Departure (Title in progress)

They had been leaning against the steps for an eternity; yet somehow she managed to keep the conversation polite, brief if anything but simple. Her head was cradled between the stair railings and in her hand she held a can of coke, between sips and sighs she would nod and agree; sometimes not even knowing what she was being told. 1

“Vicky, what we gonna do now?” her sister asked2

Emma looked up, her eyes doleful and her voice thick, melancholic. After a long and still silence, she sighed her shoulders trembling, and with some great strain, she pulled her knees in and wrapped her arms around her sore legs.
Before either of the girls had the heart to try speaking again, the front door swung open and slammed against the faded siding. Like she was compelled Vick got up from her spot on the steps and watched as door snapped back with a soft click . . . into the face of that unfortunate whoever. Emma breathed in sharply, after hearing a few muffled curses, and some struggling with the door- A tall, tubby little officer stepped onto the porch. He wiped the sweat beaded on his forehead, pretending not to notice either of them, and after muttering something into the distance, he finally turned and faced Vick with a lopsided smile that hung dangerously on the edge of his chapped lips. He looked like her old Mr. Potatohead, after the garbage disposal.3

“Now you did it, didn’t you?”4

He fixed his black little eyes on Vick. He knew Emma couldn’t hold the weight of it anyhow, her wrist would snap under the burden. But Vick just stood there, hardly giving a wit about the officer in front of her, and pretended to take a long sip.5

“Or maybe this little git here did it.”
He yanked Emma off the steps by her arm, and finally waking up her sister. 6

“Get your hands off her!” The girl wrenched her sister free managing to push her out of the way, when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. It stung at first but the shame hurt more. She fell out of breath- her legs sprawled over the porch. Beside her the can fell to the floor with a rattle . . . did a little spin . . . and rolled off the deck. It was empty.
“Now you did me favor with that dad of yours, but listen here, you better get out of my town before I change my mind.”7

Vicky focused on the little can, as best as she could. If she tried hard enough maybe, she could mentally lift it up and chuck it between the eyes of that tubby little thing. Maybe, just maybe it would hit in the pocket of flesh above his brow, and when it struck him, it would strike everything else. And it would push every memory and everything else away. But she stood up instead . . . grabbed Emma’s hand, and made her last trek off the porch.8

The sun wanted to melt into the earth that day, sink into the lining of the earth and just soften away. Emma’s hand was sticky, and there was something that smelled sweet in the air. Sort of like the scent you get on a real hot day, it spreads out through the house thick as syrup and sits with you for little whiles. Vick held on tight almost scared that her sister would slip away. 9

“It’s not gonna be the same.” Emma said after awhile
“I know”
“We won’t ever see the house now.”
Vick pulled Emma closer and kissed the top of her brown curls. Emma just scrunched up her nose, until her eyes were covered in lines and dimples. She gave Vick a funny look and her sister covered her eyes and looked back. Smiling she said. . .
“I know.”
10