By Evelyn Mitchell, January 2, 2015, originally written August, 2006; I think
The birds that had gathered on the lawn burst upward into a cloud of brown thunder as Phil slammed the door of his nice warm truck. He stares at the front door like its a million miles away. So far away, that even the lawn looks larger than usual. The smell of winter bites the inside of his nose as puffs of steam lag behind him in misty swirls that mark the long walk to the front door. The day is a rich blue twilight, a kind of agony to a man that lives for the long hot days of summer.
Phil pushes the front door open to a summerlike blast of hot moist air that makes him smile. All the lights in the house are on making it seem sunny, a most welcome illusion. He hears Sarah in the bedroom blow drying her hair. A hint of old-fashioned perfume and soap in the air builds a recreation in his mind of days gone by. He smiles at the memory of his mother getting ready for work while he pushes his coat in to the overburdened closet. Rubs his hands together briskly shaking off the residual chill in his shoulders and arms and in two strides sits to rest his back in his father’s old recliner, drifting on memories of childhood.
His mother would come into the living room wearing only a full slip and skirt, with half her rollers pulled out. The new curls bouncing with every step and both hands on the next roller to be removed, he could still hear her muffled voice as she would keep talking the whole time she was getting dressed. Making sure he knew everything he was supposed to do while she was at work. Every instruction repeated at least three times, accented by the Mom-look after each command that demanded the audible utterance of “Yes ma’am”.
Phil smiles at how clear the memories of his mother are, and is beginning to relive another one until… Sarah walks through the room pulling him from his reverie, making a point not to look at him, she just whips around the sofa turning her back to him, her hair flying in a sort of fan dance. He hears her clanging the classes and pouring herself something to drink.
“Going out?” He asks, as she walks out of the kitchen, sipping a glass of sparkling red wine. She throws another flip of her hair as she passes him, zipping around the sofa, back toward the bedroom. Phil furrows his brow in her direction as the dark hallway swallows her image. “What the heck; what’d I do now?” Phil wonders to himself, as her perfume fades from the air, “Sarah, what’s going on; what’d I do?” He yells into the darkness. The cold clattering sounds of dresser drawers and clanging hangers as Sarah gets dressed sends an ominous chill up his arms and down his spine, holding like two hot balls of fire in his feet. “Sarah?”
Sarah emerges from the hall red-eyed and stiff, yelling at the top of her lungs, “Just where do you think I’m going to go, Phil?”
Phil jumps out of his father’s recliner, grabbing Sarah’s keys.
“I have no earthly idea. You haven’t said a word to me since I got home. You’ve just been walking around flipping your hair pretending I’m not here.”
Sarah spins into a wide stance, her straight bouncy hair flairs out like a platter then rests, just barely reaching her shoulders in soft lines of gold and coffee brown, a stark contrast to Phil’s shiny black ringlets. She expands herself broad across the chest, then leaning into her voice, she screams “Why do I have to tell you? What’s the big deal about where I go; or if I talk to you? It’s not like you’re my Fa-ther!”
The silence lays heavy, as they just stare at each other.
Phil drops his gaze, flops back into the old chair breaking the awkward silence with a mournful creak from deep inside the chair, accented by the jangle of Sarah’s keys hitting the arm, loosely clutched between his thumb and fingers. Sarah steps toward him, Phil pulls the keys off the arm of the chair, dragging them to his lap, holding them a little tighter. Sarah stands over him her knees against the chair. Her sea green eyes, usually soft and beautiful stare sharply into him like lasers ready to cut at a moment’s notice.
Phil’s head drops slightly forward as he turns it to meet Sarah’s eyes. In a quiet but strong voice he says “Because I don’t like, not knowing where you are, or what you’re thinking. What if you get hurt, or have a wreck… or something? How do I know where to start looking?”
Sarah squats down at the side of Phil’s chair. The smell of her perfume is making him nauseous, He holds his stomach trying to stifle the nauseous expression he feels coming on his face. Then in a mock little girl voice say’s “Daddy can I please go over to Lucy’s house and play?” Phil looking through a flood into Sarah’s mock innocence, whispers “You bitch!” Tears run instantly from his heavy blue eyes as he turns his head away from Sarah to look out the window. An old memory of a day, very nearly like this winter day, is torturing his mind.
Sarah pulls the keys from Phil’s limp hand, while she stands taught, looking over him in a sort of empty victory. Then she walks over to the sofa just standing, with her back to Phil.
The silence is heavy and stifling. The moment seems to last an eternity.
Phil finally looks over at Sarah noticing that her shoulders are hung forward and her knees look as though they could buckle at any moment. Sarah is picking up her coat off the sofa. His eyes clear a bit as he begins to understand where tonight’s actions are coming from. Sarah does a half twist like a corkscrew, landing in a lump on the sofa. There is no sound only a constant stream of tears, effortless tears that can’t stop. Phil slides out of the recliner easing over to Sarah to touch her shoulder, she just remains empty. Phil breaks the silence in a whisper, “Sarah, I miss them too.” Phil puts both arms around his little sister in an effort to fix the hurt. Sarah begins to sob uncontrollably in loud bursts. Phil’s tears stream as he says “We’ll make it Sarah. We will get through this, together! It’s only been a year. I promise it will get easier”
Sarah flings her arms around her brother holding on tight, “I hope so Phil, God I hope so, I miss them so much. I just wanted to forget today. I thought if I went out, I would be able to let it pass without getting all upset. But that can’t happen, can it?” Phil in a quiet voice replies “It will, Sarah. In time it will.”
They are called Tub chairs too; mine have a deep back curve that hugs you all the way around with swoop arms that curve down toward the front of the chair to join the legs at the front of the seat. Mine also need a cushion that has to be round in the back too. The upholstery is not a full cover stuffed, it’s more like an inset leaving the wood frame exposed and finished. 
