Summers on Mars

         She poured the remainder of the milk into the porcelain sink. Turning on the faucet, she stirred her long fingers clockwise in the cloudy water that pooled by the drain. Outside, the rain picked up and she could hear the droplets flick the window like nails. Corinth paused and padded her fingers on the masonite counter. She sighed and wiped the dried salted streaks from her cheeks. The buttermilk biscuits that just a half hour earlier, had been pulled out of the oven, flaky and soft, now were cold as a dead cat’s nose and as stiff as it’s tail. Corinth picked them up, individually and heaved them into the tall garbage can. Each plummeted to the bottom with a reverberating thud. The smiling black cat clock sneered and wagged its tail. The steady tick, tock, tick merged with Corinth’s heartbeat. Both kept track of the hours, minutes and seconds that Corinth’s lunch guest was late. The cat’s glance taunted Corinth for ever thinking, this time will be different. She plopped down on a hard kitchen chair and watched the rain pelt the glass.
         Corinth found herself immersed in a familiar scene. It was June, the honey suckles bowed and swayed as if intoxicated in the warm mesquite air. The pavement beneath Corinth’s leather sandals warmed the bottom of her feet through the soles. Children dressed in bright reds, yellows and pinks ran through the park, concentrating on important things like jump rope, softball and insect hunting. Corinth watched the children and wondered when did the priorities of her childhood change. She could see herself running along, trying to keep up with her big brothers and worrying only about how many crayons she had in her box. When did life become all about loans, 401ks and speed dating?
         Corinth hovered over the pavement submerged in the freshness of the changed seasons. Strolling along, her mind drifted more. She wondered if the sky had been sewn together with the wispy cirrus clouds that melded into the sky, and whether or not water had really been found on Mars. Summers on Mars would be a joke, she thought. There would be no watermelon or freshly squeezed lemonade, both of which defined summer for Corinth. Her mind bounced across topics like June’s afternoon sun bounced across the windshields of the freshly waxed sedans crawling up and down the suburban road. Corinth marched down the sidewalk with her mind in the tallest tree wondering how long  it would take a squirrel to reach the apex, and would it take him longer if he had a mouth full of walnuts. Just as she began to calculate the average weight of a grey squirrel, her face slammed into someone’s sweaty chest. The impact knocked Corinth flat on her back side. The sweaty chest had been jogging and couldn’t slow down it’s momentum. As she fell, Corinth looked up in horror as the man attached to the chest collapsed right on top of her. Corinth lay flat on her back and saw flints of blue through the tops of the evergreens above. As the jogger began to lift himself up, his and Corinth’s eyes met.
         “I-I’m so sorry Miss, are you OK?” the sweaty jogger asked, his coffee brown eyes shined, full of concern.
         “Um, yes I think so, but--” Corinth hesitated. “Could you get up?”
The jogger apologized as he picked himself up and patted his heather grey sweat pants. As he flicked dust from his knees, Corinth patiently waited for him to help her up. She cleared her throat to jog his memory. The jogger smiled and reached both palms out to her. Corinth grasped his strong hands and pulled herself to her feet.
         “What’s your name?” the sweaty jogger asked. Corinth’s cheeks warmed as she told him. He repeated her name and to Corinth it sounded like the first time she had ever heard it.
         “I’m Sean, ” the jogger grinned.
         A grumble of thunder, loud and intimidating and growling like a hungry ogre‘s empty tummy, startled Corinth and shook her back to the present. The cat clock mocked Corinth with it’s ever turning hands. Another half hour had gone by and he hadn’t called. Sean was over three hours late. The smoking embers of their relationship left an aroma, sweet and sorrowful. The remnants were shattered and Corinth grasped at the them, desperately trying to rebuild a love that had long ago rode the currents of the wind away and out of her clutch. The lunch that she had prepared; rotisserie chicken, homemade potato salad, corn on the cob, buttermilk biscuits, and an apple pie from scratch, was Corinth’s extended hand, reaching out to save a relationship in which she was not content with watching seep through the cracks. She only wanted to be acknowledged by him again, smiled at. She felt as if the gravity that pulled them together, had began to wear like the elastic in worn underwear.
         Corinth rose to her feet and smoothed her red cotton sundress. She patted her hair, which had began to frizz and inhaled deeply. She thought of her older brothers. Both of whom, while growing up had perfected the craft of terrorizing their baby sister. They seldom made time for her, and rarely included her in their frog hunts, rock collecting expeditions or fortress constructing projects. Corinth recalled being left far behind as her brothers ran well ahead of her, the vibrations of their giggles ricocheted off of the houses and trailed off as they forged forward.
         Corinth spent many summer afternoons alone on the wooden back porch of their small home, where the cool grey house paint always flaked off and stuck to the back of Corinth’s damp sweaty legs. She was the solitary mistress of tea parties, and could often be found wagging and twirling dolls around, pouring tap water into tiny plastic tea cups. Even more often, a dirty, ragged baseball or a matted clump of grass and mud would land abruptly in the middle of the soiree, followed by a harmonious duet of menacing laughter.
         “Mother!” Corinth would wail, her small round, red face pulsed with anger.
         “Michael and Thaddeus just threw MUD at me! They RUINED my tea party!” Corinth, well accustomed to the harassment she had regularly received from her older brothers, learned in time to pull herself up from underneath their heels and reinforce herself as the master of her own dignity. She did not absorb this skill easily.
         “Corinth, don’t let them pick on you, as long as you keep on letting them, they’re gonna keep on picking,” the children’s mother softly replied through the rusted screen of the storm door, with her pale pink robe gathered shut in her right hand. Corinth huffed and sulked as she smoothed down her rag doll’s wildly coiled hair. She exhaled and furrowed her brows at her brother Michael who slowly stalked up the stairs. With one hand behind his back and a venomous sneer across his dusty face, Michael stopped at the top step and stood right in front of where Corinth sat with her legs crossed and her foot twitching.
         “Get out of my FACE, Michael!” Corinth barked.
         “Hey Cory, I just wanted to say sorry, I gotta present for you…close your eyes and open your hands” Corinth placed her doll in her lap and reluctantly closed her eyes and stuck out her hands. Michael swung his hand from behind his back and slapped a slimy wet frog, covered in muck and slippery as a fish right in Corinth’s hands. Her eyes flew open and she let out a high pitched shriek. Heaving her arms in the air, Corinth startled the small frog who jumped from her arms right onto her nose. Corinth jumped up screaming, crying and slapping herself, trying to get the little frog off of her face. The sound of Corinth’s cries met with the hysterical laughter of Michael and Thaddeus.
         The sound of her brothers laughs had enflamed Corinth. Finally, she had became fed up. Corinth wiped her swollen red eyes and her runny nose on her sleeve. She slowly walked off of the porch onto the blue-green grass and through the dandelions. Michael and Thad rolled in the grass, unable to control their thunderous laughs. They were smugly satisfied with yet another successful prank against their whiney little sister. As Corinth approached her brothers, their laughs grew.
         “Cory…What…do…you…think…you’re…gonna...do?” Thaddeus struggled to ask between laughs. Corinth who stood over her seated brothers balled up her tiny fist and socked Michael square in the nose. As the rusty brown blood seeped over his lips, Michael sobbed and cried out for Mom, Thaddeus, laughing and pointing at Michael, was caught unawares as Corinth’s powerful little left landed on his jaw. In unison both boys cried and flew up the steps to squeal on Corinth, who went back to the porch and back to her tea party.
         Lately, Corinth felt again like that little passive girl, left all alone at the tea party, yearning to be acknowledged and included. Like a summer spent longing for lemonade on Mars, Corinth thirsted for the confidence she once possessed, the strength to ball up her fist and fight for her own worth. When did she revert back to this timid creature? Was it after the first sip of Sean’s voice, like sweet honey Bourbon, it had a way of  inebriating Corinth, she could no longer be held responsible for her actions. She began again to allow herself to be defined by how the ones she loved and needed approval from, treated her.
         Corinth grabbed a ceramic plate from the cupboard and piled it high with potato salad. She snatched a leg from the chicken and licked her fingers clean. She ripped the last of the aluminum foil from the paper spindle and slowly swaddled the rotisserie chicken tightly, placing it into the refrigerator with the rest of the afternoon’s well prepared meal. The rain had slowed down, and sounded more like a terribly slow keyboarder pecking on a typewriter. Glimpses of the sun shot through the overcast clouds, like optimism stifled by a room full of opposing viewpoints. She pulled up a chair and ate alone.