MSF Prompt Entry
There's a Prompt of Epic Proportions going on over at the merry_fates. The prizes are awesome. The entries will be randomly chosen. My entry is below.
City Beneath the Sea
I haven’t slept for over five years. At least, I haven’t slept an entire night through. First, it was my nonna’s passing that stayed my eyelids from closing. She lived with us since I was a baby. Nonna was more of a mother to me than my mom. Mostly because Mom worked two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, at least that’s the excuse Nonna whispered to me every time I told Mom she was a stranger to me.
When Nonna was interred in the family mausoleum, I took a pebble from the lane in front. You might wonder why Mom has to work two jobs if we have a family crypt. Sounds fancy, don’t it? We got roots in New Orleans that seem to stretch back to a time when the term “quadroon” was en vogue. Don’t mean nothing to nobody if you can’t put food on the table. There were many fights Nonna and Mom had about selling it to another family. Paying the upkeep was a good reason why Mom worked 80 hours a week.
Then Katrina and Rita came, so mom packed us up and took us to live in San Francisco with one of her cousins' families. Not only was I in a strange place, with strange people, but Nonna wasn’t there to smooth things over. The pebble was always within reach of my nervous fingers. I’d keep my hand deep in my pocket and rub it when I got nervous.
“Take your hands out of your pants, Alexandra,” Mom said, a disapproving look plastered across her tired face. "You're not a heathen."
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I’d wait until she was out-of-sight before sticking my hand back into my pocket.
Cousin Cecily and Charles had a son. I guess that made him my second cousin, or third cousin. Anyway, if I’d wanted to marry him -- which I didn’t! -- it would’ve been legal. He was away saving the world in some foreign country, which made their house the best we could do at such short notice. Mom and Amanda slept on the bed. Amanda’s got a twisted leg, so she can’t sleep on the floor like me. I suppose she could lie awake all night like I do though.
Mom tried to make it okay. Her and Cecily brought in a huge blow-up mattress. They covered up the murky blue plastic with crisp butterscotch sheets and two new pillows. There was a small pocket for when it was airless that you folded up the plastic into. That’s where I’d tuck the pebble every night after prayers. Then I’d roll over and shiver. San Francisco’s nothing like New Orleans, even in the middle of summer.
The windows of Derek’s room were always left open. It was as if the people here were afraid of keeping the cold out and the heat in. The whole situation was unnatural. For two years, while Mom saved up money, Amanda and I went to school. Some days I’d fall asleep in Algebra class. Due to my good grades -- and the fact I was a refuge from New Orleans -- the teachers allowed this. I don’t know why no one ever looked at my face and asked me what was going on at home that I had to sleep at school. Everything above the Mason-Dixon Line was different from anything I’d ever known.
When we finally had enough money to get a place of our own, Mom moved us a couple of blocks from our school. This meant we could walk to and from instead of catching the bus or waiting for Cousin Charles to pick us up. He worked at a factory and never knew his schedule from week to week. Sometimes he’d sit and wait for us for an hour before school let out. Most of the time we’d be waiting for him until the sun was threatening to dip beneath the horizon.
Amanda and I had to share a room, but the blow-up mattress became a distant memory. Even in a bed with real springs and cushion, I couldn’t seem to sleep. I’d move the pebble from my coat pocket to right between the mattress and the box spring before lying down.
“Did you say your prayers?” Amanda would ask from across the room.
The lack of sleep made me forgetful. “No.” Amanda waited in the dark for me to start. “Dear God, please watch over Mom and Amanda. Keep Nonna out-of-trouble ...”
It went on for several more minutes until I could hear Amanda’s deep breathing. She could fall asleep faster than anyone I’d ever known. Not that I’d been around a lot of people when they went to sleep. It just seemed that she’d win if falling asleep were an Olympic Event.
About four days ago Mom asked Amanda and I if we wanted to go back to New Orleans. She said it’s been almost five years since the hurricanes that destroyed our lives.
“The economy here’s terrible,” she said. “I have connections back home. We have people there who know what it’s like to lose everything. We have community.”
Amanda nodded her head. I remained silent. Somehow Mom took that to mean that I agreed with her.
“Good. Our lease here ends in two weeks. Let’s start packing!”
It wasn’t that I’d miss San Francisco, not exactly. I mean, I still hated the cloudy skies and the fact the temperature was the same year round. But something had bit me. Maybe it was the routine that I’d grown accustomed to. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t had any REM sleep and was going slowly crazy. For whatever reason, I packed halfheartedly.
When we started to feel the heat and humidity seeping through the moving truck’s cabin, we all looked at each other. We were so close to home. Mom turned up the radio station. Amanda grabbed my hand. We all sang slightly off-key to the newest pop song as it crackled through the speakers.
New Orleans had changed, or it’s possible that I had changed. The sun burnt my skin when I climbed out of the truck in front of our new rented house. The Southern clime sucked away my breath. Nothing seemed to stir in High Noon. Nothing but the three of us, so we must be crazy. Amanda couldn’t carry in the boxes, so she was sent to make sweet tea and start unpacking.
“Girls,” Mom said, beaming from ear to ear. “We’re home at last.”
Only it didn’t feel like home anymore. I stuck my hand into my pocket and rubbed the pebble. Later I’d go visit Nonna and return the pebble I’d taken so many years ago. I hoped it would let me fit again, or maybe I'd sleep for what would seem like the first time in my life.
City Beneath the Sea
I haven’t slept for over five years. At least, I haven’t slept an entire night through. First, it was my nonna’s passing that stayed my eyelids from closing. She lived with us since I was a baby. Nonna was more of a mother to me than my mom. Mostly because Mom worked two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, at least that’s the excuse Nonna whispered to me every time I told Mom she was a stranger to me.
When Nonna was interred in the family mausoleum, I took a pebble from the lane in front. You might wonder why Mom has to work two jobs if we have a family crypt. Sounds fancy, don’t it? We got roots in New Orleans that seem to stretch back to a time when the term “quadroon” was en vogue. Don’t mean nothing to nobody if you can’t put food on the table. There were many fights Nonna and Mom had about selling it to another family. Paying the upkeep was a good reason why Mom worked 80 hours a week.
Then Katrina and Rita came, so mom packed us up and took us to live in San Francisco with one of her cousins' families. Not only was I in a strange place, with strange people, but Nonna wasn’t there to smooth things over. The pebble was always within reach of my nervous fingers. I’d keep my hand deep in my pocket and rub it when I got nervous.
“Take your hands out of your pants, Alexandra,” Mom said, a disapproving look plastered across her tired face. "You're not a heathen."
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I’d wait until she was out-of-sight before sticking my hand back into my pocket.
Cousin Cecily and Charles had a son. I guess that made him my second cousin, or third cousin. Anyway, if I’d wanted to marry him -- which I didn’t! -- it would’ve been legal. He was away saving the world in some foreign country, which made their house the best we could do at such short notice. Mom and Amanda slept on the bed. Amanda’s got a twisted leg, so she can’t sleep on the floor like me. I suppose she could lie awake all night like I do though.
Mom tried to make it okay. Her and Cecily brought in a huge blow-up mattress. They covered up the murky blue plastic with crisp butterscotch sheets and two new pillows. There was a small pocket for when it was airless that you folded up the plastic into. That’s where I’d tuck the pebble every night after prayers. Then I’d roll over and shiver. San Francisco’s nothing like New Orleans, even in the middle of summer.
The windows of Derek’s room were always left open. It was as if the people here were afraid of keeping the cold out and the heat in. The whole situation was unnatural. For two years, while Mom saved up money, Amanda and I went to school. Some days I’d fall asleep in Algebra class. Due to my good grades -- and the fact I was a refuge from New Orleans -- the teachers allowed this. I don’t know why no one ever looked at my face and asked me what was going on at home that I had to sleep at school. Everything above the Mason-Dixon Line was different from anything I’d ever known.
When we finally had enough money to get a place of our own, Mom moved us a couple of blocks from our school. This meant we could walk to and from instead of catching the bus or waiting for Cousin Charles to pick us up. He worked at a factory and never knew his schedule from week to week. Sometimes he’d sit and wait for us for an hour before school let out. Most of the time we’d be waiting for him until the sun was threatening to dip beneath the horizon.
Amanda and I had to share a room, but the blow-up mattress became a distant memory. Even in a bed with real springs and cushion, I couldn’t seem to sleep. I’d move the pebble from my coat pocket to right between the mattress and the box spring before lying down.
“Did you say your prayers?” Amanda would ask from across the room.
The lack of sleep made me forgetful. “No.” Amanda waited in the dark for me to start. “Dear God, please watch over Mom and Amanda. Keep Nonna out-of-trouble ...”
It went on for several more minutes until I could hear Amanda’s deep breathing. She could fall asleep faster than anyone I’d ever known. Not that I’d been around a lot of people when they went to sleep. It just seemed that she’d win if falling asleep were an Olympic Event.
About four days ago Mom asked Amanda and I if we wanted to go back to New Orleans. She said it’s been almost five years since the hurricanes that destroyed our lives.
“The economy here’s terrible,” she said. “I have connections back home. We have people there who know what it’s like to lose everything. We have community.”
Amanda nodded her head. I remained silent. Somehow Mom took that to mean that I agreed with her.
“Good. Our lease here ends in two weeks. Let’s start packing!”
It wasn’t that I’d miss San Francisco, not exactly. I mean, I still hated the cloudy skies and the fact the temperature was the same year round. But something had bit me. Maybe it was the routine that I’d grown accustomed to. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t had any REM sleep and was going slowly crazy. For whatever reason, I packed halfheartedly.
When we started to feel the heat and humidity seeping through the moving truck’s cabin, we all looked at each other. We were so close to home. Mom turned up the radio station. Amanda grabbed my hand. We all sang slightly off-key to the newest pop song as it crackled through the speakers.
New Orleans had changed, or it’s possible that I had changed. The sun burnt my skin when I climbed out of the truck in front of our new rented house. The Southern clime sucked away my breath. Nothing seemed to stir in High Noon. Nothing but the three of us, so we must be crazy. Amanda couldn’t carry in the boxes, so she was sent to make sweet tea and start unpacking.
“Girls,” Mom said, beaming from ear to ear. “We’re home at last.”
Only it didn’t feel like home anymore. I stuck my hand into my pocket and rubbed the pebble. Later I’d go visit Nonna and return the pebble I’d taken so many years ago. I hoped it would let me fit again, or maybe I'd sleep for what would seem like the first time in my life.