Not Too Big
Katherine Reiter
Sorry, Lucinda, I’m busy. I promise…
The faint bruise of her mother’s words was all but forgotten as Lucinda fled the confines of her home. As her petite, lacy slippers struck the firmer ground of the forest path, her steady pace dissolved into a lazy skip. A mental map penned by her long days spent playing outside unfolded with every blink of her wide, green eyes: fields of flowers to pick, hills glazed with flattened grass, and the bridge up ahead that marked the boundary of where she was allowed to roam alone. Abandoning her unmet desire for a playmate, her mind and body began to drift in different directions, unfettered by purpose.
Lucinda was older than she appeared. Though the curls radiating from her head were still restrained in ribbons and bows, the face they framed was already outgrowing its baby fat, with the rest of her figure not far behind. The flowers and mud pies in her backyard were only comforting if she was alone, otherwise they were no good. Regardless of whether it came from a smile or a frown, the conviction that she needed to grow up always put worms in her stomach. Then she wasn’t able to play in the backyard until the next day, when the hardened eyes would be watching someone else.
For a few glorious moments, Lucinda heard only the rustle of trees and the splash of the busy river, shielding her from ickier thoughts. There were sharper sounds, too, but the protective innocence that still engulfed her drowned them out for as long as it could. Her eyes alighted on a grasshopper playing its invisible fiddle in the choking weeds, but the harsh sound of argument was already threaded through her ears. It pulled her gently to the bridge, where her two older sisters were.
“I said I was sorry...”
“It was my present! You shoulda been more careful!”
Amidst the civil war now declared within the sisterhood, the arrival of Lucinda, an isolated third party, went completely unnoticed. Lucinda looked anxiously between the faces of her siblings, scrutinizing every freckle and wind-whipped hair for a sign of the sanctity that was no longer there. Her sisters weren’t much older than she, and their bright brown eyes had never grown hard like those of her brother and her daddy and the mailman. But now Lucinda could see the gates in their irises close decidedly. They didn’t even care how far from home Lucinda was, too focused on spitting mean words to give her more than an annoyed glare. They would no longer forgive her childishness.
The faint bruise of her mother’s words was all but forgotten as Lucinda fled the confines of her home. As her petite, lacy slippers struck the firmer ground of the forest path, her steady pace dissolved into a lazy skip. A mental map penned by her long days spent playing outside unfolded with every blink of her wide, green eyes: fields of flowers to pick, hills glazed with flattened grass, and the bridge up ahead that marked the boundary of where she was allowed to roam alone. Abandoning her unmet desire for a playmate, her mind and body began to drift in different directions, unfettered by purpose.
Lucinda was older than she appeared. Though the curls radiating from her head were still restrained in ribbons and bows, the face they framed was already outgrowing its baby fat, with the rest of her figure not far behind. The flowers and mud pies in her backyard were only comforting if she was alone, otherwise they were no good. Regardless of whether it came from a smile or a frown, the conviction that she needed to grow up always put worms in her stomach. Then she wasn’t able to play in the backyard until the next day, when the hardened eyes would be watching someone else.
For a few glorious moments, Lucinda heard only the rustle of trees and the splash of the busy river, shielding her from ickier thoughts. There were sharper sounds, too, but the protective innocence that still engulfed her drowned them out for as long as it could. Her eyes alighted on a grasshopper playing its invisible fiddle in the choking weeds, but the harsh sound of argument was already threaded through her ears. It pulled her gently to the bridge, where her two older sisters were.
“I said I was sorry...”
“It was my present! You shoulda been more careful!”
Amidst the civil war now declared within the sisterhood, the arrival of Lucinda, an isolated third party, went completely unnoticed. Lucinda looked anxiously between the faces of her siblings, scrutinizing every freckle and wind-whipped hair for a sign of the sanctity that was no longer there. Her sisters weren’t much older than she, and their bright brown eyes had never grown hard like those of her brother and her daddy and the mailman. But now Lucinda could see the gates in their irises close decidedly. They didn’t even care how far from home Lucinda was, too focused on spitting mean words to give her more than an annoyed glare. They would no longer forgive her childishness.
Reminded by the chatter of the water below, Lucinda hugged the railing and cast her eyes downward. The faded gold locket, winking as it was pulled down to the river’s belly, was still visible, despite the considerable height of the bridge. Lucinda’s mouth popped open, her teeth pawing at her lips. Memories of countless similar mistakes--”You should know better”--echoed in her mind, yet she couldn’t help but see that the necklace was far from gone. Her chubby arm dropped down, rubbing against the splintered wood of the bridge as it reached for the piece of jewelry. The elusive neckwear only grew further away, the house-sized distance between it and its owner swelling with every surge of the river.
As the duet of vocal needles crescendoed into a proper argument, two lacy slippers shakily mounted the slim wooden rail. Lucinda’s eyes were determined, earnest, unclouded by doubtings inflicted by the social rules she had yet to accept as her own. She knew only flowers and mud pies, and those things didn’t get in the way of her bent legs or outstretched arms.
The wind whistled louder, impressed by her action that was both brave and stupid, and Lucinda remembered what her mother had said as her brow struck the river’s surface.
...I’ll play with you tomorrow.
As the duet of vocal needles crescendoed into a proper argument, two lacy slippers shakily mounted the slim wooden rail. Lucinda’s eyes were determined, earnest, unclouded by doubtings inflicted by the social rules she had yet to accept as her own. She knew only flowers and mud pies, and those things didn’t get in the way of her bent legs or outstretched arms.
The wind whistled louder, impressed by her action that was both brave and stupid, and Lucinda remembered what her mother had said as her brow struck the river’s surface.
...I’ll play with you tomorrow.