Madeleine's Life, A Short Story

A/N: This story is cross-posted at FictionPress, and is also available for (free) download in several E-Book formats at Smashwords. PM me if you have any questions.

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Madeleine's Life, A Short Story

copyright 2007 E. Miranda Hernandez

My mom is a sore loser. We heard about these family game nights on TV, and decided to give it a try, but Mom hates it when I spend my dominoes before she's through, and we invariably end up shoving everything into a box before anyone reaches 500 points. We even tried this fancy game called Mexican Train, but she's not too good at that one either, and Mike or I always win.

Mike thinks it's funny when Mom gets that frustrated look on her face and says the game is rigged, but I just feel sorry for her. Things haven't been the same since Dad died, and she's been doing her best to pull us together. Sometimes I would suspect her of letting us win, but Mike says you can't fake those tears. Mom says she isn't crying, but I can tell.

Dad was a good guy. He worked a lot, but he always had time to take us to the batting cages and tell me a story at night. My favorite was the one about Red Riding Hood, and the way Dad would get up on the bed and pretend to be the wolf. He growled real low in his throat and threatened to pounce on me, curled all tight under the covers like Grandmother, but I was never scared. Then he would jump off the bed and pretend to be the woodchopper come to kill the wolf, and I would throw my arms around his neck and let him swing me around the room until I was dizzy and it was past time for bed. We usually knew it because Mom would be standing in the doorway, tapping her foot against the shaggy green carpet and smiling in that way she had that meant our fun time was over. Don't get me wrong—I love my mom, but she wasn't the biggest person on bending curfew or having much fun.

Maybe that's why she isn't too good at Dominoes—no one ever taught her how to relax and let go. It doesn't matter whether you win or not, because the fun happens when you sneeze so hard your pieces fall under the table and everyone is laughing so much you can't remember whose turn it was to go next. The last time that happened to me, Mom said I was not being serious enough and sent me to my room to finish my homework while she started on the dinner dishes. Dad used to do the dishes with her, but since he died Mom does them all alone.

On Saturdays Mike and I go to baseball practice. I'm only in tee-ball, but he graduated to Little League last fall. The park is huge, big enough for several teams, so all age levels hold practice together, and sometimes the big kids come over and give us pointers. I'm practicing how to pitch, 'cause next year our team loses the tee, and will have to throw the ball to ourselves. I know I'll be good at that because Dad spent so much time with both of us when Mike was old enough to hit a pitched ball.

After practice, our team gets together and goes out for ice cream. It's the only day each week I am allowed to have a real dessert, 'cause mom says sugar is bad for your teeth, and fresh fruit and yogurt is good enough for most days. Mike picks out some weird concoction with marshmallows and nuts, but plain old chocolate is good enough for me. I remember when I was younger Dad would sit on the porch with us and make home-churned ice cream in this little wooden tub. It took hours and hours and sometimes it was still chunky, but it was cool because we had made it ourselves. Mom doesn't make ice cream with us, but she does take us on long walks around the garden. One time I found the little wooden tub in the middle of her other planters, a tiny new tomato plant cradled in the rough wooden slats where we used to scoop out Strawberry Surprise. Mom doesn't believe in wasting anything.

On Monday we go to school, backpacks full of books and pencils and mine holding the treasured notebook with kittens on the front that Dad had bought me last spring. I told him I wanted to be a writer and write exciting stories likeLittle Red Riding Hoodso other daddies would have things to read to their little girls and act out during bedtime. He told me if I filled the whole notebook with things I had written, then he would see about getting me a kitten like the one on the front. The notebook is almost full, but I don't think Mom would be too pleased about having a cat in the house, so I take my book with me and think about goldfish instead. Goldfish are easy pets—you just have to feed them and clean their water sometimes, and they can't run around the house and don't make any noise. Maybe Mom will buy me a goldfish if I let her win during our next game night.

After school I walked home with my best friend Pete. Pete was Mom's friend Susan's son, and he lived down the street. Pete was always in trouble at school, and could never manage to keep his pencils in his schoolbag for more than a day, but he was a good friend and always defended me when the older boys called me a bastard. I knew what a bastard was, and I wasn't, 'cause my daddy was alive when I was born. It wasn't until much later that he died.

Mom didn't really like Pete 'cause of his reputation, but she couldn't forbid me to see him without making Susan mad, so when we got home I went to his house with him and had milk and cookies. Pete knew better than to tell Mom about the cookies, but the milk was okay. Mom says milk is good for a growing body. When I got home I told Mom I had had milk and fruit at Pete's house, and didn't need a snack today. I didn't really lie—there were raisins in the cookies. After washing my hands at the kitchen sink, I took my school bag and trudged down the hall to my bedroom at the end. If I hurried through my homework, I would just have time to finish the big bad wolf scene inGoldilocks in the Jungle.

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