“I’m famished by your absence,” my brother John told his girlfriend on the phone, as he stood in the living room next to the end table, playing with the phone cord.
It was going on two weeks since they started going steady. She was in the 3rd grade, and he was in the second.
I thought my brother would never get off the phone. He was supposed to help me and my brother Stanley with chores around the house. However, there he was talking to Delores on the phone.
“Hurry up, John, will you. I need to start vacuuming,” I groaned, while holding on to the vacuum hose, and getting it in ready position to vacuum.
“In a minute, “he said, “I’m so sorry, Delores. That was my sister, complaining, because of how long I’m talking on the phone. I know, she can be such a pain. So…what is it you wanted to tell me? I don’t know. I’d have to ask my parents about that first, but a movie sounds great. Okay. Yeah. Talk to you later,” as he sent her a kiss over the phone.
Upon hanging up the phone, he said to me, “What’s the matter with you? Couldn’t you see I had a very important phone call?”
“You were only talking to Delores. I’d hardly call that important. Whatever she wanted to talk to you about, Johnny, could have waited until tomorrow, when you’d see her on the school bus,” I grunted, while starting up the vacuum.
I begun with the living room, working my way all the way back into the bedroom on the main floor.
In the meantime, John was helping Stanley with the dishes.
While I was vacuuming, my mom came into the bedroom with a basket of clean clothes. She set them on the bed, and started separating them into piles.
When I finished vacuuming, she said, “Kiki, after you put the vacuum away, I want you to come get your clean clothes from here, take them upstairs to your bedroom, and put them away in their respective places.”
After putting the vacuum away, I stopped in the kitchen to see how my brothers were coming along with the dishes. “Are you guys almost finished? Company will be here soon. Not only that, but mom wants you two to get your clean clothes from the bedroom on this floor, so you can take them upstairs and put them away when you finish in here.”
“We’ll be done in about twenty minutes,” my John said, as he passed a dish to Stanley to dry.
I walked into the bedroom, collected my clothes, and headed toward the stairs leaning to the upstairs bedrooms.
Upon arriving in my bedroom, I set my clean clothes on my bed, and begun putting them away.
I didn’t feel like going back downstairs right away, so I decided to listen to some music on my Mickey Mouse radio. Steve Wonder’s song, Isn’t She Lovely, came on the air.
As I put my clothes away, I let the music take over my senses, allowing me to feel and to embrace the good feelings stirred up within the piece of music. It made me wish my own father had been towards me, the way Stevie Wonder was with his own daughter, of whom he wrote the song for. Unfortunately, I had to endure his tyranny.
My brothers came upstairs with their own clothes, went into their bedrooms, and put them away.
I turned off my radio to get into their bedroom and chat with them a while.
“I don’t see why we have to clean the house, just because we’re having company. They called two hours ago, saying their coming down. Those people always invite themselves to our house,” I groaned, as I sat on Stanley’s bed, watching him and John put their clothes away.
“The our parents friends,” John said, while putting his socks in the dresser drawer.
“But why are they coming down today, Johnny. There here just about every night. Don’t they have something constructive they could be doing, instead of bothering our family all the time,” I complained.
“Those people invite themselves, always giving our parents advice, especially when it comes to raising us. Kiki, I wish they’d mind their own business. If they were as good parents as they think they are, they would have better control of their own daughter, instead of allowing her to roam around,” Stanley interjected while going into the closet, and stepping on the chair to hang up some shirts.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015