Somewhere in My Heart (13 page)

Connor and I live
d
right next door to each other, so we always walk
ed
home together and talk
ed
about our day. 
It was
actually the part of my day I normally look
ed
forward to most. 

“Wanna have a snowball fight throw-down?” Connor
challenged
as we passed the park near our houses.  A snowball fight throw-down is like the ultimate snowball fig
ht….winner takes all.  The last three
years Connor has held the championship, but I
was
dete
rmined to beat him one day.  It would
have to wait until some other day though. 

“Can’t today, bud.  We’re going to go look at Christmas lights tonight, so I gotta get my homework for Mrs
.
Schiltz’s class done ASAP!” I answer
ed
.  “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Connor said with one of his patented
wink
s
as we each cross
ed
our front yards. 

As soon as I opened
the worn and squeaky
door, I thre
w off my snow covered shoes and r
a
n straight to the fridge.  I
was
fortunate enough to have a very good metabolism.  Though, sometimes, I wonder
ed if I was
too thin.  I weigh
ed
just under
one hundred and thirty pounds
.  I
felt like that was
a good weight for my age and height.  I gra
b
b
ed
some whole wheat bread, three or four ham slices, colby-jack cheese, and some Cheez-Its and head
ed
to my room.  I put a sandwich together
quickly, and go
t my books out of my hand-me-down
book bag
. 

“Is that you, Honey?” I hear
d
Mom yell from down the hall.  My Mom
wa
s a very pretty lady,
who
had to raise two kids all alone.  She work
ed
hard as a deli manager in our local super-market,
and
always seem
ed
to have a smile on her face. 
Sometimes, I worried that she worked too hard.  She was
older than most of my friends’ moms, and shouldn’t
have been
doing
as much manual labor as she did
.  My friends use
d
to tease me when I was little about my Mom being the same age as their
g
randmas, but I still
thought
she was the best Mom
around
. 
When I would see
laundry detergent commercials on television,
I
remember
ed
my childhood being just like
what wa
s portrayed in them.  The rays of sun would be coming in the windows, with a gentle
s
pring breeze.  Mom would always have everything smelling so great, and welcome me home from school with a perfect smile on her loving face. 

“Yeah.  I’m starting on my homework now.  Are we still going to look at lights tonight?” I ask
ed
her. 

“As long as you and your sister get your homework done in time,”
s
he holler
ed
back from down the hall. 

My sister’
s
name was
Sarah.  Don’t let the angelic sounding name fool you. 
She was pretty…s
he definitely got Mom’s looks. 
She had
the same long, wavy, blonde hair that shimmer
ed
, and eyes that change
d
between blue and green depending
upon which type of a mood she was in.  Her skin was
very pale, almost porcelain-like.  But, m
y sister could be
mean…
.to me, at least.  I guess that wa
s to be expe
cted from an older sister.  She just turned
sixteen
, and th
ought
she
wa
s too cool to hang around her dorky, younger brother.  Even as kids, she seemed to find ways to torment me while we played together.  When I was barely eight, she would only play with me if I would pet and talk to her feet.  She would pretend they were turtles, and if I didn’t pet them, and snuggle with them, their feelings would get hurt.  On
several
occasions, she
made
me eat the dead skin from her feet…telling me it tasted like bacon, and that the turtles made it for me.  And, of course, she always got her way.  Anytime we had to pick a game to play or
decide on
what to watch on TV, it was always what she wanted.  I always figured my mom loved her
more
, but it could’ve just been that she was mom’s first-born, or because they were both girls.  Maybe it was just because my sister threw the biggest fit if she
didn’t
get her way. 
O
ne time, we were having an argument at
Wendy’s
about something and she took her packet of black pepper and blew the pepper right
into my eyes.  Boy, did it burn!
  Of course, s
he claimed it was an accident, but, I knew better.  I told myself that I hoped she wa
sn’t planning on coming home late and messing up our trip to go see the Christmas lights. 

BANG, BANG, BANG!

I sprung up
from my history
homework, as my sister barged into my room and collapsed
onto my bed, scattering my homework all over the place. 

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask
ed
a bit too rudely when I hear
d
my sister’s sobbing. 

“I don’t want to talk about it!
” she replied
.  I move
d
my homework
out of the way, because I thought
her nose
was running and I definitely did
n’t need snot all over my report when I turn
ed
it in.  “You wouldn
’t even understand,” she continued
in between sobs. 

“How do you know what I’d understand?” I asked, defensively.

“Men!” she exclaimed.  Before I could figure out what she meant, she rambled on like I wasn’t even there.  “They will tell you they love you, and that you mean the world to them…but, don’t you believe them.  Oh no!  Don’t you believe them!” 

I don’t really expect to ever be in that position with a man, but okay…..

“They’re all the same and only after one thing.  Why can’t Andrew understand that I want to take it slower than that?  He tried to get me to hook-up last night, you know?” she asked
rhetorically
to no one in particular, as if I weren’t really even there.  “And, then, when I said I just wanted to kiss…he said he was fine with it.  But, today he gives me the silent treatment all day, and at lunch I see him flirting with Angela ‘the slut’ Morgan!”

“Should I be hearing this?” I ask
ed
, but she continue
d
as if not even hearing me.

“If he wants Angela ‘the slut’ Morgan, well, he can have her!  I’ve got lots of guys wanting t
o date me.  That’s what I’ll do!
I’ll go out with another guy tonight.  See how he likes it!”  Before she could ramble more, I stopped her and reminded her that we were all going to look at
Christmas
lights.  “Grow up, Jimmy!  How can you think of Christmas lights at a time like this???”  And, with that, she stormed out of my room, likely to go repeat the entire thing to Mom. 

Even if she decided she didn’t want to go look at the lights with me and Mom, I was still excited.  I
spent the next two
hours doing my report until I smelled dinner.  As I was packing my books back into my
book bag, Mom yelled
out, “Din
n
er time!”

I race
d to the dining room, and saw
we
we
re having a “taco night
.
”
  Not very Christmassy, but I loved
Mexican food.
  Laid out on the table we
re hard, corn tortillas as well as
soft, flour tortillas.  There was
ground, seasoned beef, refried beans, two kinds of shredded cheese, black olive slices, lettuce, onions, diced tomatoes, sa
lsa and sour cream.  My sister wa
s already
seated
at the table and seem
ed
to be in better spirits.  As always, I start
ed
loading up my plate first. 

“Hungry much?” my sister ask
ed
in a sarcastic tone. 

“You bet…” I repl
ied with my mouth full as I continued
shoving the first bi
te in my mouth.  The taco broke and all its fillings dropped
out onto my plate.  Mom and Sarah laugh
ed
contagiously.

After dinner, Sarah and I clean
ed the table and dishes.  She mad
e me wash because she sa
id
her hands
we
re too delicate for dish-water. 
Oh, brother!
  I d
idn’
t mind though
because
I never liked drying dishes anyways. 
I always thought
I
was
going to dr
op and break them because they we
re so slippery. 
Once the left-overs we
re put up and the kitchen
was
sparkling clean again
, Mom to
l
d
us to get
our coats and shoes on so we could
get on the road for some good ole Christmas light lookin’.