Loathsome Limbs | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Loathsome Limbs | Previous Challenge Entry
By Veronica Winley
02/03/15
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The summer I spent with Aunt Rena, Uncle Tooley and Cousin Snout, I almost started to hate my legs. My parents had made, what seemed to me, a unilateral and very hasty decision to work for two months in a South American orphanage, while I stayed with the relatives. At twelve, I did not get a vote.

“You’ll love it!’ my mother enthused. “That big old house to explore, the enormous yard to play in – and don’t forget Sugar.”

Uh huh. Ever since I was an egg, I’ve wanted a cat but my father is allergic to them -or so he claims. Secretly I don’t believe it. I think he’s a dog person and I am not. I know who would end up walking it and pooper scooping.

Sugar is a nine-year-old Siamese blimp, whose only exercise and interest consists in walking to her bowl and visiting her litter box. Any other time, she’s asleep in someone’s lap or on the sofa. The last time I visited, I tried to interest her in a cat toy. It was wasted energy.

“Melanie honey,” Aunt Rena chided gently as she watched my efforts, “Sugar’s tired.” Yeah, right.

Actually, I think the whole house was tired. My mother hadn’t exaggerated; it was a big house. On the first floor alone there was a living room, guest bedroom and bath, kitchen, dining room, study, and family room. Five bedrooms and three full baths graced the second floor and above that was a humongous attic, full of inviting nooks and crannies and “good junk.” Usually I enjoyed poking around up there. But imagine cleaning all that!

Oh yeah, my legs. I started to hate my legs because they were always an excuse for someone to send me on an errand. Neither Aunt Rena, Uncle Tooley nor Cousin Snout (who, at four, said she wanted to be a pink pig,hence the nickname)were that old or physically challenged. Yet whenever they needed something - be it near or far – they pulled me from whatever I was doing and made their request, always beginning with the same sentence, changing only the endearment.

“Melanie honey,” (or sweetie or precious)“your legs are younger than mine. Would you please_____?”

The requests ranged from something simple like “get my glasses off the nightstand” to “run up to the attic, look in the trunk under the window with the broken shutter and bring me the green and blue shawl with the long fringe.”

Even Cousin Snout, who is twenty-seven and jogs every morning with her “gentleman caller,” (she loves the play The Glass Menagerie) developed chronic fatigue syndrome when I was around. Once she called me into the family room and asked me to get her the television remote. It was right in front of her on the coffee table but reaching for it would have disturbed Sugar, who was comfortably stretched out across her lap. We couldn’t have that, could we?

There was only one thing to do and I did it. Not wanting to tell an outright lie, I developed a sore knee. At first, I started to limp just a little and took just a bit more time running my errands. When no one seemed to notice, my limp became more pronounced and occasionally I would stop to rub it.

Finally my aunt, who really did have a caring and kind heart, became concerned.

“Why Melanie honey, what’s the matter? Did you hurt yourself?” The genuine anxiety in her voice almost made me ashamed. Almost.

Looking at her with woeful eyes, I shrugged and said piteously, “It’ll be alright. Maybe playing soccer yesterday did something.” To my way of thinking, if I was vague enough, it couldn’t be considered lying.

“You come right over here and sit down. I’m going to get some ointment and rub that knee.” She gnawed her lower lip in thought.

“Maybe I should take you to see the doctor.”

I sat up in alarm.

“No, no. I think your ointment and resting it a bit will be enough.”

“Well, alright. But you just take it easy. Where were you going anyway?”

I managed to look rueful.

“Cousin Snout asked me to get her a glass of iced tea.”

“Oh she did, did she?” Aunt Rena huffed indignantly as she bustled away. “Well she can just get it herself!”

I grinned and sat back in the chair, rubbing my fictitiously sore knee. That was my thought exactly.

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