Jelly Bean, "Medium" Mondays Prompt #57
Title: Jelly Bean
Summary: Allison remembers something she didn’t think she’d ever forget.
Prompt: #57 (rock)
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Rating: PG
Character(s): Allison, Joe
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 608
Jelly Bean
Thunk-tick.
Allison looked up. She sat at the kitchen table with a case file in front of her. The house was quiet and empty around her.
Thunk-tick.
Something hit the back patio door, moving too fast for Allison to catch a glimpse. There was no one in the yard, either, just movement and sound.
Thunk-TICK.
This time she was able to catch the blur of a hand and the dark, rolling motion of a rock - well, a pebble, more like - winging its way towards the door. It hit the aluminum strip along the bottom of the door and rolled, sibilantly, onto the cement of the patio.
She got out of her seat, looking for something that she couldn’t quite define but that she imagined she could identify with a glimpse or two.
Thunk-tick. Thunk-tick.
Two pebbles hit the bottom of the door, one reddish-brown, the other purplish.
Allison slid the door open slowly, quietly. She looked out across the backyard, but nothing moved.
Then it was as though the trees had taken a breath, and spit some movement out towards her - thunk-TICK - a pebble hit the door.
“Hello?” Allison said softly.
For a moment there was nothing.
Then the hand appeared again, full of gumballs, dropping them to the patio, where they rang like raindrops on the roof. “Hello, Mrs. Dubois,” the gumballs said, sounding like the innocent voices of a hundred children.
The gumballs rolled around Allison’s feet, a swimming rainbow rolling between her toes. She leaned down and scooped up some of the candy. It ran through her fingers as though it was sand. “Hello,” she said again.
More pebbles and gumballs, mixed with them jelly beans and crayons and little tiny plastic barrettes, rained down around the patio, sheeting down as though in a real storm. Allison knew she should be scared, but for some reason she only felt happiness bubbling up in her. She felt light. She felt free.
“You haven’t forgotten,” the rain said, ticking pebbles against the patio, gently thubbing gumballs into the grass. “You haven’t forgotten.”
“No,” Allison said, trying to sound brave. “No, I haven’t.”
“Good,” the rain said. “Don’t forget. It’s very important.”
And then she was awake in the darkness of her bedroom, Joe curled against her, warm like a summer morning, like she’d turned her face up to the sun. She shifted and turned to him. “Joe?”
“Hmm?”
“What day is it?”
“April fourth,” Joe muttered, still mostly asleep.
Allison leaned into his embrace, feeling his heart beat beneath his T-shirt. “April fourth,” she repeated.
And then Joe was fully awake, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Al,” he said. “I forgot.”
“It’s okay,” Allison said, though her tongue felt leaden, as she tried to forget an April fourth too many years ago, but not too long ago to forget. Pain spreading across her abdomen, blood on the bathroom floor, tears and panic, then eventually white sterile hospital walls. And a name, a name they’d only batted about, joking, because they couldn’t come up with anything that seemed to fit: “Jelly Bean.” They had always called her Jelly Bean.
And then a box, silk or something too pretty, on the top shelf in their closet, never shown to Ariel or Bridgette or Marie, never talked about, never brought up even on accident.
Except for the morning of April fourth each year, the wee early hours, when she and Joe would press their palms together and mourn their loss, such as it had been.
And she opened her hand now in the darkness, reaching for Joe, trying to grasp something she could not name.
A pebble and a jelly bean fell to the floor.
Summary: Allison remembers something she didn’t think she’d ever forget.
Prompt: #57 (rock)
Author: Sarah-Beth (memorysdaughter)
Rating: PG
Character(s): Allison, Joe
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 608
Jelly Bean
Thunk-tick.
Allison looked up. She sat at the kitchen table with a case file in front of her. The house was quiet and empty around her.
Thunk-tick.
Something hit the back patio door, moving too fast for Allison to catch a glimpse. There was no one in the yard, either, just movement and sound.
Thunk-TICK.
This time she was able to catch the blur of a hand and the dark, rolling motion of a rock - well, a pebble, more like - winging its way towards the door. It hit the aluminum strip along the bottom of the door and rolled, sibilantly, onto the cement of the patio.
She got out of her seat, looking for something that she couldn’t quite define but that she imagined she could identify with a glimpse or two.
Thunk-tick. Thunk-tick.
Two pebbles hit the bottom of the door, one reddish-brown, the other purplish.
Allison slid the door open slowly, quietly. She looked out across the backyard, but nothing moved.
Then it was as though the trees had taken a breath, and spit some movement out towards her - thunk-TICK - a pebble hit the door.
“Hello?” Allison said softly.
For a moment there was nothing.
Then the hand appeared again, full of gumballs, dropping them to the patio, where they rang like raindrops on the roof. “Hello, Mrs. Dubois,” the gumballs said, sounding like the innocent voices of a hundred children.
The gumballs rolled around Allison’s feet, a swimming rainbow rolling between her toes. She leaned down and scooped up some of the candy. It ran through her fingers as though it was sand. “Hello,” she said again.
More pebbles and gumballs, mixed with them jelly beans and crayons and little tiny plastic barrettes, rained down around the patio, sheeting down as though in a real storm. Allison knew she should be scared, but for some reason she only felt happiness bubbling up in her. She felt light. She felt free.
“You haven’t forgotten,” the rain said, ticking pebbles against the patio, gently thubbing gumballs into the grass. “You haven’t forgotten.”
“No,” Allison said, trying to sound brave. “No, I haven’t.”
“Good,” the rain said. “Don’t forget. It’s very important.”
And then she was awake in the darkness of her bedroom, Joe curled against her, warm like a summer morning, like she’d turned her face up to the sun. She shifted and turned to him. “Joe?”
“Hmm?”
“What day is it?”
“April fourth,” Joe muttered, still mostly asleep.
Allison leaned into his embrace, feeling his heart beat beneath his T-shirt. “April fourth,” she repeated.
And then Joe was fully awake, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Al,” he said. “I forgot.”
“It’s okay,” Allison said, though her tongue felt leaden, as she tried to forget an April fourth too many years ago, but not too long ago to forget. Pain spreading across her abdomen, blood on the bathroom floor, tears and panic, then eventually white sterile hospital walls. And a name, a name they’d only batted about, joking, because they couldn’t come up with anything that seemed to fit: “Jelly Bean.” They had always called her Jelly Bean.
And then a box, silk or something too pretty, on the top shelf in their closet, never shown to Ariel or Bridgette or Marie, never talked about, never brought up even on accident.
Except for the morning of April fourth each year, the wee early hours, when she and Joe would press their palms together and mourn their loss, such as it had been.
And she opened her hand now in the darkness, reaching for Joe, trying to grasp something she could not name.
A pebble and a jelly bean fell to the floor.