Personal Narrative: Emma

We seemed to be in two entirely different worlds while both sitting in her room. I was there playing with the little toys and the little doll house. It was a Tuesday, therefore it was a cleaning day in my made up world. My mutterings and shrieks were the only way they could communicate to each other to make the floral bed or push in the fake mahogany chair. It was incomprehensible to anyone else. The only other noise was my stomach rumbling with the way I imagine that an earthquake would sound during a snowstorm. We hadn’t had something to eat when we came home from school, a foreign idea in my house. When it had finally gotten to the point that I could no longer look at the doll’s kitchen out of jealousy, I started cleaning it up. Her room

The rubber band was wrapped around so many times that you could tell there was maybe a handful left. She cautiously and disappointedly set it down on the round table. I looked down to Bear, and our eyes mirrored each other’s as we realised that we wouldn’t be getting the food we had been so excited for.

Emma turned back to the open cupboard, as I sullenly opened the bag looking at the crumbs and salt left and the bottom. As I pinched up a little bit, I silently cursed Cam or Hannah, or whoever had eaten the last of the chips and put the bag back in the cupboard. Slipping the little bit into my mouth, I let some fall to the floor so that Bear could grudgingly lick it up.

I left the bag opened for Emma and stood next to her on my tiptoes, even though it only gave me a few inches in height, I reached for the cupboard above the bowl of fruit and on the lowest shelf to grab a couple of the cups that were meant for us. Easy access. Plastic. Only ever filled with water, milk, or the occasional orange juice. Only left the kitchen to go to the dining room. Setting them both down on the round kitchen table, I sullenly pranced from one corner of the kitchen to the opposite, from the food cupboard to the magnet-and-drawing-covered fridge. Opening the doors dramatically, I reached for the milk with both hands and turned around quickly to set it on the other side of the table. As I shut the doors, I looked to Emma to see if she would

She didn’t.

“Milk, milk, milkmilkmilk miiiillllk!”

Hesitantly I opened the milk carton. Would she hear the sound and come over? She didn’t.

“Milk, milk, milkmilkmilk miiiillllk!”

I poured it- into both cups and all over the table.

“Emma!”

“Eilidh!” She huffed, her hands on her hips in an attempt to scold me- it was a strange look for a seven-year-old. She rushed to where the paper towels normally were and turned around to see me ripping them off one at half sheet at a time and gently laying it over the puddle on the table.

I let Bear take care of the floor and shallow waterfall coming from the table. I nearly tripped over her again as Emma slid over on her socks, pushing me out of the way as she ripped the roll of paper towels away from me. As she was using a significant portion of the roll to clean up the mess I made, my eyes skimmed over to where Bear was. I went over to pet her, seeing there seemed to be hope in her eyes once again. I looked up at the counter to see Emma had gotten out a box of maple sandwich cookies, and there only seemed most of the box left.

Emma and I only found out that the cookies weren’t for us when there was all but two