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.