Vignette #2: "Emily"

Emily’s yellow rain boots were mere props. Each time she found a puddle, she’d jump right in and stomp her feet, creating a little tsunami. As a result, her boots were full of water and her socks soaked through. She held her umbrella high above her head with each squelching step as she navigated between puddles, imagining it to be a whimsical flying-machine. Looking at the ground, she pretended to soar high above. Her umbrella was midnight-blue, her favourite colour. She’d learned what midnight-blue was at the hardware store while her parents selected paints for the new house. She loved its electric mystery. It struck her as more potent than any red, more beautiful than any yellow: it was the colour of the sky before dawn, the colour of a deep dream.

     She lowered the umbrella to her side and faced the weeping grey above. Sticking out her tongue, she tasted raindrops. They felt cool and she thought they tasted like ‘grey’ - though what that meant exactly she didn’t know. She wondered what midnight-blue might taste like. When she returned her gaze to the horizon she noticed somebody. At the end of the street was the diminutive figure of a boy squatting at the side of a road. She skipped along to introduce herself, hoping to make her first friend in the new neighbourhood.

     “Hello!” Emily called out, her voice as eager as the little hop she did to accompany it. The boy looked up from his task and squinted at her. He had been doing something with his hands.

     “You move in last weekend?” Not that there was any doubt of that - he’d recognized her voice. She’d been bouncing around the lawn on moving day, running in, out, and around the house, squealing and singing to herself. He looked back down and continued what he was doing, and Emily saw he was digging into the earth with a small trowel.

     “What’s your name?” Emily inquired.

     “Sam,” he said. “I live over there.” The boy pointed over his shoulder without removing his eyes from the ground. Emily saw a house with dirty vinyl siding whose lawn was littered with an assortment of old junk. A freezer, the frame of a bicycle, rotting car tires, cinder blocks. He didn’t reciprocate the question, only continued to dig until Emily began to feel awkward.

     “Well, my name’s Emily...” She introduced herself with waning enthusiasm. Something felt off about this boy. Perhaps it was the house he lived in, or that his appearance matched his abode. He had no umbrella, nor raincoat, nor boots. He wore a white tee-shirt that was moth-bitten and covered in stains. His shorts had obviously been a pair of adult-sized jeans before someone had taken a pair of scissors to them, and they were held up awkwardly with an old leather belt.

     “Uh-huh.” The boy continued to dig, his eyes not meeting hers.

     “What’re you doing?” Emily asked, her voice now a mix of worry and curiosity. For some reason she was now afraid her parents might see her talking to him. She glanced over her shoulder at the streets around them. Quiet, empty.

     “Lookin’ for worms n’ grubs n’ stuff...” He mumbled. “Oh, there’s one!” The boy dug more aggressively with the trowel now, chasing after a fat earthworm in retreat. “Hm, got it!” He grunted as he flung the worm onto the grass. “Big one, too. Watch this.” Emily felt the breath catch in her throat as she watched him cut the hapless creature into several pieces. Each piece writhed in agony. The gentle sounds of summer rain disappeared, and she heard only her heartbeat.

     “Why are you doing that!?” Emily cried, stretching out the a sound in the final word of her sentence. She gasped for air.

     “’Cause it’s fun.” He shrugged and looked up at her, but there was no expression on his face. When the boy looked down again, Emily turned and ran home.