sjsprWriting

She goes missing on a lazy day in June.

The sun blazes enough to suffocate, but the breeze keeps anyone from being too bitter. It’s the kind of day that spreads out, uncurls; a mouth caught wide in a yawn, a pair of arms reaching skyward, pulling the muscles, pushing the arms, a pleased groan, a fall back to earth. It sinks into the people, swims in their veins and collects in their marrow. It is seen in their easy smiles, their clear eyes, their flushed faces.

It is a good day, for all except her, it seems.

Her mother hollers her name, voice tight— a little shrill. She pauses, mid-game. For a terrified moment, she thinks she’s been discovered. She waits, unnaturally still and quiet. Her mother yells her name again, and she doesn’t take any chances, darting immediately to the miniature plastic play house in the backyard. She enters the house and sits down against one of its walls, pulls her knees to her chest. She can’t get in trouble if her mom can’t find her. And besides, she reasons, all she has to do is wait. How long will her mom really be mad for? She remembers the look on her mother’s face when she told her the new pretty vase in the living room was very valuable, very fragile, and very not for little girls.

She might be in here for awhile.