketchup, butter, and a carton of eggs. I pull out the carton. Empty. I can't make eggs anyway. Travis can, but he never showed me how.

I turn back to the counters. The bottom drawers are open like steps. I set my jaw, grab at the top drawer to steady myself, and step up on the bottom drawer. I grab the counter top and step up again. My feet slip—I catch my knee on the drawer underneath me. I pull myself up, turn around, and sit on the counter, rubbing my knee. It hurts, but the pain in my tummy is even worse. I reach up to the cabinet and stand, pull the closest cabinet open, and duck under it. Macaroni and cheese in a box, cans of vegetables, Lucky Charms. I reach up, but it's too high, up on the second shelf.