Read Online The Book of Bright Ideas by Sandra Kring - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sandra Kring
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hung straight like pictures. And nobody talked much, and nobody laughed, and nobody cried, and nobody touched anybody.
At Aunt Verdella and Uncle Rudyâs, it was noisy all the time. The TV was going from the time they woke up till the time they went to bedâeven if nobody was watching it, and even if that was wasting electricity. It was always turned up loud too. So loud that I was sure that if I ran to the end of the field, Iâd still be able to hear the soap-opera people talking, and Aunt Verdella talking at them, or at Uncle Rudy. And the towels in the bathroom were folded over the rack, but if the hems hung crooked like bangs cut wrong, then that was okay. And if one of those towels was plain pink, and one green striped, and another one was busy with flowers, then that was okay too, because that was pretty like a rainbow. And there wasnât no special place to put anything either, so we spent a lot of time digging under mounds of yarn, old mail, or clothes that were folded but not put away yet for whatever it was we needed.
At the Malonesâ, though, it was different still. Sometimes it was real noisy, with music playing so loud you could feel it thumping in your chest. But other times, like when Freeda was sleeping and Winnalee was drawing, it was as quiet in their house as it was in ours. The towels were usually left on the floor, or bunched up with just a wadded corner tucked over the towel rack. And sometimes they matched, and sometimes they didnât. And there was lots of yelling and cussing, and even slapping now and then, but there was lots of laughing and hugging too.
âThat sure is a cute top,â I heard Aunt Verdella say, so I stopped thinking and looked at the skinny, sleeveless blouse hanging over the back of a chair she was pointing to. âI wish I could wear things like that.â
âWhy canât you?â Freeda asked, as she ripped open a bag of Windmill cookies and ate a blade off of one. âI say, if youâve got it, flaunt it.â Freeda stretched out her arms and shimmied as she whooped.
âOh good heavens,â Aunt Verdella said with a laugh. âIâm fifty-eight years old and fat, thatâs why. Imagine how silly Iâd look in something like that!â She giggled some more.
âAh, piss,â Freeda said, as she leaned back on her chair. She propped her feet up and hooked her long toes on the edge of the table. âIf people donât like it, they can lump it. People should wear what they want, and do what they want. Thatâs what I say. When Iâm your age, Iâm gonna wear whatever I damn please. And Iâm gonna grow my hair all the way down to my ass too, and let it hang wild, just to piss off people who think that older women should have short hair. Just watch me.â
Aunt Verdella giggled, then said, âIâve no doubt youâll do exactly those things!â
âYou want one, kid?â Freeda asked, tapping the cookie bag with the edge of her foot.
I kind of wanted one. Not because I liked the way they tasted, but because I liked the way they looked, but I couldnât make myself say yes.
Freeda popped the rest of her cookie in her mouth. She leaned forward and took another one out of the package, then flicked it across the table. It spun, then stopped when it bumped against my hand. I picked it up and chewed it with little bites.
Freeda set down her cup and, without excusing herself, shuffled into the bathroom on bare feet. She didnât even close the door behind her, even though we could see her drop her drawers and hear her piddling. I watched but tried to make it look like I wasnât. I saw drops of bathwater shoot sideways at her. She put her hands in front of her face, and her top part darted from side to side, like one of those fat-faced, poisonous snakes that dance when you play them music on a flute. âGoddammit, Winnalee. You stop that right now!â
Winnalee
At Aunt Verdella and Uncle Rudyâs, it was noisy all the time. The TV was going from the time they woke up till the time they went to bedâeven if nobody was watching it, and even if that was wasting electricity. It was always turned up loud too. So loud that I was sure that if I ran to the end of the field, Iâd still be able to hear the soap-opera people talking, and Aunt Verdella talking at them, or at Uncle Rudy. And the towels in the bathroom were folded over the rack, but if the hems hung crooked like bangs cut wrong, then that was okay. And if one of those towels was plain pink, and one green striped, and another one was busy with flowers, then that was okay too, because that was pretty like a rainbow. And there wasnât no special place to put anything either, so we spent a lot of time digging under mounds of yarn, old mail, or clothes that were folded but not put away yet for whatever it was we needed.
At the Malonesâ, though, it was different still. Sometimes it was real noisy, with music playing so loud you could feel it thumping in your chest. But other times, like when Freeda was sleeping and Winnalee was drawing, it was as quiet in their house as it was in ours. The towels were usually left on the floor, or bunched up with just a wadded corner tucked over the towel rack. And sometimes they matched, and sometimes they didnât. And there was lots of yelling and cussing, and even slapping now and then, but there was lots of laughing and hugging too.
âThat sure is a cute top,â I heard Aunt Verdella say, so I stopped thinking and looked at the skinny, sleeveless blouse hanging over the back of a chair she was pointing to. âI wish I could wear things like that.â
âWhy canât you?â Freeda asked, as she ripped open a bag of Windmill cookies and ate a blade off of one. âI say, if youâve got it, flaunt it.â Freeda stretched out her arms and shimmied as she whooped.
âOh good heavens,â Aunt Verdella said with a laugh. âIâm fifty-eight years old and fat, thatâs why. Imagine how silly Iâd look in something like that!â She giggled some more.
âAh, piss,â Freeda said, as she leaned back on her chair. She propped her feet up and hooked her long toes on the edge of the table. âIf people donât like it, they can lump it. People should wear what they want, and do what they want. Thatâs what I say. When Iâm your age, Iâm gonna wear whatever I damn please. And Iâm gonna grow my hair all the way down to my ass too, and let it hang wild, just to piss off people who think that older women should have short hair. Just watch me.â
Aunt Verdella giggled, then said, âIâve no doubt youâll do exactly those things!â
âYou want one, kid?â Freeda asked, tapping the cookie bag with the edge of her foot.
I kind of wanted one. Not because I liked the way they tasted, but because I liked the way they looked, but I couldnât make myself say yes.
Freeda popped the rest of her cookie in her mouth. She leaned forward and took another one out of the package, then flicked it across the table. It spun, then stopped when it bumped against my hand. I picked it up and chewed it with little bites.
Freeda set down her cup and, without excusing herself, shuffled into the bathroom on bare feet. She didnât even close the door behind her, even though we could see her drop her drawers and hear her piddling. I watched but tried to make it look like I wasnât. I saw drops of bathwater shoot sideways at her. She put her hands in front of her face, and her top part darted from side to side, like one of those fat-faced, poisonous snakes that dance when you play them music on a flute. âGoddammit, Winnalee. You stop that right now!â
Winnalee
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