by Lynne Griffin

Created on: May 11, 2009

THE BUS AND THE BUTCHER KNIFE


It looked like a simple butcher knife. It must have been the way the
light hit the steely blade on that particular afternoon that caused Julia to
notice it nestled in the back of the silverware drawer.

It was certainly a handy tool-used daily by Julia's mother when she was alive. Julia gripped
the smooth ebony handle which had four indentations along the bottom. Holding the knife out in front of her, she stared for several minutes as a peculiar soothing sensation came over

her.

The sharp ring of the phone jolted Julia out of her trance. Dropping
the knife back into the drawer with a clatter, she ran to pick up the phone.

"How's my girl?" boomed the voice.

"Just fine, Papa. Got home from school a few minutes ago."

"I'm running a little late so go ahead and get started on your
homework."

"I don't have that much..."

"Do it now and don't question me, young lady."

"Papa-I'm thirteen now. Don't you think I can organize these things
myself?"

"Just do it." The phone clicked in Julia's ear.

As Julia went into the bathroom to wash her hands, she stared at her
reflection in the mirror dejectedly. Scrutinizing her upturned nose and
peppering of freckles, she felt impossibly childish. Tucking her long brown
hair behind her ears, Julia thrust out her chest in an attempt to produce
cleavage but to no avail.

Sighing heavily, Julia returned to the den and spread her schoolwork
before her. It had been a medium day at school. Amanda Rothchild had stolen
her lunch money and called her a fat pig, but that had been it. Amanda had
been in a good mood today.

Julia settled herself in the big easy chair to study for American Lit.
There was a test tomorrow and Papa expected no less than an A+.
Several poems by T.S. Elliot that needed to be reviewed. Soothed by the
lovely words, Julia's mind began to wander...

Since she was six years old, Julia had written poetry about everything
in her life that was troubling her. It had gotten her through the death of
her first puppy, the nine weeks of being grounded in fifth grade when she
didn't bring home straight A's, and even the long illness and eventual
passing of her mother.

During the summer of Julia's thirteenth year, she had fallen in love.
She had noticed a boy at the local swimming pool and worshiped him from
afar. Julia knew he already had a girlfriend-Amanda Rothchild. Even though
Papa would never have allowed her to have a boyfriend at that age, Julia
dreamed of him every night. A flood

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