I decided to try something different here. These are the same characters from "Family Portrait", albeit a few years older, told from the perspective of a now 12-year-old Eileen. I'm experimenting with point of view and present versus past tense for a much larger work. This was just one such attempt.
I feel Carrie's eyes on me as I sit down on the couch. Her gaze is dull and glassy, but it can still burn. She glares at me from across the room once we're both at each other's eye level. I pray silently for Daddy John to come home soon.
In one of those rare instances where God must be listening, I hear the sound of tires squealing as the truck pulls into the driveway.
Carrie's eyes widen. She turns towards the door and stares, tearing her gaze away from me. I keep my eyes on the floor, not wanting to attract her attention.
A car door slams outside. His footsteps are heavy as they crunch on gravel in the driveway. Carrie nearly flies off the couch once she hears the creaking of old wooden boards on the porch.
She almost pounces on him before he's even in the door. As he tries to enter the house, she backs up a couple feet to give him space. She looks up at him and wrings her hands in front of her.
"Oh God, John, it's terrible!" she wails, quickly giving me a dirty look. "How could she do this to me? To us, after all we've done for her?" She throws her arms around him as high as she can reach and sobs into his chest.
"Calm down, Carrie! I'm sure it's not as bad as you're making it out to be," he says, embracing her gently. She keeps sobbing until he gives her a tight squeeze and finally pries her off of him. "Now, what's the problem?"
She sniffles and looks up at him, then over at me. "It's... it's not something I want to discuss in front of her," she says as she nods towards me. "Even if it is all her fault."
"Now, now, there's --"
"I don't want to mention it in front of her, John. End of story." She waddles over to where I'm sitting and grabs my chin with one meaty hand. She looks me in the eye.
"Listen, brat. Daddy John and I need to have a little talk in the kitchen. You stay right here and don't move. Do you understand?" she says through gritted teeth. She moves my head up and down in a forced nod, then pulls her hand away. My jaw hurts for a moment.
She turns to Daddy John and heads for the kitchen. He gives me a pitiful look before following suit. I shudder, not wanting to think of what she may tell him once they're alone.
It's quiet in the kitchen for a few moments, at least until Carrie gets going. Even from the couch, I can hear some of what she's saying. Daddy John says little, probably doesn't get much of a chance to say much anyway.
I hear Carrie shouting words like slut, whore, and bastard. Words that, if I said them, would get me slapped across the face and grounded for a month. I don't even have to hear the whole conversation to know she's talking about me.
The voices in the kitchen quiet down after a little while. I hear the heavy tread of Daddy John's biker boots, followed behind by the scuff-scuff of Carrie's old slippers. He's staring at his feet as he comes through the door.
Carrie has a smirk on her face as she waddles out from behind him. She quickly cuts in front of him and makes a beeline towards me. Once she's right in front of me, she reaches out to grab me by the collar of my sweatshirt.
She pulls me up to look her in the face. I can smell the sour beer on her breath. She looks me straight in the eye for a second and I pull back, shocked. She grins.
"Ooh, are you ever gonna get it," she says, shaking me by the collar like a dog. "I told Daddy John everything you said, and he thinks you deserve an ass-whooping same as I do. Right, John?"
Daddy John stands just in front of the doorway, looking like he's late for his own funeral. He nods once and stares down at the floor.
I'd love to know what you think. - Lee
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