The Long Walk

It was time.

I rose from the floor, setting my prayers aside. God wouldn’t help me this day. He wanted no part of what was to come. I guess the devil would have to be my co-pilot, and I was willing to pay his dues.

I began to gather supplies. Picking through the stacks beside my bed, I pulled out the best tools for the task at hand. A yo-yo, sack of marbles, and Daffy Duck Pez dispenser were laid across my bed with somber reverence, sending a fresh tingle through my already jittery nerves. It was going to work this time. Finally. But I had to be careful.

So careful…

Slowly, quietly, I placed the marbles and Pez in separate pockets of my housecoat to keep them from bumping against each other. My middle finger slid through the yo-yo’s string loop, and I cupped it in my sweaty palm. Swallowing the prayer that came to my lips, I glided across the bedroom, my bare feet a whisper on the carpet.

It took almost five minutes to open the door. The first minute was dedicated to turning the knob in an agonizingly slow, gentle twist—holding the door tightly against the frame so it wouldn’t rattle when the latch finally came free. I then cracked it open a centimeter at time, pausing every few seconds to make sure nothing stirred on the other side. When enough space had been created for me to slip through, I eased into the hallway.

I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. No lights for this journey; I couldn’t risk tripping over anything or bumping into the wall. Smooth, steady, and quiet. If I messed up, it was over, and the alternative was unthinkable.

The corridor stretched before me: two doors to pass before I made it to the end of the hallway. Once I got to the corner, I would be home free. But the towering doors were a mocking reminder that anything could be waiting behind them. I shrank against the wall, wondering if I should just give up and go back to bed.

My hands had started to shake. I clenched them into fists, pressing the yo-yo into my side. You have stuff this time, I silently reassured myself. You’ve been planning all week; it’s gonna work. I nodded, courage seeping back into my body.

It would work.

It would work.

But if it didn’t…

Crouched and ready to spring if needed, I forced my feet to move forward. I moved without a sound, my breathing released in harmony with my heartbeat. Imagining myself as a gentle breeze in a field of dandelions, I tiptoed down the hall—a wisp of air in an open field, unnoticed, unimportant.

I passed the first door.

A smirk touched my lips. I was almost there.

The door ahead of me crashed open.

My sister, Cara, dashed from the room. She flew down the hall, her nightgown flapping behind her.

“No!” I cried.

The yo-yo whipped from my hand, lashing at her heels. It missed. With a jerk of my wrist, I snatched it home and sent it flying a second time toward her left foot, attempting to wrap it around her ankle. It bounced against her leg. She stumbled but didn’t slow. I let it fly a third time, but it hit the wall beside her and tumbled to the floor, a dead dog walking.

Ripping the string from my finger, I fumbled in my housecoat and yanked out the bag of marbles. I grabbed a handful and rolled them down the hall, pitching what was left in the bag at Cara’s head for good measure. Loose marbles skittered madly around her feet, but she avoided stepping on them.

She had made it into the living room. Only a few more steps and she would reach the TV.

I snatched Daffy Duck from my other pocket. “I have Pez,” I hissed.

She stopped, not turning around.

“It’s strawberry!” I wailed.

She looked back at me.

I took a step forward, the candy held in front of me as a sacred offering.

She smiled.

Releasing a breath of relief, I walked toward her.

In a flash of movement, her finger shot out and pushed the “on” switch of the television.

“No fair!” I shouted.

“Whatever,” she said, sauntering to the sofa. “I turned it on, so I get to watch whatever I want this morning. Maybe I’ll watch the news.”

I almost threw the Pez at her. “But you know I want to watch Smurfs.”

“Oh well, guess you should’ve got here, first,” she sneered. “Better go clean up all that stuff you dumped in the hall.”

I glared at her, choking on tears. Turning around, I stomped out of the room, the vision of a bleak and boring Saturday morning ricocheting through my mind.

Next weekend, I promised myself. I’d get there first, next weekend.

“I’m telling Momma and Daddy that you hit me with marbles,” Cara called after me.

And I’d bring better weapons.