Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Sisters Read Free Page B

muffling our fighting sounds. I opened my mouth to scream, water rushed in and down my throat, seemingly anxious to fill hollow spaces. I searched, head turning from side to side in the blurry water. Where was my Josie? Looking up, the shimmering distorted light called to me in the unreachable distance. I thrashed and fought but sunk further down, hit bottom with a thud, hip and thigh scraping grit and shell. I pushed at the water, as if it were a sheet on grandma’s laundry line, hoping her smiling face would appear. Something solid brushed against my wrist. I felt fingers grasping then slipping in the salt water. Then she was gone. My throat burned, and the waters swirled black as I sunk further from the light.
    Fingers tugged at my hair, touched my face, my jaw and moved to my bathing suit strap, hooked it and yanked me up, grabbing my tangled hair along, lifting me through the surging waters. My head broke free into the air and light. I sputtered and coughed, gagged and sneezed. Josie pounded my back, her shrieks filled my ears. A blur of people rushed toward us, concerned faces, offering arms. Josie shook her head no, and held me tighter. She rushed to shore, my body jolted against hers in the run. As the sea splashed and swished about her legs, her feet plodded onto wet sand. She dropped to her knees. I clutched tighter, refusing to let go.
    I cried and gulped air until burps and belches bubbled in release. Josie rocked and shushed me. Josie tucked me in her arms and legs, closer and closer. I held on, hooking my legs around her stomach, my arms around her chest, goose-bumped and shivering in the warm, late afternoon sun. I heard Josie whisper, “Don’t tell Grandma, all right? She would worry about us and not let me bring you to the beach again—you wanna be able to come to the beach with me, don’t you?”
    Her words trembled. I nodded hard and sucked the salt out of a lock of hair plastered against my cheek. Josie went back to rocking me, resting her chin on top of my head. I laid my head against her chest, listening to her heart— tha . . . thump . . . tha . . . thump —answer mine.
    At sunset, Josie and I walked the shore under a rose-washed sky. Happy and silent—only the two of us in sight. We played the game of smashing the foam and stamping out the clam air bubbles with our big toes, counting to see who got the most. Our feet hit concrete only when the last rays of light dimmed and the ache for food called us home.
    We ate—eyeing each other across the table in silent understanding. Josie bathed me and we stood at our grandma’s bedroom door and told her good night, focusing on the red glow of her one, nightly cigarette. At dark we slid between the white sheets and lay with our faces close to the screens, cooled by the mist from evening thunderstorms. As sleep moved over me, I felt the pulse of the waves nudging, swaying and rocking me to sleep in rhythm with the sounds of the nearby sea.
    Carol D. O’Dell



IN SEARCH OF A SIMPLER TIME
    W e were partners in crime. What started as mischief became a yearly ritual we looked forward to every Christmas.
    There were more children than money in our large family, but every year our parents managed to make Christmas a celebration to be remembered.
    But one of my fondest Christmas memories is the secret shared only with my older sister, Barbara.
    Our crime was committed while shopping for our siblings. Our father would give us a crisp $5 bill with stern instructions that it was to be spent only on presents for our sisters, then drop us at the nearest dime store, with instructions to shop and then wait by the door until he returned. Once our shopping was completed, Barbara and I would sneak to the soda counter, climb up on the tall round stools, plunk down our leftover change and count to see if we had enough. We always did. Grinning, we ordered hot fudge sundaes, then sat there, conspirators in crime, skinny legs dangling as