BLANK LUPE VII

This is deleted scene number seven from my upcoming novel. It's the sequel to Warrior of the Ages. Technically it is a prequel, but this is how I wrote it and it is no secret that I suck at math.

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt



            The heat from the metal gate burned faintly beneath her T-shirt. Carole jammed the tips of her new sneakers through the chain link and used her body to swing to and fro. The gate squeaked pleasantly. One long braid swung back and forth with her, the other Carole gnawed on. She liked the way it crunched beneath her front teeth.  “¡Hijole! Güera. Don’t chew your hair, you’ll ruin it.” Mrs. Nickels pulled the hair from Carole’s mouth. “I’m going to the grocery store. Stay outside until I get back.” She pushed the gate open wider and slid her round body out. Rosa Nickels’ bright red toenails came into Carole’s line of vision as she passed. Mrs. Nickels flung the gate in a wide arc and Carole clung tightly as gate bounced against fence. Mrs. Nickels chuckled.“Remember what I said, Niña, and be a good girl.” Mrs. Nickels was big, a head taller than Carole and many times wider. She treated her very first foster daughter like her own little girl and Carole really didn’t mind at all. The Nickels’ tiny house sat at the end of a long row of tiny houses. Every one of them had a chain link fence all the way around and an alley ran behind the houses. At night Carole sneaked out the window of her very own bedroom to run alone in the desert. Tonight, when it was cool, she would slip out her bedroom window and walk on top of the fence in her bare feet. Maybe she’d walk on top all the fences in the neighborhood. There was a dog a few houses down who she’d been feeding her tamales to, maybe she wouldn’t have to run alone long.Carole swung up to sit on top of the gate, using a long leg to swing herself to and fro, enjoying the screeching protest it made. In the distance Mrs. Nichols swayed slowly up the sidewalk. Shimmering waves of heat blurred her edges. “Don’t that burn you, Girlie?” The screen door creaked and Mr. Nickels came outside. Carole shook her head, but as she balanced on the hard metal, she decided that maybe that wasn’t all the way true. It burned almost painfully around the edges of her shorts. Pulling her long legs up, Carole stood on the top of the gate. For Mr. Nickel’s benefit, and to silence the voices, she held her arms out wide, pretending that it took real effort. The pose was effortless, and Carole couldn’t resist the urge to move slightly and the gate swayed back and forth beneath her, raking an arc shape in the sandy ground. Mr. Nickels loudly dragged an old metal chair across the porch to the shady part. Sitting down on the edge, he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Don’t that sun make your head ache? I’ll never get used to this heat.” Mr. Nickels worked nights at the railroad and tried to sleep during the day but he was always too hot. He didn’t like the desert.The neighborhood was mostly empty, so Carole spit a big glob on her hands, rubbed them together and grabbed the metal gate, balancing only on her hands as she swayed back and forth. The voices didn’t say much about it, so Carole cart-wheeled across the fence and then flipped off it backwards. Mr. Nickels stirred slightly from the chair he had melted into. “You’re right good at that stuff, Girlie.”Pleased with the praise, Carole decided to top it. Climbing the fence and stretching her arms quickly up then in, she rolled through the air twice and landed in a small puff of dust. Mr. Nickels was so impressed she repeated her performance, jumping backwards. The voices told her not to show-off so she performed a simple handstand and hand-walked a few steps through the dirt until a wayward cactus spine dug into her hand. Standing, Carole put her hand into her mouth trying to suck it loose.“Everything in this entire state bites or stings, Girlie, come inside and I’ll tweeze it out for you. Your bread is about finished baking anyway.”Mr. Nickels shuffled back through the screen door and she could hear him banging around in the kitchen. Mrs. Nickels was using the recipe that her Dad had left for her, for good bread that the voices let her eat. Mr. Nickels said cooking in the oven in summer made the house so hot it had better be good. Carole hadn’t had a bite of that bread since her last birthday at the orphanage. She headed for the porch steps. Stay outside until she comes back, the voices piously recited Mrs. Nickels’ words. Carole wavered. The aroma of that bread drifted thick and delicious in the air. Besides, the cactus needle was deep in the palm of her hand. Mrs. Nickels wouldn’t mind if she went in to get that fixed. Mrs. Nickels fawned on her like a pet. The voices grumbled when she passed through the swinging door, mildly protesting disobedience against Mrs. Nickels. The loaf of Carole’s bread sat in the middle of the kitchen table on the cutting board. The glass loaf pan it had baked in sat on the table too. Mr. Nickels hadn’t put it on a potholder and it sank into the plastic tablecloth. Carole grabbed a tea towel and moved it to rest on the newspaper. The melted plastic stuck to the glass a bit. Mr. Nickels took butter from the refrigerator. “Lupe will give me what for, but that smells too good to wait for dinner. If we just eat the ends, we probably won’t get in too much trouble.”Mr. Nickels sliced through dark, nutty bread and plopped a fat piece on a plate for Carole. He cut a chunk of butter and dropped it on top. It melted in one mouth-watering spot in the quick second it took to shove the plate towards Carole. She took her seat, sitting on her knees and crossed herself as Sister Mary Josephine had taught her. “Thank you.”“You’re welcome.” Mr. Nickels said, though Carole hadn’t been talking to him. He stood beside her in his work pants and undershirt with a funny look on his face. Before she could reach for the bread, he took her right hand and squinted at it, trying to see the cactus spine. “It’s hurting you, isn’t it? We can't have that.” Taking the seat next to her, he jabbed at her hand with tweezers. “Did I get it?”Carole shook her head. Mr. Nickels rubbed his fingers over the spot and made it go deeper down. Then he put her palm in his mouth and tried to suck it out. Carole’s mouth popped open and the voices protested. She tried to pull her hand away, but he grabbed her wrist and held it tight, chewing a bit. She could feel his tongue. He closed his eyes and made a sound in his throat that shot cold ice into the pit of Carole’s stomach. It was the sound people made when they tasted the good bread. Only Mr. Nickels didn’t stop it, he kept making the sound, swaying in his chair. He tugged her arm so that it rested against his sweaty chest.Reaching across the table, she grabbed the hot glass pan. It burned her fingertips as she swung it against Mr. Nickels’ face. Hard. His eye was swollen shut before Marsha came to get her.




Copyright 2013, S. R. Karfelt
All rights reserved


What say you reader? Do you get the gist of why Mr. Nichols did this to Carole? I've never been completely certain if this scene translates the way I want it to. Also, let me know if you read WOA - that could make it clearer!