Satruday Sample: Natascha's Story by Gill James, home-made lemonade

 

 

It was always the same. She was the first one to be lost and the last to be found every single time. The children were careless with all of the dolls, but because she was the tiniest they often didn’t notice she wasn’t there anymore. Like today. There she was squashed up against the leg of the grand piano. She could see her bigger sisters all lined up in size order. They had more detail on their dresses. At least, though, her simple dress was red. Other Russian dolls she knew had to make do with pale yellows and insipid blues. Red was exciting and vibrant and even a little bit dangerous. 

 ‘Where’s Natascha?’ cried Alfred, the youngest of the Allerton siblings. 4 

‘Missing again.’ Mrs Puddleton sighed. ‘I expect Jenkins will find her when she uses the new vacuum cleaner tomorrow.’ 

Natascha shuddered. She hated the old machine. She’d been sucked up into it twice before and Mr Tibbs, the grumpy handyman, had had to take it to pieces to rescue her. 

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About the author

Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.  

She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.

She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.    

http://www.gilljameswriter.com  

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B001KMQRKE

https://www.facebook.com/gilljameswriter  

The Summer of 1962

by Dawn DeBraal

home-made lemonade 

 I left my grandparent's house at the end of summer in 1962, saying goodbye to my best friend, Amy Violetti. She was a beautiful girl with long blond hair, brown eyes. When she smiled, the biggest set of braces intertwined with multi-colored rubber bands that I had ever seen. As we hugged each other goodbye, I could feel my heart, breaking. That summer, I honestly thought I was in love.

Amy and I wrote to one another. She dotted her  "i’s," with hearts. Twice a week, I would get a letter from her. Immediately, I wrote back to her. I didn't want to look desperate, so I always waited for Amy to write to me first.

She told me about school life, home, her friend Sheila, trying out for the cheer-leading squad. I told her about making the basketball team that I had grown two inches in three months, about my friends, my classes at school and how much I missed her.

One day the letters stopped. I don't know the date that happened, only that I remember Amy missing a week. The following week, I didn't get a letter from her either. By the third week, I wondered if I should break my rule of not being the first to write. It had been a while since I'd heard from her. When my grandparents called my folks, they handed the phone to me telling me to make it quick it was long distance, and those calls were expensive.

"Hi, Grandma, Grandpa. I just wanted to let you know that I miss you. Say, have you heard from Amy Violetti?" Grandma gave me the crushing news, the Violettis had moved out of the area, and Amy didn't live next door anymore. I told Grandma I loved her again, holding back tears when I handed the phone to my mom.

I couldn't believe Amy would move and not tell me about it. My heart was broken. I sat in my room for weeks. Mom and Dad tried to get me to eat because I stopped doing that too—my grades slid.

When my parents asked if I wanted to spend the summer with my grandparents, I told them no. My grandparents were sad, but now that I was fifteen, it was to be expected, I was old enough to stay home on my own.

I managed to move on with my life. I had a brief courtship with Wendy Ames. I think I just liked the fact that Wendy had blond hair and braces. She was nothing like Amy though.

When school ended that summer, my grandpa had a stroke. He was expected to make a full recovery. My mom insisted that I spend the summer with my grandparents to help them out. Now that I had a driver's license, I would be allowed to take my grandparents' car, drive them to doctor appointments, run errands, mow the lawn, and, take them for groceries. So, I agreed. My breakup with Wendy was still fresh, but not raw by any means. She was a girl I liked but didn't love.

When I got to my grandparents' house, I was shocked at what a year had done to age them. I had forgotten when you are on the downhill side it goes faster. Grandma was pretty good yet, but Grandpa wasn't the same. I didn't think I could forgive myself for staying away for so long.

 I never dared to ask Grandma if she found out where Amy Violetti had moved. It was foolish to think at fourteen I'd found the love of my life, but that was the way I felt.

"Grandma, I'm going to the malt shop," I called out as I left after mowing their lawn. I needed to get away. I was not the best caregiver. I took the old Buick out for a ride finding myself pulling into Leon's ice cream shop, a place where Amy and I used to go. The neon Leon sign was the same; nothing had changed. I ordered my regular medium chocolate malt, extra thick with two straws.

I was lost in thought, thinking about what had transpired over the last two years—feeling a little sorry for myself, when I felt the table bump. I looked up to give the person a scowl for disturbing my thoughts, and there she was, Amy Violetti.

"Amy!" I was shocked. "Why did you stop writing?"Stupid thing to say.

"You stopped writing,” she threw it back at me. “You only responded when I wrote to you. I wanted to make sure you wanted to be with me. You never initiated another letter." I couldn't believe what she was telling me.

"Do you still live in town?"

"No visiting my grandparents. We moved to Dayton."

"That's only half an hour from me!"

"I waited for you here last year. You didn't come." I was shocked at how stupid I had been. All I needed to do was to write or come to visit my grandparents last year and go to Leon's. I would have seen her.

"I'm sorry, Amy, I didn't know. Please sit down! It's so good to see you!" She sat down with her malt. "I have missed you," is all I could think of to say to her. She was taller and more beautiful than I had remembered.

"I've missed you too." I wanted to cry with relief when she said that. Suddenly she smiled. A flash of that summer went through my mind. She no longer had braces. She had beautiful white straight teeth, but the smile was the same. The smile that reached down and seized my heart. I had never let her go. I was still in love with Amy Violetti and I was getting signals from her that she felt the same way about me. Amy Violetti would forever, be my best friend. 

A Fun Day

by Michal Reiben

home-made lemonade

It is one of those spring days with warm rays of the sun. I walk to my favorite tree the majestic Wellingtonia tree, climb up its branches, sit in his great arms, and dangle my feet, watching. I love trees they become my friends. After a while, I climb down and amble over to a field where horses are grazing. They begin to run and I run with them. A soft wind strokes my face and tousles my hair. At the end of the field a stream winds, it looks welcoming, refreshing. I sit on the stream’s bank. It’s pleasant here, roots reach down to the water and from above rays of light filter down through the trees leaves. The air is laced with the fragrance of moss and damp leaves. Further upstream is the leaky dam we kids had once built. It holds back enough water to form a pool in which we’d swim. Otters also swim in the pool and there are leeches which we’d catch and keep in jars. I catch a glimpse of two Kingfisher birds as they fish. They have vibrant plumage, bright blue underparts, and bright lower underparts. I hardly breathe, so as not to spook them. When they take flight I get up to leave. Brush wet leaves and dirt from the back of my trousers and wander back to school. I join some other kids on the back lawn which is speckled with daisies. We make daisies chains and search for four-leafed clovers.

There is a sudden downpour of rain. We are delighted. Strip off our clothes accepts for our underpants. Stretch out on the large flagstones laid out between the school and the scraggly lawn. It’s wonderful to feel the rain pelting down on our bodies, while from beneath we feel heat evaporate from off the flagstones keeping us warm.