This is the edited version!
Chapter 1: Seeing the Cripple
Ellen Jocelyn Reno. Could my name be any worse? And please, do not call me Ellie. That one is even worse. But I refuse to be called by my hideous first name, so EJ will do. Although people are surprised I’m a girl, it’s so much better than Ellen.
Mom is at the grocery store. She leaves me here with the adopted baby twins, Hallie and Haley, and the responsibility of lunch. Thank goodness for cold cut sandwiches and baby food.
I take out two servings of baby food, and two baby spoons—the ones with the rubber over the metal, and I feed them. One at a time, with the other one sitting there, so depressed because they think they’re not going to get any. But they do.
Now it’s my turn. I take out ham and pepper jack cheese, my favorite, and put it on cheap white bread with a few vegetables and mustard. Lots of mustard, but no mayonnaise. I hate mayonnaise.
I hear a car door slam as I finish shoving the last bite of sandwich in my mouth. I put the dish in the sink and go to the window. It’s not our car, or the car of anyone who is regularly on this street.
This car is a white Chrysler Town and Country with those stickers that look like people stuck right on the back window. It also has a Finding Nemo antenna ball.
Out of the car come two middle-aged people, a man and a woman. The man has dark brown hair, while the woman’s is a very light blonde. They are definitely a couple. The woman is pregnant, and very much so. I would say she’s expecting in a few weeks.
Then come two kids, two girls. One looks a
little younger than me, but not by much. They both have their dad’s color hair and are tall.
But there’s still one figure in the van, and whoever it is, isn’t moving. Is the person hesitant about moving in?
Then it becomes clearer to me as the dad pulls a wheelchair out of the back of the van. His father lifts him out of the car and sets him in the wheelchair.
It is a boy. He has his mother’s very blonde hair. He looks tall, but it is very hard for me to tell because he is sitting down.
I hear another car door slam, and I look in our driveway to see my Mom’s silver 2008 Toyota Highlander.
“Hey, Mom.” I wave as she comes in the door.
“Did you feed Hallie and Haley?” she asks hopefully.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom. I never forget,” I insist.
“You’re right, you don’t.” She sighs. “Hon, I think you need a break. Do you want to go do something with your friends?”
“My imaginary ones? Yeah, they’ll be great company,” I say sarcastically.
“You have friends,” she says, a little unsure. “What about that Molly girl from school?”
“She moved to California to live with her grandparents,” I respond. “Mom, let’s face it. I’m a loner, for lack of a better word.”
“Ha! You are not,” she protests, but then
looks back at me. “Are you?”
“Kind of.”
“Honey, I’m sorry that we moved into a neighborhood where there aren’t many kids your age,” she says, sighing.
The fact of the matter is, I’m a loner because I’m afraid that once I let people in, they’re just going to leave me all too quickly, and I just don’t want to be hurt anymore. I’ve been hurt too many times already. My dad up and left when I was six, and I haven’t seen him since. My Mom still wears the wedding ring, with some futile hope that he will come back and remarry her or something.
“We have new neighbors. I could hang out with them. I mean, they have kids that are my age,” I say, uncharacteristically optimistic.
“Girls?”
“I think they have one girl that’s my age,” I reply. “But they also have a boy. He’s a cripple.”
“EJ!”
“What did I do?”
“Honey, don’t say he’s a cripple,” she says. “That’s not polite. Say he’s in a wheelchair, or he’s disabled.”
“Mom, you know what I mean! I wasn’t trying to be impolite or rude or whatever. I’m not that bad.”
“I know, but they’re new, and good first impressions are key,” she explains. “Would you make me a sandwich?”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes when she can’t see me. I was just left alone for two hours with the twins, and now she’s asking me to do more work?
I make the sandwich and hand it to her, who is sitting on the couch. “Thanks, EJ. I really appreciate all this.”
“No problem, Mom,” I say, and then I hear crying. Hallie and Haley.
“Would you check the girls?”
“Sure.”
“Their diapers are probably dirty.”
“I know. They have a knack for that, you know,” I say sarcastically.
“Tell me about it!” she says. “Those babies are potty machines. That’s what babies do. They eat, poop, and sleep. What more can you expect, really?”
I reach their bedroom. It’s the first bedroom on the right when you get to the top of the stairs.
I take off Hallie’s diaper. A horrible stench fills the room. “Ugh! That’s awful, Hal, how do you do that?” As I remove Haley’s, the same sort of scent comes out. “How do you do that?”
I wipe them and put fresh diapers on them. Now they shouldn’t smell so bad anymore, but they’re still crying.
I take them downstairs to Mom, who knows why I’m bringing them.
“Still crying?”
“Yup,” I say. “I think it’s time for their milk, Mom. That’s up to you. I have a lot of homework to do, anyway.”
“On Saturday?”
“Well…I slacked yesterday and so now I’m waist-deep in math problems,” I admit sheepishly.
“Well, you go do it,” she says. “I’ll feed them myself.”
I run upstairs to my bedroom, backpack in hand, and take out my math textbook.
Algebra: one word that means hell on earth. I hate algebra. Variables, slope intercept form, point
slope form, and more. I hate it. Ugh.
After two hours and a lot more homework, I shut the book, and look at the clock. Five sixteen o’clock.
I look out the window. The impaired boy is sitting out in his backyard, watching his sisters toss a ball. The longing in his eyes makes me sick. I take for granted being able to run and play sports. He can’t. He’ll never know what it feels like to feel your feet pounding against the ground. He’ll never know what it feels like to have a second wind as you’re running a long distance, and you get tired. If only there was a way he could run, he could see a brand new world.
As I think, I look away from the window, looking at the picture of my deceased Grammy and me hugging. In her later years, she couldn’t walk anymore. She hated it. I know she hated it. How would it feel to be like this since you were as young as he was, and probably even younger? I make up my mind to talk to him sometime soon.
Perhaps he won’t like me, which wouldn’t be any surprise—not a lot of people do—but at least I could try. I mean, maybe he will like me. Well, I doubt it, but I guess being a little optimistic couldn’t hurt.
I try to make my characters realistic. By adding the thing about the cripple, it shows that the mom is very stuck on respect and manners, and that EJ isn't perfect.
