3 of 23

Write now Article Tools

Page 2 of 3

my right hand out from under the natural wonder of wonders that to me has always been Niagara Falls, and pressed one at a time the letters spelling out water.

But before that, I must tell how my feet came to be dirty and how we were at the pump. I had thrown such a fit the night before that, out of exhaustion, my beloved overseer permitted me to go to bed unwashed. Dry dirt would not have been so bad, but I had eaten greasy fried chicken and mashed potatoes and plum pudding for dinner without the aid of a spoon.

I was a frightful mess. Wiping would not clean me There was no way to get me clean by wiping so my teacher, seeing water being pumped, rushed me there. I am sure the teaching bit was a second thought, and the letters were always in her ditty bag since she never wanted to be unprepared.

As the letter W was pressed against my palm, I at first felt a stab of pain. It was then I knew she was really fed up with me, but being the kind hearted soul she was, would not give up on me without one last try. She likewise knew she was my only hope of letting in light when the inside was dark as night.

The W at first felt like the trellis over which the delightful good smelling honeysuckle climbed. I never missed a chance to run my hands over it and to get my nose as close to the perfume as was possible. At first I thought she was telling me if I be good we would go by there and I could smell them, but that was not the message.

As soon as I pictured the W and its peaceful shape she placed an A in my palm and pressed hard. I was annoyed and immediately grabbed her pouch. I wanted to know if the W was still intact. In my less than infantile mind I thought she had broken it in two and had turned it upside down to form the A.

Had I been more observant before and not so naughty, I would have known better, but bratty as I was, I knew almost nothing. What I did know was only snatches from my first nineteen months. I will now, this almost finished lifetime gone, admit that what made me so crazy was when snatches of memory of seeing and hearing came back to me and I had no way of responding except by rage.

It would have been better I sometimes think had I never known. But I counteract that by understanding had it not been for these snatches of early reality, I may never have had any light and the inside that was dark would remain that and nothing more.

Once satisfied that my blackboard and chalk were intact and my mind still firmly planted on the imprint of the letter W, I concentrated

• << previous page
• 1
• 2
• 3
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Short stories: Empathy?
We want to hear your view. Write now!