Creaky Bones

Most nine year olds were at summer camp or at the YMCA. My mom worked around the clock in her vintage clothing store and had little time for much else. So late mornings I roamed through the neighborhood hoping to find somebody to play with. This particular day, with my jump rope in hand, instead of walking around I imagined I was in a contest to win the next Guinness Book of World Records for skipping the farthest distance. That was one of my favorite books, and every year I purchased one at the school book fair. Skipping up the street watching my feet as usual instead of watching where I was going is the reason I bumped into her. Her paper bag of groceries fell to the ground and oranges rolled everywhere. Somewhat timid and shy, I first said nothing, just looked at her in horror waiting for her to fuss me out and call me all kinds of clumsy. Her startled face quickly turned to a smile and a watery chuckle came from her throat followed by a nasty cough. "Well look at you!" she said "Quite the expert jumper, I imagine you could make the Guinness Book of World Records if you keep practicing. She chuckled and coughed again and said, "Will you help me carry my groceries up to my apartment?" "Sure!" I had forgotten all about knocking her groceries around. We picked up the oranges and a few other items and fit them back in the brown bag. I followed her up the sidewalk path. she hobbled very slowly. I’d noticed a box of Ben Gay in the bag.

At the door of her apartment and she fumbled with her keys. I stared at her hands, I had never seen hands so wrinkled and crooked. Her hands looked as if she were holding a bottle of soda. I noticed a ring on her right index finger that had a huge stone on it that looked like a prune. I didn't like prunes necessarily, but for some reason my mouth was watering and I imagined taking a bite out of that ring. I was shaken from my day dreaming by the door opening.

The apartment was small and cluttered. There was a floral print couch, loveseat, and a burgundy studded leather chair by the window and a bookshelf that reached up to the ceiling overloaded with dusty books. As she entered the kitchen she yelled for me to place the groceries in my arms on the dining room table. I just stood there looking because there was no clear area. She came in the room and gave that wet chuckle and just pushed some of the heap closer together clearing a spot for me. She asked if I would like something to drink, I knodded. She slowly returned to the kitchen, I heard fumbling, something fall, then the refrigerator door open and close. Minutes later she returned with two jelly jars, one with purple drink in it and another with a golden colored drink in it. She handed me the purple and my first sip was glorious. My favorite juice, Welch's grape juice. "Let's make a toast!" she said. I was excited I never made a toast before, but I always saw grown ups doing it on television. Especially, Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island. We clinked jelly jars and sipped. "What's your drink?" I asked. "Oh, this is Sherry, you're not quite old enough for this yet!" She followed my gaze and realized I was looking at the huge book shelf. She asked if I liked reading. I really did, but just smiled and kept my thoughts silent. Even though I hadn't said anything, she must have recognized that gleam in my eyes. She slowly walked to the book shelf and pulled down antiquated burgundy book. She held on to the arm of the matching leather chair and lowered herself down then held the book in my direction to take. “Read to me out loud.” "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn." I looked at her and she nodded for me to sit on the couch and read on. As I opened the book the thick book cover creaked and a moldy smell escaped. I began reading, but first noticed her rubbing her wrinkly hands slowly round and round, a minty smell began to over power the mildew smell and I noticed a tube of Ben Gay on the round table next to her chair. "I love reading dear, but I'm no longer able to turn the pages." she smiled "These old creaky bones betray me." Every day except Sundays for the rest of the summer I went to visit her and read to her, sometimes for hours. We always had a our drinks in jelly jars and sometimes she had shortbread cookies for a snack. We read Moby Dick, Tom Sawyer, I know why the caged bird sings, and Helen Keller. During the reading of To Kill a Mocking Bird, the day before, we had gotten to the part where Scout tried to kill a rollie pollie and Jem stopped her. I raced to her apartment the next day and knocked on the door. After about five minutes I realized there was no one home. I looked down and noticed a box. In black permanent marker I saw my name in scraggly writing “Charlie.” I grabbed the box and left. Once home, I sorted through the box. Many books we would have read together. Something else caught my eyes though, a crushed velvet burgundy journal book in the box. I pulled it out and opened it. The first page had four scraggly words written on it. I never saw Mrs. Ledwong again but I read all those books and wrote in every page of that journal. The title page read "These old creaky bones."

Word count: 977