Rowena De Shields
JUMP This is an excerpt from an unfinished semi-autobiographical novella titled “I Is, I Am, I Are.”
“What are you doing here?” Standing defiantly, tiny hands and skinny arms akimbo, perched above small hips and long, reedy freckled legs. Whorls of red hair halo her pale face, bright eyes above a discontentedly puckered mouth. “I’m here to help your mom move,” I say while edging around the small child, wary of her face twisting up. Thankfully, a familiar voice saves me from this sunshine child, whose frenzy radiates from her disheveled dress and curls. “Mckenna! Get back in here!” Her mother peers out disapprovingly and familiar blue eyes rest on me with a smile. “Rowena! Please come in. I see you’ve met Mckenna, my crazy daughter.” As she places her hand on the girl’s tousled head I inwardly wince, stupidly anticipating her to draw back with a burn. Instead, she lovingly smooths back the hair, encouraging the girl to give me a grudging “Hi, nice to meet you Miss Rowena,” before launching into the house, screeching and slapping a hand along the walls. “She’s a little shy,” her mother says. She looks worn, with sweat just beginning to ring her collar and dampen the nape of her hair. Tiredness curling beneath her eyes. The hand that reaches to touch mine looks like it belongs to a much older woman, gnarled and spotted with freckles and small cuts. Her oversized shirt is stained and ripped, piling shapelessly around her. She, who has birthed a small, defiant fire, seems nearly extinguished herself. Her visage belies the large and cheery yellow house behind her. Its porch is crowded with lawn ornaments, butting into a well-manicured lawn like outsized teeth. The house seems rounded at the corners, sloping
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