TITLE: THE WAY IT IS, 1959
GENRE: MG HISTORICAL FICTION
“Patsy, stop that infernal daydreaming,” Mother said. The words whooshed out of her like air from a punctured bicycle tire. Then after a sharp inhale, “Don’t you drop that sheet in the dirt!”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grabbed the wet sheet corner and sniffed the unmistakable scent of Clorox. She would have a hissy-fit for sure if I let go of the sheet.
Boy howdy, Mother always interrupted my daydreams. I conjured up another. I was tramping through mounds of snow. Nice, cold snow up to my knees…
“Patsy?” Mother called my name with an arched eyebrow.
Dang it! Busted again. How does she do it? I swiped away a sweat mustache with the back of my free hand, then licked the salt from my lips. Lordy mordy. Mother thinks August
and chores go together like bread and mayonnaise.
Perspiration dripped onto the lenses of my glasses. Do they make glasses with windshield wipers? I pushed the mother-of-pearl frames up for the umpteenth time and wished I’d
pulled my hair into a ponytail this morning. It hung thick around my neck and shoulders like the Cowardly Lion’s mane in The Wizard of Oz.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle drifted towards me from branches draped over the fence behind the clothesline. Daddy’ll be home in a few hours, I thought, and pressed my lips
together. That uneasy-butterfly-feeling began in the pit of my stomach as it did every day around 5:30.