The Color of the Sky, Part One

But first, my opening commentary... I wrote this short story last summer and for some reason, I love it.  The idea popped into my head one day while looking at some old sepia-toned photographs.  For the first time, I felt like I had written something good and my harshest critic thought so as well.  This was a defining moment for me.  It's a short story; several pages long.  I am editing each section as I go.  My goal is to post a new section every Tuesday.

Enjoy
CSM

The Color of the Sky

By Christopher Marshall

Sissy Boy ran down the lane to our house.  He was crying and wearing a striped dress that he held up to keep it from dragging in the dirt.  I saw him and yelled to Gra'ma and she came out on the porch.

"What the hell? You've been beaten," she said as Sissy Boy ran up the steps. "Just look at that lip and that eye's gonna swell up.  What happened to you, honey?" 

"My daddy's drunk and he beat me.  Made me put this dress on and..."  Sissy Boy cried harder.  She took him into the house. "I can't go back over there."

I followed and Gra'ma said to me. "Danny, be a good boy and fetch some water and there's some iodine and cotton in the bathroom cabinet." 

I could hear it in her voice that she was shaken by the sight of him.  Sissy Boy was crying.  Gra'ma was crying.  I held my tears in.  I knew at that moment how I felt about him.

*****

My world was sepia-toned. Everything I saw was made up of shades of browns, whites, and grays like in the movies.  It was 1942 and there was a war on.

I came to live with Gra'ma Jeffries earlier that year.  I was sixteen. My parents had been killed in an automobile accident.  Gra'ma had suffered not only their loss but recently Granddad from a heart attack and her son, my Uncle Will, killed at Pearl Harbor.  She had only me and her brother in California.

We lived in a small four-room house outside of Whitcomb, a town south of Terre Haute, Indiana.  Gra'ma rented it from Mr. Leiber, the town banker and took in sewing, mending, and laundry.  Three times a week, I worked for Mr. and Mrs. Milton, who owned the local five and dime, to help with the rent or whatever else.

And here's something important. One afternoon, I sat in the movie theater watching Betty Grable and Cesar Romero sing and dance. All the boys hooted at Betty Grable. I watched her and watched her, but no matter how gorgeous she was, my eyes kept wondering back to Cesar Romero.  I thought he was dashing and handsome.  That was the first time I thought about who I might like.  Somehow, I didn't really care.  I was like that.  I accepted things and moved on.