Summer Girl
by Tia Prouhet
You're broken. Your eyes don't see quite right, and your hands don't feel quick enough. I love you anyway. You don't talk right, but I understand because you taught me how.
Sometimes, when people are looking at you and thinking things, I know better, but I don't know what to say. I tell you to stop when you honk like a goose cause you don't have enough words.
You smile at me, big and sweet like candied oranges, but you don't stop. And the people keep staring and I want to hit them and hit them, and not stop until they can't stare at anyone, until they understand that you're just different.
Maybe I can go to school some day, some big one covered in ivy and made of brick, and learn how to fix you, way inside.
If the teachers are good and I can afford it I'll go, and I'll work so hard everyday until I can open you up and pull out all the different inside of you. Like little bugs. I'll pick them all out, slowly, real careful.
You'll be amazed how still my hands can be while I pick out tiny bits of the bad stuff and put them all in a metal tray like in the movies. When you're all better and we're sisters again I can show you all the bits, floating in a jar. You'll want to know how I got it all out and I'll tell you it was love, it was love that taught me how. And you'll smile your orange smile and know it wasn't really.
We're getting older, though, and the doctor says this is the way you'll be till forever, whenever forever turns out to be. That's okay too, I think.
Let's smile in the sun every day. You can be my russet potato and I'll be your farmer. I'll clean you off and show everyone how a strange little root like you can be wonderful.
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Author's Note
A story about sisters.
Previously published in Metazen (here: http://www.metazen.ca/?p=529) by the delightful Frank Hinton.
Other stories by Tia Prouhet
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Gorgeous.
this graf:
You'll be amazed how still my hands can be while I pick out tiny bits of the bad stuff and put them all in a metal tray like in the movies. When you're all better and we're sisters again I can show you all the bits, floating in a jar. You'll want to know how I got it all out and I'll tell you it was love, it was love that taught me how. And you'll smile your orange smile and know it wasn't really.
then the last--
made me think i might want to follow you an read you more.
then i looked at your blog and knew i was right about that
and this:
go
go go
The final paragraph just makes this.
you are one to watch
i might be in love with this story
i feel like crying and grinning and running outside and high-fiving someone and ordering them read this story!
That last paragraph clobbered me. This story makes me ache it's so good and unflinching, goes right to where it hurts.
Someone offer this woman a chapbook deal.
Painful and delicious.
This is a wonderful read.
I read the last paragraph of this to at least five people in the office at work today.
"strange little root" love that. delicate and vivid all through this.
This is gorgeous. It has heart.
very tender and pretty.
is there a way to re-fave a story? fuck, this is brilliant and makes me want to curl up, bawl, and then write a boatload of stories.
this is really beautiful.
Thank you, everyone, for all the terribly nice things said.
David, I'm so flattered. Thank you.
Lovely writing!
Smiles!
so sweet and perfect and good. very glad to have met your work here today.
I read “Nutrition” first and loved that. This one is even better. Beautiful writing throughout. This is one to read over and over.
Ending, so good. Beginning, so good. All very good.
"Yes!" to all that was said up there. I need to write a story I really don't want to write but will because I now have the stones to do it. I'm borrowing yours, for an hour or so; you obviously have plenty to spare. I don't think you'll even notice.
So far, this is the best thing I've read on this site, and I've read a ton of it. Great work. If I'd written this, I'd have printed it out and magneted it to the fridge. Good God this is wonderful.
In addition to everything above, the voice here is wonderful.