Georgia Summer Morning

It was a Georgia summer morning. The grass was rough and pale from weeks without rain and Daddy had the lawn sprinklers running in the yard. She sat on the cement stoop, between trails of purple morning glories and watched crystal drops splatter to the thirsty ground as the water swayed left to right. Daddy stepped his pale, veined legs on to the stoop. "Don't even think about going in there,” he instructed as he walked into the house, letting the screen door bang closed behind him. With voracious longing, she sat while tiny puddles pooled in the sparkling grass. She scooted forward, bit-by-bit, stretching her legs and flip-flopped feet, in an attempt to capture the cooling mist.

Daddy prowled back and forth between the screen door and the kitchen, a visual reminder of the increasing heat. She reached forward with her arms and let the mist fall gently on tiny palms. She lifted her face to the air waiting for a breeze to blow some relief in her direction. After too much time of wanting, She looked over her shoulder to make sure Daddy was not standing at the door and She reached for the shiny green snake that stretched its way from the spigot at the front of the spackled peach house, to the beckoning sprinkler. Carefully, her arms pulled at the cool, moist hose, easing it closer, not too much, Daddy might notice, to her eager body. Quickly dropping the hose, She again stretched her body to capture the rainbowed mist. She cupped her hands and rubbed the trapped water along her face and neck. She leaned her head forward letting her braided hair absorb the soft rain. She sat on the stoop, in front of the screen door, between the purple morning glories, and imagined herself running back and forth with each wave of the falling water. She kicked her tiny legs as the mist shrouded her in a fine layer of white drops. On the last kick, her pink flip-flop flew into the air and she watched anxiously, as it landed in a puddle at the base of the silver sprinkler. She turned, wide-eyed, toward the screen door expecting Daddy’s harsh grin. He wasn’t there. She hunkered to her hands and knees and slowly crawled to the lawn, making sure to look back at the screen door with each movement, plucked her shoe from the grassy puddle, and raced back to her perch on the stoop. Her legs and hands were cool and wet from the trip to retrieve the pink flip-flop. She put the end of a now soaking braid in her mouth, sucked the wet tip, and wondered if She could get the flip-flop to land in the same spot. She kicked her legs with cautious excitement flinging her flip-flops everywhere except the desired spot under the sprinkler. Finally, She pulled the shoe from her foot and tossed it to the waiting puddle. Again, She crawled from the stoop, retrieved the shoe, and raced back. Again, She looked to the screen door, no Daddy. She repeated the process and with each trip, She lingered longer under the cooling rain of the silver sprinkler until She no longer looked over her shoulder for Daddy at the door. She put her hands over the tiny holes and felt the soft pressure between her fingers. She leaned her head over the silver-white streams and let the water flush the sweat from her wet braids. She didn’t hear the door slam but felt Daddy’s warm hand as it grabbed her arm and pulled her into the darkened house. Her wet feet slid across the hardwood floor as Daddy escorted her to the bedroom. He closed the door, turned toward her, and instructed in a deep, half-whispered voice, “Get out of those wet clothes.”

She pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. Daddy watched, stone faced, and waited for her to remove her shorts. She sat on the cold floor and pealed the wet shorts from her purpling legs, never taking her eyes from Daddy’s chiseled face. She stood in only her flowered cotton panties, placed her shorts on top of the wet shirt, and waited for the next instruction.

“Everything.”

Afraid to move her eyes from his face, She pushed the waistband to her knees, stepped each leg out of the leg holes, and with her foot, pushed the pile of pink and white cotton toward the puddling pile of clothes on her bedroom floor. Daddy reached behind him and pulled a wire hanger from the closet door. He stepped past her shaking body and sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here.” His voiced boomed in the small room as he pointed to his lap. He yanked her chilly body across his blond legs. She closed her eyes and waited for the first sharp sting of the hanger across her naked behind. Tears escaped from behind her squeezed eyelids as each crack of the hanger planted pink blooms along her legs and bottom. After Daddy finished, he took the mangled hanger and opened the door to leave the room. Standing with arms crossed, right outside her door, was Mother. She took the hanger from his hand, laid a kiss at his cheek, and pulled the door shut leaving her naked and crying in the middle of her room. She pulled the wet braids from the tiny elastics and watched out the window as her pink flip-flops floated, upside down, in a puddle of water beneath the swaying silver sprinkler.