Sugar Doughnuts on a Sleepy Sunday

600-ish words


         "Please stop kicking my seat, Michael." I ask again. Most days I would have turned around and clobbered my little brother by now; but I am trying to be extra good for Mamma today. I feel the unmistakable thump of size six feet in my back again. "What are you doing?" my exasperation obvious.

         "Sorry." I hear him straining and shifting, "I want . . . this . . . jacket . . . off." I watch him in the rearview mirror as he finally wrestles it free. He is still for no more than a second before he starts grimacing and tugging at his tie. Soon it is added to the growing pile beside him. He reaches for his belt buckle; frowning, I look at my mom.

         My mom glances behind her and smiles at him. "Hey, Kiddo. We're almost there. Are you ready to visit Daddy? You gonna tell him about your book report?" Michael grins. "What about you, Honey?" she asks, looking at me. I smile briefly and shrug before staring out the window into oblivion.

         "Do I have to put back on that gorilla suit?" inquires Michael.

         My mom's silent only for a second before answering, "No, Michael. You don't have to wear the monkey suit." I can feel her eyes on me, wanting me to join in on the little joke. I remain silent, losing myself in the cool feel of the window pressing my forehead. Why did I come? Why didn't I just stay home? I drift away.

         A little girl wakes up in the dark. She creeps downstairs and gets a cup of milk. Dogs bark outside. She peeks out the window just in time to see the morning paper delivered. She sneaks out the back door and unlatches the gate. She runs across the yard barefooted. The morning dew stings her feet. She grabs -

         "I brought Dad a picture. The lizard I drew. It's purple. Ronnie said it looks like a snake with legs . . . Can we have meatballs tonight?"

         "I'm sure your daddy will love the picture. As for dinner . . ."

         I fade away again, ignoring the world until the car rolls to a stop in the parking lot. Michael claws frantically at the straps of his booster seat, his feet drumming into my seat again. We climb out of the car and make our way across the lawn. His Spiderman shoes light up with each step as he bounds forth. My mom gently hugs my shoulders as we follow slowly behind. Michael nearly tumbles over himself with childish exuberance as he swoops and gallops, smelling flowers and collecting rocks. "Hi Daddy!" we hear him call. "I found him. He's over here."

         My heart sinks. Hollow nothingness steals my breath, as I see him kneeling before the tombstone. He chatters away, scattering his treasures across the gravesite.

         I crouch on the soft warm grass beside him. Guilt deafens me, as the memory echoes behind my eyes. A little girl in pink pajamas runs down a hall, a heavy newspaper clutched to her chest. She throws open a door and falls into bed between her parents. They cuddle and read the Sunday funny pages. She reads Charlie Brown to them twice. Her father kisses her nose, and asks if she would like her eggs "scrambled or sunny side up?"

          I plead with her to eat the eggs. She refuses. She plucks the car keys off the nightstand and jingles them, giggling. "Doughnuts, Daddy. I want sugar doughnuts . . . please . . . from the bakery . . . Oh, pleeeease, Daddy".

         It is said most accidents happen within five miles of home. He was only three blocks away. I curl into the grass as the tears come, and whisper softly to him, "I'm so sorry, Daddy. I'm so, so very sorry . . . "