Croft Press / Ada

We Stick Stronger Than Glue

This is a collection of short fiction stories that I wrote for class.

Ada Croft

Mrs. Chiever

Global-1^st

November 20, 2009

Lemon Lollipop

My name in English means happy. It is the feeling people get when they know everything is all right. I want to be the one who does the little things to make it better for others. Like that nurse who gave you the large lemon lollipop after the shot. The mom who plays your favorite station on the radio. The wrinkly postman who smiles at you as he hands you the mail.

I was named after my great aunt. She was a loud woman, with a big heart, big ears, and an open mind. She spoke the truth, listened, and made you laugh all at the same time. She could jump rope at 80, and sing like a well practiced gospel choir. Although she claims to only practice with the radio. She could pull off any outfit from any decade. She made sure to bake oatmeal cookies every day and she never burned them. She did this to make people feel good and in return she felt good too. I could never thank her enough.

This is the woman I want to become. I want to grow up with the name I have and the people I follow, and I want to show it off. I want to make my great aunt proud. I want to have kids and a husband and I want to do something with my life. I want to make people happy.

Happy. The feeling I get holding a balloon on a string, petting the neighborhood dog, and seeing my friends smile. My name describes it. My name, is Ada.

Mayfair Street

We have always lived here. I only know what my mother tells me about the other places. I've been here on Mayfair street for about eleven years now. I remember the lemonade stands, and the friends who moved away while I stayed. I remember always wanting to fly on the airplane but mama saying "we had no reason to," and that we were just fine on Mayfair Street.

I also remember that every once in a while, there'd be one more of us. I am one of seven; my mom and dad, plus my little brothers Ben, Tommy, Abe and Theodore. We have a relationship stronger than glue, we stick together better than duck tape and staples, stickers and cement, harder to get apart than the hardened jam that sticks old sandwich bread together. We make the house what it is today. I am so grateful for them.

The house on Mayfair street is ours, we don't pay rent to anyone. We don't have to be careful of prissy apartment dogs, or being too loud all the time. But at the same time, it isn't the house I thought we'd have. My dream house would have patio with a view of the starlit sky. A view so breathtaking, you could sit out for hours and feel it was only a few minutes. I wish for a smoky fireplace so I could curl around the fire with my hot cocoa and the sticky white marshmallows. I could slurp it up without anyone telling me not to.

Although I wish for a better house. I'd be scared to move. Scared to leave my comfort zone. I'd be horridly afraid to throw away eleven years of friends and memories just to do it all again somewhere else. All my friends know where I live. "Thats where she lives." "Thats where Ada has always been." And, "Hopefully where she always will be," my friends joke. They don't want me to go either. They know I like my safe good smelling apple cinnamon house with the big family inside. I'm scared to grow up and say goodbye. I hope I never have to.

Miss Elephant

She lives three houses down in the presumptuous purple house with the petunias in the front. She's large. She's in charge. Tiny fragile elephant figurines sit on her grand piano. We stop by, Tommy and I -- every so often just to look at them. "Don't touch!" she sniffs, "Those figurines are worth more than your little lives!" She tells us that elephants are tough. Like her. They have a strong bond of family that she respects. Tail in trunk as they walk in a linked chain. After our trip I walk us home, hand in hand. Tommy looks puzzled, "Ada? We're like elephants too, right?" He looks so cute asking the question that I laugh. We swing our hands and trumpet like elephants all the way to our door. "I guess we are."

Who's a Busy Bee?

My mother would ask me as a youngin', "Who's a busy bee?" And I'd always answer the same, "Me me me!" I am the busy bee. I wake up at six in the morning, and I eat my granola bar with pancakes. I make sure I look pretty enough to go to school, then I pack a lame lunch in a Walmart bag and walk briskly till I get there. I get to school, conscious of everything in the hallways. Then as soon as I hit class, I feel I'm not conscious of anything at all. I attempt to make all A's like Daddy asks, while trying not to look like a fool all the same. I try to be polite and hilarious, while also paying attention in a popular way.

The bell rings. I become a canned sardine in the hallway, packed and squished as I try not to shove the other sardines. I chat with my friends till I realize the time. I run home and clean my room, I wait for Ben to get home so I can tell him about my day. I help my mom make dinner, and I ask my dad about his day, because it's always interesting. Abe makes me play a tedious game he invented earlier, while Tommy watches and fills me in on how to play it. Afterward I babysit little Theodore till homework time. I dawdle till about eight, then quickly get it all done and hit the sack at eleven after a shower and a snack. I am a busy bee. But that's what makes my day so good.

Wish You Were Here

I never have a dull moment, because I'm with you guys. But one day, we won't be together. That'll be the day when I'm bored, and it's stuffy. And all I'll get to do is clean and tend to my things. I'll wish you were here. In fact, I'll wish you were all here. All four of you. Then we could have a party. Your friends and my friends. We could have the loud explosions, candy highs, the balloons popping, and the occasional neighbor complaining from the noise. We would have a blast. We always have a blast. We talk about it happening. The growing up thing I mean. We talk about getting back together, us siblings having a reunion when we get older. So we can show off our spouses and jobs, and our wiggly toothed toddlers. But what if...what if we don't? What if I spend my days wondering where you all are. How you all grew up? What if instead of getting to see you, I get that worn postcard in the mail with a bunch of pictures saying, "Wish you were here." I don't know what I'd do.

The Five Musketeers

We sat in a circle. All of us, all of us kids. We played the make believe Three Musketeers game with two too many -- making it the Five Musketeers. We all had swords and feathers to make it official. I got the pretty pink feather with the dusty vacuum tube sword. Ben got the dirty black feather with the plastic, real looking sword from last year's Halloween pirate costume. Tommy got the stubby green feather and a remote from the TV as his sword. For the babies -- Abe and Theodore, we decided they could have orange and white feathers. The swords would be too dangerous, so in their chubby and grubby hands we gave them each a Cheeto and a pretzel stick instead. We hoped they wouldn't mind. They didn't. We chuckled and quarreled till the sun came all the way up in the sky. Then mom woke up from her nap to see the mess, and we cleaned till the sun came down. The five musketeers, with their feathers and swords -- playing together, cleaning together.