Penny West
My only sister was born in the west. That is, to say, she never saw the light of day. My mother would never let me down. She blames me. I was always a good kid. I was quite obedient; our neighbors thoroughly expressed their jealousy. Why couldn’t their kids be that disciplined? Then, of course, we thought behavior was inside, and had nothing to do with upbringing. Anyway, it wasn’t until that day, when my mother decided to go into labor that I wanted to explore. (I’m lying, of course. I’ve always been curious.) Not to explore just anything, mind you, but to explore a boy.
He fell into my life shortly after he moved into the abandoned shack. Mother said he was trash. He had no parents; his only companion a small grey kitten. Despite mother’s rants, he interested me. A boy my age without a mother? I’d walk down the street after my morning chores while mother and father were still in bed. I’d walk in my blue and white dress (Mother adored it so much. I wore it often, so as not to upset her.) with a small bowl of fresh milk. Careful to keep my seams together, I’d climb over the wooden fence and walk across the grassy field. I’d approach the small wooden shack cautiously, where the small grey kitten would be to meet me. I’d sit with her as she licked up her breakfast, and we’d watch the sun rise.
It was always so beautiful. I went to see the boy, though he never came out. Maybe he isn’t in there at all, I’d think. Maybe he has a job in town,
or he’s working for Old Man Joe. Often Penny and I (Penny was my name for the small grey kitten, because when we first met, she was cleaning next to some rusty old coins.) would play in the grassy field. The plant went up to my waste..I couldn’t imagine how monstrous it was for Penny. But we played after she ate, then I’d assist her through the one window of the old shack, kiss her forehead, and make my way home for lunch. I’d tell Mother I was dancing with Karen, who lived down the road in the opposite direction. I always thought she believed me…Later she told me she knew my secret, and that it was okay for me to visit with the cows on the other end, and I need not lie about it. I, of course, let her have her way.
That was before she knew about Ronny. Ronny was the boy my age without a mother. I didn’t meet him until two weeks after I’d met Penny. I came around in the morning, as usual, gave Penny her milk, and watched the sun rise. This time, however, there was someone watching. I could hear his breath behind me in the house. I wasn’t sure what kind of animal it was, and I wasn’t about to let myself or Penny find out. I stood up and stretched (I wanted to act casual so as not to alarm the creature into an attack.) then reached for Penny. the creature didn’t stir, so I thought it safe to continue the day’s activities. We ran through the field, in circles, letting the wind swish through our hair (well in her case, fur). If I lost her, I’d back trace to find her licking her paws. Then I’d carry her so she wouldn’t get herself dirty. Penny was my best friend, come to think of it, my only friend.
The next day as we walked back from our play session, I saw the creature. He was not a creature, but a boy. (Mother calls boys beasts, creatures, and other words I am forbidden to speak, though . It was almost as if she feared them.) I slowed my pace to get a better look at him. I couldn’t see his face, because he was sitting next to the shack polishing a boot. But I was definitely able to see his hair. It wasn’t long but it wasn’t really short either. His facial hair was whiskering in, also. It was all the same color: A radiant red-orange. It was beautiful. I envied his hair even more than I envied Karen’s, which was long, brown and beautiful. Our neighbors were much more proud of her hair than my behavior. My hair disgusted me, as it apparently did Mother. She would always yell at me for not keeping the stringy blonde strands as lovely as “the precious girl down the road.” She said she’d have another daughter just to give her better hair.
But the boy had the best hair of us all, without a doubt. I watched him polish his boot, and only once did he look up. I missed most to his face, but I did catch a glimpse of his eyes before he looked back at his boot. I was close enough at that point to see that they were a deep, handsome brown.
I approached cautiously, hoping to not disturb him, but I was very excited. So excited, in fact, that I wasn’t watching my feet, and tripped over a pile of rocks. He looked up and smirked, put down his boot and tools, then rose to assist me. By the time he got over to me, I was already sitting up, inspecting my bruised knee. He kneeled, smiled, and then pulled some kind of white gauze out of his pocket. He wrapped it around my knee, and tied it, then he helped me to my feet. My mother raised me to not ignore the kindness of others, and to stay as polite as possible. So naturally, I thanked him.
He looked at me like he’d never heard another soul speak directly to him. I kind of felt sorry for him then, because he had no mother, but I was still interested. I always wondered what it would be like if I lived out on my own, but knew that could never happen. I’d have to get married first, just to have my daughter wonder the same things. He looked to the ground, then smiled and looked up.
He extended his hand and said, “No problem. Hi, I’m Ronny.” He spoke rather messy, probably because he learned to speak without much help from school, I thought. But his voice was nice. God had already been inside him to pull his voice down to a grumble. It wasn’t deep, but it was certainly lower than the voices of the boys at my school. I second guessed his age. He looked thirteen, though.
“Well, aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he asked.
“Oh yes, of course. Pardon, it’s Anna,” I replied. His stare left my face and joined the field. “Did I…Say something wrong?”
“No….” he said, as if he heard me, but he wasn’t really listening. I was still wondering about his age, so I asked, and he replied, “Thirteen.” He gleamed with pride. I excused myself for wanting to ask to ask questions, but asked more to find out he came in from the city, he found Penny on the way, abandoned, so he took her along, he was working for Old Man Joe by feeding his animals, milking the cows, retrieving eggs from the chickens, and other such farm chores. He said that’s why he’s never there when I come, but he always comes back in time to watch me walk home. he loves my blue and white dress, but is more impressed by the black one I was wearing the day I heard him in the shack. He didn’t ask me too many questions, just where I lived and what my favorite thing to eat was. I found the questions odd, but then realized he must have thought me odd for inquiring so much. I was only curious, I told him. He said he respected my honesty, then invited me to town with him. I declined, it was well past the time I usually got home and mother would whip me if I missed lunch. I left him there with Penny, happy as a bug.
When I arrived home, I was whipped and sent to my room with a slice of bread and some milk. As I ate, I gazed out the window, thinking of the boy. Ronny, I’d think, with the image of him polishing his boot, and caring for my wound. I’d hope over and again that I’d see him again. I didn’t know what it was, but every time I thought of his face, my body would fill with all these wonderful feelings.
I woke up the next morning and did my chores as usual. Father had already gone to town, and mother was sound asleep. Along with the milk, I stole two apples and half a loaf of bread. I placed it all in a basket, wrapped in a cloth, and then made my way to the old shack.
Ronny was there again. As I approached, his eyes widened and face brightened. He walked over to meet me, and kindly carried the basket for me. Such a gentleman, I said to myself, and smiled. He devoured the snack as if he’d never eaten so much in his life. I was happy for him. We sat and watched Penny eat, then just sat. I assumed he was too shy to speak, and knew I liked him too much to start anything.
“How’s your knee, then?” he asked, nervously.
“Oh, much better, thank you.”
The days went on like that. We’d speak a few words, then I’d head home earlier than I used to. Mother started getting curious again, this time about me bringing food along. I just told her the bread was for the ducks that had recently arrived, one apple was for me, the other I cut up and fed to one of the cows–a different one each day. I think she still wondered, but I didn’t add anything to make her deem my story guilty. Father didn’t much care where I was, it seemed. Over the years, his inquiry of my life at the supper table had decreased. We didn’t mind each other, you see, we just didn’t mesh. Our personalities were quite different, and I think when he spotted me at the shack once, it led him to think I was a liar. He said nothing to Mother, but I was always on my best behavior anyway. I’d hate to think what the townspeople would do to Ronny if they had an excuse to approach him.
