Competition Thirty-Three Winning Flash Fiction: My Sister’s Second Word by Emma Phillips
No was my sister’s second word. Her first was dada, which Mom said didn’t count because it was an extension of babble. No came after and my sister would yell it until she was red and streaked with snot. Geez, said Mrs. Shulman from next door, that baby sure knows her own mind. No, my sister screeched, banging her fists, no, no. She furrowed her brow and wrinkled her nose as if she were an old lady instead of a toddler. My sister dug her heels into the yard and wouldn’t budge, although none of us knew why she was shrieking. Well honey, Mrs Shulman called across the fence, you stand your ground.
Other kids were wary of my sister, in case her hot headedness was catching, or her stubbornness could migrate and turn their enthusiasm into frowns. Mom said my sister was stuck in a cycle, suggested she co-operate instead of refusing. My sister had added don’t care and why to her vernacular by this point, so I taught her all the different ways I knew to say no. This pleased her as she tested non, nyet, nein. Yes, mom offered, three letters, it’s fine.
Later, my sister would recall Mom’s yes quests; a walk to an ice cream stand, where she shrugged at flavors and rearranged marshmallows into tiny clouds; the candy store where Mom stood excitedly as my sister pointed and growled. Y’all try too hard, Mrs Shulman observed, she’ll get there when she’s ready, in good time.
My sister treated time like dynamite; another fuse waiting to ignite. But when Danny Shulman tried to fold her into the space between his closet and his trophy shelf, she spat her defiance in his face as if her whole life was training for that fight.
Emma Phillips lives by the M5 in Devon, which sometimes lures her away in search of adventure. Her words appear in print and online in various places, for which she is extremely grateful.
Photo by cottonbro studio at Pexels
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