The Year the Swallows Came Early by Kathryn Fitzmaurice Page B
Authors: Kathryn Fitzmaurice
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being a famouswriter for many years, and mine being from just a girl in sixth grade. So I was thankful that Mr. Hughes must not have been able to see real good, even with his glasses.
I followed him into the small room.
âHere we are, Miss Robinson,â Mr. Hughes said. âThe safe-deposit box room.â
âThanks,â I told him, looking around. There were rows of boxes along all four walls, in three sizes: small, medium, and large. In the middle of the room there was a table with a chair. I found Daddyâs box on the back wall, number 1199, the smallest size.
Mr. Hughes showed me to my box then, which turned out to be the medium size. We put our keys in the locks at the same time. Then he told me to turn my key to the left while he lifted the box out from the wall, setting it on the table.
I put my hands on top of it and sat down in the chair, smiling. Iâd been so caught up in everything that Iâd forgotten about important thingsneeding to go into a safe-deposit box. I pictured myself telling Mama how it had all been a big misunderstanding.
âTake your time, young lady,â Mr. Hughes told me as he walked out of the room. âWe donât close until four P.M. â
NOTHING
H ereâs what was in the box: nothing. Well, nothing good at least. There wasnât any moneyânot even one dollar bill. Instead, I found seven lottery tickets, each with all the numbers crossed out, a newspaper showing more numbers circled in red pen, and a bank book that had $25,000.00 subtracted to only one number: zero.
I stared at that bank book.
I breathed in deep.
I stood up from the chair.
I sat back down again.
I studied the lottery tickets.
I read over the newspaper.
I wiped my hands on my shorts.
I knew Daddyâs side now, without even talking to him.
I thought and thought about him. All I knew about him, and my feelings for him. And suddenly, everything that was in that box came falling down all around like a cold February storm onto my memory of who he was. Mama had been right. Heâd taken the money and gambled it away. The evidence was right in front of me.
âHow come you did this?â I asked him, knowing he couldnât hear me.
The feelings started real slow, like tiny raindrops that canât make up their minds if theyâre going to pour from the clouds, or pass through with the breeze.
But then the more I looked at his handwriting in the bank bookâthe zero scratched in black penâthe faster those drops fell, until it felt like I was sitting in a big, blowing thunderstorm. And just like those storms that can be so sneaky, Ididnât see it coming. And before I knew it, I felt soaking wet, with nowhere to go.
So I sat there for a long time, until I shivered from all the cold swirling around me.
And then it happened. It started coming up into my toes, staying there for a minute, waiting to see if I would push it away.
But I didnât.
So it crept up past my knees, and then into my stomach, finally finding its way to my heart. Where it stopped and settled in deep.
And hereâs what I thought: I wished Iâd never found what was in that box because feeling mad at Daddy was a million times worse than feeling sad.
EL NIÃO
I mustâve been in that room for a long time. I couldnât say for sure because thereâs no way to track time while trying to understand something completely different about a person you thought was someone else. Especially after years of me saying to people, Oh no, my daddyâs not like that. My daddyâs this, or my daddyâs that.
Iâd gone around my whole life believing what heâd told me, like what heâd said was just how things were. Mama had said heâd taken the money, that heâd lost it on a bet, but it wasnât until I saw his handwriting in the bank book that it seemedreal to me. It wasnât until I saw for myself all his different ways of trying to win
I followed him into the small room.
âHere we are, Miss Robinson,â Mr. Hughes said. âThe safe-deposit box room.â
âThanks,â I told him, looking around. There were rows of boxes along all four walls, in three sizes: small, medium, and large. In the middle of the room there was a table with a chair. I found Daddyâs box on the back wall, number 1199, the smallest size.
Mr. Hughes showed me to my box then, which turned out to be the medium size. We put our keys in the locks at the same time. Then he told me to turn my key to the left while he lifted the box out from the wall, setting it on the table.
I put my hands on top of it and sat down in the chair, smiling. Iâd been so caught up in everything that Iâd forgotten about important thingsneeding to go into a safe-deposit box. I pictured myself telling Mama how it had all been a big misunderstanding.
âTake your time, young lady,â Mr. Hughes told me as he walked out of the room. âWe donât close until four P.M. â
NOTHING
H ereâs what was in the box: nothing. Well, nothing good at least. There wasnât any moneyânot even one dollar bill. Instead, I found seven lottery tickets, each with all the numbers crossed out, a newspaper showing more numbers circled in red pen, and a bank book that had $25,000.00 subtracted to only one number: zero.
I stared at that bank book.
I breathed in deep.
I stood up from the chair.
I sat back down again.
I studied the lottery tickets.
I read over the newspaper.
I wiped my hands on my shorts.
I knew Daddyâs side now, without even talking to him.
I thought and thought about him. All I knew about him, and my feelings for him. And suddenly, everything that was in that box came falling down all around like a cold February storm onto my memory of who he was. Mama had been right. Heâd taken the money and gambled it away. The evidence was right in front of me.
âHow come you did this?â I asked him, knowing he couldnât hear me.
The feelings started real slow, like tiny raindrops that canât make up their minds if theyâre going to pour from the clouds, or pass through with the breeze.
But then the more I looked at his handwriting in the bank bookâthe zero scratched in black penâthe faster those drops fell, until it felt like I was sitting in a big, blowing thunderstorm. And just like those storms that can be so sneaky, Ididnât see it coming. And before I knew it, I felt soaking wet, with nowhere to go.
So I sat there for a long time, until I shivered from all the cold swirling around me.
And then it happened. It started coming up into my toes, staying there for a minute, waiting to see if I would push it away.
But I didnât.
So it crept up past my knees, and then into my stomach, finally finding its way to my heart. Where it stopped and settled in deep.
And hereâs what I thought: I wished Iâd never found what was in that box because feeling mad at Daddy was a million times worse than feeling sad.
EL NIÃO
I mustâve been in that room for a long time. I couldnât say for sure because thereâs no way to track time while trying to understand something completely different about a person you thought was someone else. Especially after years of me saying to people, Oh no, my daddyâs not like that. My daddyâs this, or my daddyâs that.
Iâd gone around my whole life believing what heâd told me, like what heâd said was just how things were. Mama had said heâd taken the money, that heâd lost it on a bet, but it wasnât until I saw his handwriting in the bank book that it seemedreal to me. It wasnât until I saw for myself all his different ways of trying to win
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