the discards.
“It’s a baby toy,” Babs told me. “You don’t play with baby toys. You’re a big girl now.”
She was right. Somehow it didn’t make any difference.
“I like all my toys,” I said. “Why should I leave them here? We brought them from California. We kept them at Aunt Maxine’s.”
“There’s no room for them in the car,” she answered.
“We should borrow Uncle Warren’s trailer,” I told her.
“You don’t need them. We’re only taking what we need,” she said. “We’re leaving them here. And that’s final.”
“But Mama...”
“Don’t argue.”
Her tone was firm, harsher than necessary. So I kept further complaints to myself, but I wasn’t happy about it. I continued to sulk even as Babs readied the last of the boxes near the kitchen door.
“Now I want you to be very quiet,” she said.
“Quiet? Why?”
“We don’t want to wake Mary Jane,” she said. “She’s probably still asleep and we don’t want to wake her.”
That seemed a little strange. I thought adults were always up early in the morning. But I figured it had something to do with having a baby and going to the hospital.
Babs opened the door slowly and propped it with the trash can. She glanced at me and put a finger to her lips as a reminder. We began carrying boxes out to the car.
After the novelty of the first load, it wasn’t all that much fun. It was hard and boring and my mother insisted that we do it all as if we were walking on tiptoes. I couldn’t carry very much. Babs had to do most of the work. It took a half-dozen trips at least. We filled the trunk up first and then the backseat. She crammed the last of it into the floorboard of the front seat passenger side.
“Go shut the door,” she told me. “The rest we’re going to leave. Hurry! And be quiet!”
Those two commands seemed contradictory to me, but I tried. I made one quiet walk through the home that I was just beginning to feel was my own. I grieved for the things we were leaving behind. The floor lamp that we’d had in the house in California. The rocking horse that had been in my room since babyhood. All my summer clothes, including my swimsuit with the yellow daisies on it. I felt sad and a little lost as I wandered among my now discarded possessions.
Suddenly my mom was there.
“Laney, what are you doing? Come on, get in the car now!” she growled at me through clenched teeth.
I hurried to obey.
I raced through the house and into the kitchen. Babs was right behind me. She moved the trash can to shut the door. I glanced inside it and saw my SoupKids, salt and pepper shakers. Aunt Maxine and I had collected twenty-five can labels to get them. When we mailed them in, I’d licked the envelope. I wasn’t leaving them behind.
“Don’t touch those!” Babs actually yelled.
I was so startled I dropped the salt one on top of the pepper, chipping the little hat.
“Oh, Mama, it broke,” I whined.
“Leave it, it’s trash,” my mom said, her voice adamant.
Just then we heard noise outside. It wasn’t a scary noise or an unusual noise, simply the sound of someone moving around outside. Babs paled visibly, her eyes wide in fear.
“Babs? What’s going on?” I heard Mary Jane’s voice from the yard.
My mother immediately stepped out onto the back porch.
“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Wake me? What are you talking about, I’ve been up for hours.”
I was alone for only one short moment in the duplex kitchen. I glanced down into the trash again at my salt and pepper shakers. They were mine. Mine! Babs had no right to throw them away like they were hers. I jerked them out of the trash and stuffed each into a front jeans pocket only an instant before my mother stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed me by the arm.
“We’ve got to go,” she said. The directive seemed as much for her as me.
“I don’t understand,” Mary Jane said as my mom hurried me across the lawn. “What do you mean
“It’s a baby toy,” Babs told me. “You don’t play with baby toys. You’re a big girl now.”
She was right. Somehow it didn’t make any difference.
“I like all my toys,” I said. “Why should I leave them here? We brought them from California. We kept them at Aunt Maxine’s.”
“There’s no room for them in the car,” she answered.
“We should borrow Uncle Warren’s trailer,” I told her.
“You don’t need them. We’re only taking what we need,” she said. “We’re leaving them here. And that’s final.”
“But Mama...”
“Don’t argue.”
Her tone was firm, harsher than necessary. So I kept further complaints to myself, but I wasn’t happy about it. I continued to sulk even as Babs readied the last of the boxes near the kitchen door.
“Now I want you to be very quiet,” she said.
“Quiet? Why?”
“We don’t want to wake Mary Jane,” she said. “She’s probably still asleep and we don’t want to wake her.”
That seemed a little strange. I thought adults were always up early in the morning. But I figured it had something to do with having a baby and going to the hospital.
Babs opened the door slowly and propped it with the trash can. She glanced at me and put a finger to her lips as a reminder. We began carrying boxes out to the car.
After the novelty of the first load, it wasn’t all that much fun. It was hard and boring and my mother insisted that we do it all as if we were walking on tiptoes. I couldn’t carry very much. Babs had to do most of the work. It took a half-dozen trips at least. We filled the trunk up first and then the backseat. She crammed the last of it into the floorboard of the front seat passenger side.
“Go shut the door,” she told me. “The rest we’re going to leave. Hurry! And be quiet!”
Those two commands seemed contradictory to me, but I tried. I made one quiet walk through the home that I was just beginning to feel was my own. I grieved for the things we were leaving behind. The floor lamp that we’d had in the house in California. The rocking horse that had been in my room since babyhood. All my summer clothes, including my swimsuit with the yellow daisies on it. I felt sad and a little lost as I wandered among my now discarded possessions.
Suddenly my mom was there.
“Laney, what are you doing? Come on, get in the car now!” she growled at me through clenched teeth.
I hurried to obey.
I raced through the house and into the kitchen. Babs was right behind me. She moved the trash can to shut the door. I glanced inside it and saw my SoupKids, salt and pepper shakers. Aunt Maxine and I had collected twenty-five can labels to get them. When we mailed them in, I’d licked the envelope. I wasn’t leaving them behind.
“Don’t touch those!” Babs actually yelled.
I was so startled I dropped the salt one on top of the pepper, chipping the little hat.
“Oh, Mama, it broke,” I whined.
“Leave it, it’s trash,” my mom said, her voice adamant.
Just then we heard noise outside. It wasn’t a scary noise or an unusual noise, simply the sound of someone moving around outside. Babs paled visibly, her eyes wide in fear.
“Babs? What’s going on?” I heard Mary Jane’s voice from the yard.
My mother immediately stepped out onto the back porch.
“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Wake me? What are you talking about, I’ve been up for hours.”
I was alone for only one short moment in the duplex kitchen. I glanced down into the trash again at my salt and pepper shakers. They were mine. Mine! Babs had no right to throw them away like they were hers. I jerked them out of the trash and stuffed each into a front jeans pocket only an instant before my mother stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed me by the arm.
“We’ve got to go,” she said. The directive seemed as much for her as me.
“I don’t understand,” Mary Jane said as my mom hurried me across the lawn. “What do you mean
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