Frogs
(March 03)
"Do you have to do that now?" she asked.
"Do you have to do that now?" I mocked in a high voice from
the cabinet next to the sink.
"No seriously. Don't mimic me!"
"No seriously. Don't mimic me!" Mary Elizabeth is thirteen,
and in junior high. She seems to think that means she can boss me around,
because I'm eleven, and still in primary school.
"MOM!" Her face was red with frustration as she blew
strands of hair out of her eyes.
"MOM!" I heard mom groan in the other room and turn up the
volume on the TV. She didn’t answer.
"I don't see what your problem is, Mary Elizabeth. The
kitchen isn't yours." It was Mary Elizabeth's turn to do the dishes,
which always made her irritable. She didn't like doing the dishes. It
makes her hands all wrinkly, and she said it makes them dry. How can
water make your hands dry? And what does it matter, anyway? She also
didn't like to be called Mary Elizabeth. She'd rather be called Lillian.
That was our Great-aunt's name. She thinks it sounds sophisticated. I
always call her Mary Elizabeth.
"Come on, Tucker. Can't you do that later? What are you
doing rooting around in there, anyway?" I had crawled about halfway into
the disaster known as the tupperware cabinet, rattling through the
disorganized mountain. The dog jumped around my knees and ankles, barking
as the plastic containers knocked together.
"I’m trying to find something," I said matter-of-factly.
"Have you seen the big jar with the holes in it I left on the counter
yesterday? I thought maybe someone washed it and put it in this
maze."
"Did it have mud in it?" She flicked soapy water off her
fingers at Bailey. He took off in the other direction, out the back door.
He's such a wuss.
"Yeah, it might've. Why?"
"I bet Mom threw it out. You're always leaving gross stuff
around."
"Urgh! But it took so long to get the holes just right so
the tadpoles didn't freak out and the flies didn't escape! Do you know
how hard it is to catch flies?" Of course she didn't. God forbid my
sister ever got dirty, or did anything fun. "My stuff isn't any grosser
than your stuff, anyway." Nope, she can't stand mud, she can't even stand
regular soap, but she always left all sorts of weird smelling things
around the bathroom, and half of them were pink. I don't want to know
what they put in that goo to get rid of spots, or in the stuff she smears
all over her eyes. It's definitely grosser than plain, simple mud.
"Didn't Mom tell you to keep your gross pets outside,
anyway?" I wanted to tell her to keep her gross face outside, but that
was a one-way ticket to getting kicked the rest of the way into the
tupperware mountain.
"Well, can you wash this for me?" I said, changing the
subject. I'd found a comparable container, minus the holes, of course,
and plus a thick layer of grayish cabinet dust. I had to get my new frogs
somewhere safer before her stupid dog knocked over the flowerpot I'd
turned over on them and ate them, but I wasn't looking forward to poking
all those tiny holes into another jar.
"Can't you wash it yourself?"
"You're hogging the sink," I pointed out. She scrutinized
one soggy, soapy hand and wrinkled her nose.
"You can take over if you want it that badly. I don't
mind," she said, going back to scrubbing a pot with a disgusted look on
her face.
"Oh, come on, Mary Elizabeth. You're already washing the
dishes. Why can't you wash one little tiny jar for me," I pleaded. I
didn't really care if I had to wash it, but she might as well since her
hands were buried in the sink anyway.
"You crazy dog, what have you been getting into?!" we heard
Mom shout from the other room. Bailey tore into the kitchen, running from
the shouting. One small, greenish leg dangled limply from his mouth.
"Mary Elizabeth! Now look, you distracted me too long and
now your stupid dog ate my frogs! I should make you go catch me more
yourself!" Mary Elizabeth shook her head, like they deserved to die or
something. I ran out the back door after Bailey, chucking the container
I'd scrounged up at her ankles as I went.
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