David O’Hare

An Excerpt From My Ongoing Work, “To Always Be Alone”.

“Well, it’s about time!”  A sharp voice yelled up at me, “Here I am, trying to help my brother do grunt work, and he’s off taking his ease!”                                                                                                I smiled down at the short, brown figure below me, setting her off again.  Gloria was born two years before I was, and, although I wasn’t tall, she hardly reached my shoulders—something that I considered my duty to remind her of—often. She paused, sometime during her rant, and handed a bucket out of the cellar, instructing me to fill it.  It took three full baskets—and an ongoing stream of slicing commentary—but we got the potatoes back underground.   As I let down the last basket full of potatoes, I let go of the handle before she had a chance to grab it.   The sound of potatoes rolling all over the ground came to my ears; I grabbed the wheelbarrow and ran towards the relative safety of the barn.


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