Read Online Always and Forever by Karla J. Nellenbach - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karla J. Nellenbach
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through the contents for no reason other than to keep my hands busy, or else I'd strangle my brother. Mom and Dad wouldn't appreciate having to bury two children.
“Mia,” he began, jumping to his feet to follow me, “what I meant-”
“I know what you meant!” I slammed the cupboard door closed and whirled on him. “These last few years have just been killing you haven't they, Ben? Me being healthy is so hard to bear. You'd rather me be sick and constantly hovering at death's door, wouldn't you? It's just easier that way, isn't it?” He gasped. Horror stole the color from his face, and his mouth dropped open, but I ignored his distress, too intent on inflicting pain. “When I was sick before, you had the run of it all. You did whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted because Mom and Dad were too busy dealing with me than to argue with you. It was like they'd just handed you the keys to the candy store, and you miss it. Don't you? Don't you? ”
His tears were falling in earnest now. He shook his head, vehemently. “No, Mia,” he hurried to reassure me. “No, I—”
“Save it,” I snarled. I turned back to the cabinet. Opened it. Slammed it shut once more. “We're out of peaches. Damn it.” Not looking his way, I stomped over to the back door, yanked it open. “I'm going down to the basement.”
“Let me get the peaches,” he offered, his voice cracked, shattered glass. “You hate the basement.”
“I hate this house,” I screamed at him. “I hate this fucking life!”
Before he could say anymore, before he could stop me with pleading apologies and reassurances that I didn't need or want, I flew out of the house and slammed the door behind me. I stomped the few steps to the cellar doors. Feeling bite of cold snow sliding up and over my bare feet, it occurred to me that I probably should've grabbed a coat and shoes before going outside. Oh, well. I was already out here. No sense in going back now.
Like most other homes in the neighborhood, we had what my parents always called a “Michigan basement”. Anyone else might havejust called it a storm cellar. The main entrance was on the outside of the house, and its intended use was as a bunker during the summer storm season when tornadoes tore through the area on a regular basis. Nothing more than a glorified pit, the basement had earthen walls and steps going down into it that were so steep you had to focus on not losing your balance when you climbed them or else you might fall and crack your body in half.
I'd always been terrified of the basement and never went down there unless absolutely necessary. Now, I threw the doors opened and skidded down the stairs with no fear of the dark, dank space. At the bottom, I switched on the light. After an endless moment, the bare bulb in the center of the low-ceilinged room flickered to life.
I blew out a loud sigh and grabbed two jars of the peaches Mrs. Patel and I had canned over the summer. I turned to leave the cellar.
And, stopped.
Here was the answer to all my problems. A wide grin spread across my face as I stared at the steep wooden stairs that would take me out of the basement. The stairs that often scared me as a child because there was no hand rail, no nothing to hold onto in case I lost my balance.
Now, their presence incited relief and comfort instead of nervousness and fear. They offered the perfect escape.
I turned back to the shelves and pulled down more jars. Peaches, pears, pickles, and salsa. I loaded myself down with as much extra weight as I could carry. It was simple. It was brilliant. Why hadn't I thought of this last night?
Staring at the stairs, I mentally calculated how high up I'd have to go before I could be assured that a tumble back down would result in a broken neck. In death. The jars, of course, were just additional insurance. They'd drop in the fall, and if I was really lucky, I'd fall on top of a few really large shards. You know…just in case the fall didn't kill me.
“Mia,” he began, jumping to his feet to follow me, “what I meant-”
“I know what you meant!” I slammed the cupboard door closed and whirled on him. “These last few years have just been killing you haven't they, Ben? Me being healthy is so hard to bear. You'd rather me be sick and constantly hovering at death's door, wouldn't you? It's just easier that way, isn't it?” He gasped. Horror stole the color from his face, and his mouth dropped open, but I ignored his distress, too intent on inflicting pain. “When I was sick before, you had the run of it all. You did whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted because Mom and Dad were too busy dealing with me than to argue with you. It was like they'd just handed you the keys to the candy store, and you miss it. Don't you? Don't you? ”
His tears were falling in earnest now. He shook his head, vehemently. “No, Mia,” he hurried to reassure me. “No, I—”
“Save it,” I snarled. I turned back to the cabinet. Opened it. Slammed it shut once more. “We're out of peaches. Damn it.” Not looking his way, I stomped over to the back door, yanked it open. “I'm going down to the basement.”
“Let me get the peaches,” he offered, his voice cracked, shattered glass. “You hate the basement.”
“I hate this house,” I screamed at him. “I hate this fucking life!”
Before he could say anymore, before he could stop me with pleading apologies and reassurances that I didn't need or want, I flew out of the house and slammed the door behind me. I stomped the few steps to the cellar doors. Feeling bite of cold snow sliding up and over my bare feet, it occurred to me that I probably should've grabbed a coat and shoes before going outside. Oh, well. I was already out here. No sense in going back now.
Like most other homes in the neighborhood, we had what my parents always called a “Michigan basement”. Anyone else might havejust called it a storm cellar. The main entrance was on the outside of the house, and its intended use was as a bunker during the summer storm season when tornadoes tore through the area on a regular basis. Nothing more than a glorified pit, the basement had earthen walls and steps going down into it that were so steep you had to focus on not losing your balance when you climbed them or else you might fall and crack your body in half.
I'd always been terrified of the basement and never went down there unless absolutely necessary. Now, I threw the doors opened and skidded down the stairs with no fear of the dark, dank space. At the bottom, I switched on the light. After an endless moment, the bare bulb in the center of the low-ceilinged room flickered to life.
I blew out a loud sigh and grabbed two jars of the peaches Mrs. Patel and I had canned over the summer. I turned to leave the cellar.
And, stopped.
Here was the answer to all my problems. A wide grin spread across my face as I stared at the steep wooden stairs that would take me out of the basement. The stairs that often scared me as a child because there was no hand rail, no nothing to hold onto in case I lost my balance.
Now, their presence incited relief and comfort instead of nervousness and fear. They offered the perfect escape.
I turned back to the shelves and pulled down more jars. Peaches, pears, pickles, and salsa. I loaded myself down with as much extra weight as I could carry. It was simple. It was brilliant. Why hadn't I thought of this last night?
Staring at the stairs, I mentally calculated how high up I'd have to go before I could be assured that a tumble back down would result in a broken neck. In death. The jars, of course, were just additional insurance. They'd drop in the fall, and if I was really lucky, I'd fall on top of a few really large shards. You know…just in case the fall didn't kill me.
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