Date: Mon, 10 Feb 1997 21:57:28 -0600 Message-Id: <9702110357.AA24878@popalex1.linknet.net> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" From: "J. Rowland" Subject: Because I Love You, Goodbye; Ch. 3 Because I Love You, Goodby; Ch. 3 by Jennifer L. Rowland "I want Mommy!" Trudy wailed. Al battled dizziness and forced his eyes open. Trudy was no longer curled by his side. The dizziness disoriented him so much that he was unable to locate his sister by her cries. He pushed himself onto his elbows to look around the kitchen for Trudy. When he raised his head, he saw a small, brown mouse climbing across his shoe. Al screamed. Kicking his legs violently, he scrabbled crab-like out of the kitchen. The living room was pitch black, which frightened the little boy to nearly the same degree the mouse had. He struggled to adjust to the darkness so he would be able to find Trudy. Trudy became absolutely terrified in the dark. Al strained his eyes against the weak light of the crescent moon. Trudy's cries were muffled now, so he knew she had hidden herself where she could bury her face to feel safe. "Trudy? Where are you?" he called. He walked forward with his hands outstretched before him like a blind man. He stumbled into the table, knocking over the abandoned gin bottle. Al yelped as the alcohol poured off the table onto his wounded arm. Trudy screamed in terror and began sobbing. Al squinted until he made out the shape of his little sister shivering on the couch. Ignoring his stinging arm, Al shoved past the table and joined Trudy on the couch. She screamed and fought against him when he put his arms around her. "Trudy, it's okay. It's me. It's Al," he tried. "It's dark, Trudy. I don't want you to get hurt." Trudy stopped struggling. "Al?" She narrowed her eyes and tried to focus on her brother. She squeezed him tightly. "Dark, Al. Too dark." "I know, Trudy," Al said. "It's okay. I'm here." "Light, Al? Make the light." Al stared across the dark room at the wall by the kitchen. He heard the mouse skittering around the kitchen and gulped. Moving toward the light switch would not only require him to navigate the dark room, but it would place him near the mouse again. "Um, if I turn the light on I have to get up, Trudy," Al said, hoping Trudy would decide she preferred his company to having the comforting glow of the light. "Okay, I get up, too," Trudy amiably said. Al tried to sound brave. "Okay, Trudy, hold my hand then." She grabbed his hand and clung close to him. Taking very small steps, Al led his sister from the couch to a spot right below the light switch. Trudy stumbled once on a wrinkle in the rug. As she lost her balance, she wrenched Al's arm. Al bit his lip to keep from crying out and scaring her. He steadied her and silently continued toward the light switch. "We there?" Trudy asked. Al nodded before he remembered Trudy couldn't see him. "Uh-huh." Al stood on his tiptoes and stretched up as high as he could. His balance was off and his body ached, so he found it difficult to push up on the stiff switch. Trudy plopped on the floor and started crying. "Light!" she whimpered. "I'll try," said Al. He jumped and pushed up on the switch. The light flickered on as his feet landed on the ground. The pain in his head flared sharply, doubling him over with nausea. It took a tremendous effort for the child to keep from throwing up. Trudy sighed with relief and smiled up at her brother. "Light, Al. Light!" Al knelt and hugged Trudy. "That's right, Trudy," he praised. Though he still felt ill, and was scared being home alone, he found he felt much better now that the light shined down on them. "When Mommy come back?" Al sighed and rubbed his nose, trying to keep from crying. "I-I don't know, Trudy. I don't know when she's coming back." Trudy pensively twisted her hair. "*Does* Mommy come back?" she asked with tears in her eyes. Al didn't answer. He didn't want to think about their mother's absence--or about why she had left. But Trudy began crying and calling out for her. The sound of her name brought the picture of his mother stepping into the taxi into the forefront of his thoughts. He swallowed hard to keep the tears from breaking forth. Trudy's tears took on a different tone. "Al?" She tugged on his sleeve. "Hungry." Al had been feeling so ill food was the farthest thing from his mind. Trudy, however, knew it was past the time when she usually got her dinner. Al nervously glanced toward the kitchen. He didn't hear the mouse scurrying any longer. The light must have scared it away, he decided. Still, he wasn't looking forward to going back into the kitchen. He felt the bitter air coming through the broken window. Trudy's tugs grew more insistent. "Hungry," she repeated firmly. Al looked into the kitchen once more. No sign of the mouse. Fortunately, the light from the living room illuminated the kitchen somewhat, so he wouldn't have to fumble about blindly. He began to enter the room, but stopped when the sour-sweet smell of his sickness wafted upward. He grabbed the doorjamb and fought against the temptation to give in to the nausea. "Hungry, Al," Trudy complained. Al took a deep breath and plunged into the kitchen. He looked in the cabinets for something he would be able to prepare for his sister. Momma hadn't been to the market for the week yet, he realized. The only thing he found was a small can of tuna. Al grabbed it and rummaged in a drawer for a can opener. He sat on the floor and began stabbing at the can with the can opener. His clumsy fingers merely produced a series of jagged holes. He couldn't coordinate his movements to cut around the edge of the can. Trudy began to wail and showed signs of beginning a tantrum. She yelled that she was hungry over and over again. Al hurried his efforts with the can opener. As Trudy's shouts escalated to a high-pitched screech, Al slipped and cut his thumb on the ragged edge of the can. "I'm going as fast as I can!" he hollered. He stuck his bleeding thumb in his mouth. Frustrated, he flung the can opener across the kitchen. "You'll get your food in a minute," he snapped. "Just be quiet!" Trudy's wails abruptly ceased. Al sat uncomfortable in the silence that followed. He examined the messy lid of the can. Shards of tin gleamed in the exposed tuna. Trudy couldn't eat that, Al knew. He listened to her sniffles as she tried to keep her tears muffled. Al shoved the can away. He hurried to Trudy's side. "I'm sorry, Trudy," he said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you." Trudy raised forlorn eyes for a moment and then turned away. She ran to the couch and threw herself face down upon it. Her shoulders quivered as she sobbed. Al closed his eyes in guilt. He stood, and swayed momentarily as the living room swirled before his eyes. Slowly, battling nausea the entire way, Al made his way across the room to the couch. He pressed a hand to his throbbing head before climbing onto the sofa. He touched Trudy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Trudy. It wasn't your fault." Trudy didn't answer. Al didn't even hear her sobs anymore. He lifted a handful of curls to find that she had cried herself to sleep. Al shivered as a blast of cold air crept under the door and combined with a draft from the broken window. He stretched out next to his sister and pressed against her as closely as he could to warm her. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the cushions.