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Surviving Summer; Through Clara's Eyes ~ Part IV~

By ROCK Published 9 days ago Updated 7 days ago 4 min read
Photo by Carl Jorgensen on UnsplashPart IV

As you know I am all about adventure, new places, faces and a lover of secrets; meeting Pearl's niece Clara has been so far the best part of summer, maybe even my life. We did exactly as Pearl said, "Ya'll go play", which is a grown ups code for skedaddle. Skedaddling we did. I had never seen a girl my age with eyes so dark it was hard to tell where the dot in the middle was; Clara had eight braids in her long, shiny black hair with many colourful beads and ribbons to make her easy to find when she ran off ahead of me. First thing she did was laugh at me when I kicked off my shoes, "You're gonna be all cut up with them little pink feet down here!" I wondered what down here meant as I tried to keep up with my newly introduced playmate. I ran back to the porch and put my sneakers back on, unsure what might be cutting me up. "You're the first white girl Aunt Pearl brought home; probably the first white girl in this whole part of town except for bad news kind." I slowed down as I had a side ache from running, sweat was pouring down my red, freckled face, I asked Clara what "bad news" white girls was. She said, "they ain't girls like you, grownups I mean, always poking 'round seeing if we are living right." Hmm. "What is living right?" I guess I was poking 'round, too. As we stepped over broken glass, trash and passed some men drinking on the curb out of bottles in paper bags I thought of Hank the hobo, train jumpers and wondered if they was living right. Probably not. I sorted this conclusion in my mind as if they were living clean then I would likely not be told not to hang around the train tracks. Clara continued, "white women come and look around to see if we are living clean in our houses, if we are we get to stay, if we aren't they give us some situations that need to be fixed or they might for example take a girl like me and put me in a foster home." Of course I asked what a foster home was. Clara said it was a place for kids who didn't have anybody home takin' good care of them. I started to get scared; why did Paw-Paw send me off with Pearl? Were we not living clean? Was he really giving me away to Pearl until some white woman came to fetch me here? I started to cry. "What's wrong with you May? Why you crying like a baby right here on the street?" I looked into her mysterious, spacious eyes, filled with years of memories I didn't have or know and wondered if my heart was too soft like my pink feet. "Aww, now stop, stop right now, hear me May?" I had a mind to run as fast as I could back to the house but then the most amazing thing ever happened. "What you need is a blood-brother, in our case, a blood-sister; let's fix this problem now so when you feel sad some of me will rub off into your head and toughen you up. C'mon!" Clara ran toward the backyard where we'd started our day together and then motioned for me to go into some shady spot under some scrawny trees. "Sit down; I'll get what we need. I squatted in the poky weeds, grateful to be off the boiling hot street. I followed Clara's eyes as she plucked little twigs then cast them away as if they weren't good enough, then I heard an "ah-ha!". "Gimme your wrist." of course I asked which one, "don't matter", so I held out my left wrist while she explained that our ritual was going to hurt just a little but would keep us safe from foster homes. She first ran a sharp stick across her chestnut coloured inner wrist and bits of blood appeared. "You can can do your own or I can do it for you"; I opted for Clara to do it as it was her idea. "Wait!" she barked, "Are you a bleeder? Cause I don't want you to die!" Now I felt more fright than curiosity, am I a bleeder? I shook my head no as I really didn't want to go to a foster home. Dying seemed like a slim chance considering I had skinned my knees, elbows and had sure had my share of childhood damage thus far and survived. "Okay, here we go May. No turnin' back." Clara ran the stick harshly across my pale, inner wrist and blood trickled out; she then took my wrist and pressed it into hers, our blood mixing together so we could be each others protectors and sisters for life. She gave me a big magnolia leaf and told me to wipe my wrist. As we walked toward the house Pearl came to the side door smiling. "Tea for two?".

Young AdultSequelFiction

About the Creator

ROCK

Writing truth or fiction, feels as if I am stroking across a canvas, painting colourful words straight from my heart. I write from my old farmhouse in Sweden. *BLOGLINK

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Comments (3)

  • Caroline Craven7 days ago

    I’d forgotten all about that blood brothers/ sisters ritual. I think people would freak out these days! This was another brilliant chapter.

  • Them slitting their wrists and mixing their blood seemed very scary 😅😅

  • Rasma Raisters9 days ago

    I really enjoyed your story. A friendly suggestion might be to divide up your story into paragraphs, It is earlier to read then,

ROCK Written by ROCK

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