The House Behind the Footsteps

All of my seven brothers and sisters skip and dash in front of me in order to make it to the fire hall. I teeter slowly behind them on the dirt road, taking my time, so I can enjoy all of the Christmas lights. There is just something about Christmas that brightens up the world. The joyous spirits and gleaming smiles are contagious.

         I can hear gleeful music blaring from speakers within the fire hall, and I see several parent volunteers passing out the treat bags. Every year, my siblings and I live for the treat bags. They give us one apple, one orange, one popcorn ball, and several chocolate pieces. I love the fruit. It is rare that we have enough food for all of us in my house, let alone fresh fruit. I always give my popcorn ball to Tom. He seems to love them, and he’s always willing to trade an orange. This is my eleventh year coming to the fire hall Christmas party. I was not allowed to come before I turned five. It is shocking how time passes by. Now I am sixteen years old, and my younger brother and sister are making their first trip to snatch their treat bags.

         I hear Tom and Susie shouting my name, so I scurry along through the crowd to meet them. I enter the large, red building and find myself in a tangle of townspeople. I take Susie’s hand even though she resists me. She doesn’t like it when I have to play the role of Mom.

         Mom and Dad never come with us to the fire hall. They stay at home, but I don’t know how they can stand the silence. With eight children, I rarely can find silence in my house. When I do, it feels so eerie that I have to walk outside into noise again. Perhaps they sit and talk to fill the air, or maybe they just watch television and turn the volume way up.

         “Lori! Lori!” Susie shouts my name in a hushed tone.

         “What’s the matter Suse?” I ask her. I instantly worry that Jack has gotten into a fight. Mom would punish us for weeks if we caused trouble.

         Susie stares up at me with her youthful smile and points across the room.

         “Doug,” she coyly whispers.

         I look down at her in disbelief. She must be reading my diary again. There is no privacy in my house. I hide my diary under my mattress, but that does not seem to stump my younger sister. She must find my life interesting.

         I glance over in Doug’s direction. He stands with his friends, eating the Christmas candies from the treat bags. I envy him, for he has no siblings at all. Doug’s family is one of the wealthiest in the town, but that might be because there are only three members to the family. Three members have a much lower food cost than ten members.

         I wonder if he notices me. I’m wearing a red dress, one that I bought with my babysitting money. It is no designer gown, but I think I look very nice. I brushed my long blonde hair down my back and put on small, shiny earrings. My glasses frame my eyes, and I disapprove of how they look, but if I did not wear them, I couldn’t see a thing that was a foot away from my face. I stand about five feet and six inches, but with these small heels, I’m a bit taller. Doug is over six feet tall, so we would make a great pair. He has dark brown hair and burning blue eyes, which contrast my fair features. I normally try to bake my skin in the sun as to rid myself of the pallid shimmer that genetics gave me. Since it is winter in Pennsylvania, I have no choice but to deal with my natural skin tone.

I think about how my dress matches the color of his gorgeous new convertible. The only convertible in town belongs to Doug. I would feel classy and elegant riding next to him in his car. I doubt Dad would allow me to ride in a car with a boy, though. He told me I could start to date this year, but Dad’s definition of dating is walking to school together. Last year, a boy gave me a really cute bracelet as a Christmas gift, and when Dad found it hiding under my mattress, he forced me to return it. Maybe I should come up with a new hiding place. Under my mattress does not seem to work so well.

I snap back into reality after Susie tugs on my arm.

“Can we get treat bags now? Brian already got his,” she whines.

I nod, and I realize that Doug is looking at me. Oh goodness. I must have been staring at him the entire time I was daydreaming! I feel the blood rushing from my feet to my legs to my stomach. It settles there and churns for a moment before entering my chest and arms. Then it finds its way to my face. It creeps up my neck and flows into my ears. Finally, it enters my face. I feel intense heat swirling in my cheeks. I start to feel lightheaded from the blood settling. Or maybe I feel lightheaded due to embarrassment. Either way, I turn away quickly and walk towards the treat bag stand. Susie grabs hold of my arm and jogs to catch up with my fluttering feet.

The volunteers look at me with concern. I must look horrible. I can only imagine that the shade of my face matches that of my dress.

One volunteer asks, “Are you alright, hun?”

I smile and nod. The volunteer, a teacher I had a few years ago, reluctantly hands over the treat bag. She passes one to Susie and gives us a jolly smile. Susie instantly runs off, to join Brian most likely, and as I turn around to shout her name and catch her in the crowd, Doug appears in front of my face.

He gives me his crooked smile that makes my mind melt. I cannot think clearly. The other children are shoving me from all directions in order to get their hands on a treat bag. Doug’s smile remains on his face, but emotion starts to show in his eyes. I cannot tell what it is. What is he thinking? Is he nervous like I am? Or does he think I’m some crazy Miller child?

“Merry Christmas, Lori,” he says quietly.

I smile and nod. It’s all I can do. He turns, but before walking outside, he flashes me another crooked smile. I watch him start his car and pull away from the sidewalk. As I slowly turn around to face the town, I feel like everyone is watching me. I see Debbie, one of the little girls I frequently babysit, softly giggling at my frozen expression. My brothers and sisters, who stand in a clump near the entrance, look at me with various expressions. Susie looks as though she might cry from disappointment, and Jack looks at me with severe anger. He is going to tell Dad that I was speaking to a boy. If he does, I have a true alibi. I was not speaking with a boy, he spoke to me. I hardly consider holiday greetings as speaking, but I know Dad will still lecture me.

Mom probably knows what happened already. Mom is a bit of a gossip hound, and to make it worse, she is best friends with Doug’s aunt. Everyone knows everything about everyone in Carmichaels, so I have no chance of keeping this mortifying night quiet. The volunteers have certainly spread the fact that I have a crush on Doug by now. My actions made it perfectly obvious.

I walk over to my siblings and we slowly make our trek back to the house. All of us chew on the Christmas candies and munch on the apples as we think our own thoughts. I know the rest of my family is pondering over what they will receive for Christmas, but I’m not. I’m replaying the scene with Doug in my head. At least I know I exist. I must remember to hide my diary somewhere new tonight after writing the latest installment of my life.

I scramble to gather the items that belong in my purse. The limp, empty bag lay on my bed, antagonizing me to stuff it so that I can get going. I hear my mother downstairs, kneading away for homemade cinnamon rolls. My brothers and sisters scatter throughout the house, playing random pot instruments or fighting. Mostly, my siblings fight. Suddenly, Chelsea storms into our room. She flings herself onto her bed, which resides on the left side of the room, and huffs into her pillow. Obviously, she is fighting with Skip again. I pick up my chap stick and hair tie, and I run out of the house. I have to walk all the way to Debbie’s in ten minutes.

My father is the only person in our family who can drive. My mother has yet to get her license, and my dad will not let any of the kids get their licenses. He will not drive the kids anywhere either because that would be favoritism. We all have to get jobs at a certain age, but it is up to us to find transportation for said employment. I feel that my feet are doomed forever.

Debbie’s house is down the road in the most remote area of Carmichaels. That is saying something because in Carmichaels, all of the area is remote. I walk down the black paved road, attempting to maintain my balance in my flip flops. I wave hello to several people I see. I hear Old Man Griddle again. He’s the town crazy. He has a wooden leg from the war, and every night he drinks, takes off the leg, and shouts at the young teenagers. I will not get to see the show tonight. I pass Doug’s home. I’m actually there often because my mother and his mother are best friends. Needless to say, it can be awkward having my crush’s mother know unpleasant things about me.

I enter the wood that rests behind of the town high school. The path is made by the feet of thousands of walkers. Birds, insects, and large leaves wave their hands to me as I pass by. I always envision the forest as a majestic place, but in reality I’m aware that it is only a dirty marsh filled with beer cans. I walk for half a mile, and finally I can see the lights of Debbie’s home. Her mother is standing outside on the wooden porch, stamping her toes restlessly against the boards. She has to get to work.

Debbie stands next to her, clutching at her nurse dress. I can hear the faint sounds of Debbie’s brothers in the house. They sound as though they are playing war games. I run to Mrs. Harn and apologize. She quickly heads off in her car. She does not have to tell me how to watch her children any more.

Debbie turns her attention to me and wraps her small arms around my blue jeans. The sun is starting to fade and create that surreal orange glow, and soon no light will be seen. Debbie leads me into the kitchen and flicks on the kitchen table light. I’m starving. I rarely have time to eat at my house, and if I do, I never get too much with all of the boys surrounding me like wild dogs. I notice a bag of plums on the counter. I love fruit. Whenever my brothers and I would walk down to the penny candy store, I would always use my prized penny to buy a banana. I never cared for candy too much, anyway.

“You can have one,” Debbie smiles. She knows me too well now.

“Did you get them at the store?”

“No, my grandpapa brought them over. He always does. He picks them.”

I nod and shrug. They are too tempting to resist, and I know I shouldn’t eat their food because they are in need already. I go ahead and take one.

The night is filled with dolls and loud screeches of boys’ games. I never quite understand how they can spend hours upon hours hooting and hollering. I suppose that’s what all young boys do. I certainly hear enough hooting from my brothers.

After they fall asleep, I wait until about 2 A.M. I stay awake because I feel so uneasy. This house makes me very nervous. I normally call someone or bring Susie with me during the night shift. It’s a very remote house, and in this area, who knows what can happen. I shouldn’t really worry, though. Carmichaels has never had a problem before. Even my own parents don’t lock our house at night.