Yesterday I Woke Up Sucking a Lemon
It’s been a week now. Seven days. That no-count Harlan ran off as soon as we put the last shovel full of dirt on his wife’s grave.
My sister. My only one.
We always had a special bond. Harlan hit her. She never admitted it, mind. But, with every bloom of purple at the edge of her collar or around the fringe of her skirt, I knew.
I had those bruises, too.
I always tried to make light of my ticks. That’s what I called the weight of Harlan’s blows that traveled through her sinew to my skin. When I doubled over in pain at the washbasin. Or dropped the pot roast on my way to the table. Or fell out of bed in the dead of night. My sympathy pains gave her no comfort, because she never knew. No one did.
Grief is supposed to alter the body. I’ve heard tell of piercing agony that can stop the heart. That’s what I told myself I was experiencing five days ago, when I cut my finger. I was slicing a lemon, but everything went black for a few seconds. The knife slipped.
It happened again later that night as I stumbled out back to the privy, and when I closed myself up inside, I couldn’t catch my breath. I fell through the door and rolled on the grass, my unmentionables around my ankles, and I didn’t even care. The stardust and the halo around the moon were the only beacons that gave me peace.
After a sleepless night, I dressed in my visiting clothes and walked up to the school. The library. I needed to learn if bereavement caused my symptoms. Whether my heart was weak. If my body was dying because my sister was buried in the ground.
A fiction series to explore a phobia. Read the introductory installment here, the second installment here, the third installment here and the fourth installment here.
And the hurting doesn’t end. Identical twin?
No. They weren’t identical twins.
Nice, and unexpected, turn of events. Double the pleasure, double the fun?
As for sucking a lemon for 7 days, how goes your cold? Clearing up any?
Still going. I just stopped complaining about it. I have a big scab on my nose that I hope will aid to your enjoyment of lunch tomorrow. Ha.
You are always beautiful and a joy to be around – no matter what.
Ohhhhh – the same symptoms she was experiencing. OK, I begin to see some of the pattern. Awesome
This hasn’t wandered where I intended. If only my characters would let me make a dang outline………….I never meant for it to be so sad, either, but all of my characters seem to be unhappy at the moment.
very intense. I’ve always wondered about this thing with identical twins to feel each others pain.
They aren’t twins…….
:*-(
It’s almost over. Last post just went up.
I got the impression they were twins as well, Andra, but now I know they weren’t. They must have been very close to feel each others pain. Still sad, but I get a sense of moving on with this installment.
Last one just posted. I didn’t want to start a work week with a sad post.
I found this installment particularly atmospheric, Andra. Harlan’s pain is palpable. I’m anxious to read the rest (slow, but sure hereabouts).
Slow is always better than no, Penny.
Oh my goodness, Andra. This is breathtaking. So well done. I loved this piece of the story. I don’t mind that it’s achingly sad…it should be.
I don’t mind reading sad, but I will read just about anything. Most people are pickier than me.
You know, I was sad to see the first sister die, but it’s easy to get attached to this one too. I hope she gets some of the life her sister missed out on.
And, you know the end by now………