by Marlo Dianne

I never seen Ellie smile until the day we found the brook. She was always been pretty quiet. Dad called her sullen. I didn’t care what he called her. Well, actually I did, a lot, but I couldn’t help it. I’m eleven, but I know things. I do. It’s like that stupid thing...what do they call it? The serenity prayer. I’m not so sure the acceptance part is so easy, but the things that change...and that sometimes you can change them and sometimes you can’t? Well, I’m not so sure you can’t now. I’d like to think you can. Even if you’re a kid. Anyway, _then_ it just seemed easier to lay stuck in the thorns bleeding like you were then to rip yourself up real good trying to get out of them. I’m not sure you know what I mean. I’m not sure anyone does. That wasn’t what I was going to say anyway. I was starting to tell you about the brook. And Ellie.

As I told you, Ellie was real quiet. She hardly ever spoke in front of mom and dad. They seemed to think she was stupid or something. She wasn’t. I spent a lot more time with her than they did and she wasn’t dumb. She seemed just fine to me. She was a pain and all, but every guy thinks his little sister's a pain. Willie Morgan, he used to drag his down to the bridge and threaten to throw her off. He’d hold her out by the ankles and everything. She’d scream and cry, her face all twisted and purple. She talked too loud and she chewed with her mouth open, but she was still his sister.

It wasn’t like that with me and Ellie. It couldn’t be. She was a pain, sure, but she was Ellie.

I’m not sure how mom ever looked after me. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe that’s why John Molton found me eating his garbage when I was three. Or maybe she was just better then. It’s hard to know. I can’t ever remember her as better.

I was the one that looked after Ellie though. I had to. Mom was always too drunk to care about doing it, and if dad came home and Ellie wasn’t changed and all, I would be the one to catch it. I got used to it. I got used to anything. Then, when Ellie was bigger and she started to walk and stuff...

Ellie was exploring. She liked that. I kept her away from the bottles, pulled her back when she licked the window, but there was just too much to hold her from. She was so fast and got away from me, just for a second. But dad was home from work. Ellie found one of his shoes. Before I could get to her, he caught her. I guess I was pretty freaked. I don’t remember seeing dad hit her, but I heard it. I heard it real good. I ran for Ellie, she ran for me. She was wailing. I got my hand over her mouth as tight as I could push, for what it helped. I was afraid she’s get it again. Cry and you get something to cry about.

We hightailed it outside. I fumbled down the stairs, reaching the ground hard on my knees, all twisted and skinned, but I didn’t let go. We were in the Duns trailer park then, and I carried Ellie around until it got good and dark. I made her a deal. She could always run to me and I would protect her. I wasn’t sure how, but I would. I had to.

We moved around a lot. I’d learn a number, and then it was gone. I’d angle my way into school and then was yanked right back out. Sometimes I’d wake up, and not know where the bathroom was, or how to get to my room.

But it didn’t really matter. The walls shuffled, faces loomed fast and faded faster, but the big stuff never changed. That was forever.

Then something weird happened. Dad got a better job. We moved into a house. It’s not a very big house and really not much better than some of the other places we’ve lived. Maybe worse. The ceilings are all bubbled and leak. It has a bit of lawn though, even if it’s more brown than green. And it has something that Ellie adored.

It has the brook.

I’m not sure it’s really a brook. It’s just a tiny stream of water and not much wider than a ditch, I guess. It has a bulge though, that’s where Ellie liked to play. We tried digging it out a few times, even made a dam with rocks and mud. But it never lasted long. The water would sneak a poke and then punch through, gone in seconds. Just like that. Sometimes, it would hold to dark, but when light slapped round again, a drained puddle was all that's left.

So it wasn’t deep enough to swim in or anything, but there were lots of plants and trees and it made it easy to play pretend. Just green and wet. Ellie could feel far away from...anything. I guess I did too. Besides, I had to be there, didn’t I? Ellie could have drowned or something.

We’d scrape up ice cream or butter containers or something, and we’d head down to catch water skidders or she’d make a nice dandelion stew. We’d spend as much of the day down there as we could. Sometimes not leaving until the sky was cold and black. We both hated going back.

And when winter came, the play didn’t really end. We’d bundle up tight and head down after dad left. We’d play on the ice. Ellie would pretend she was ice fishing. She liked that. She thought the point was to fish for ice, and I think she really would have liked that better. We’d scarf from soft stale crackers I managed to swipe from the kitchen without anyone noticing. We’d have to leave so I could get supper cooked before dad came home. We didn’t always get to eat that supper, hardly ever really, but I pretty near always cooked it. But there was the cracker stash. When I could get one. And late at night, when mom and dad were yelling at each other, I’d tell her how we’d go to the brook tomorrow and what we’d do. It seemed to help. She didn't cry as much at night anymore. And it made it hurt more, to see her cry.

When spring came, Ellie had to stop her ice fishing, but I found her this old plastic boat. It was green and yellow. It was little and I think it came out of somebody’s cereal box or something, just a cheap little lump of nothing, but it would float. I always dammed off the water first with old stumps or rocks or broken ice cream containers so she wouldn’t lose it. Ellie clapped and squealed when she saw it go. She took to keeping it in her pocket and at night she’d put it under her pillow. Her nightgown was this faded old white thing. I think it had these little flowers on it once, but they’d long been rubbed away. It didn’t have any pockets, but it still had bits of torn ruffles left on the collar. I used to tell her it made her look like a princess. Sometimes that would almost make her smile.

One day Ellie got up extra early. She woke me up as usual, by nudging me with her foot. She had a big grin on her face. I thought I was dreaming, but it was too cold for that. There wasn't any heat in the house. It wasn't summer yet and I could feel the chill through my blanket. I jumped out of bed and stuffed down a squeal. The floor was bloody cold. I headed off to the bathroom, shivering the whole way. I came back dressed, complete with every sweater I could find that sort of fit. That was two. Ellie wanted out. She had dressed herself before she woke me up, so we headed outside. I checked for crackers first, but came up empty. My stomach rumbled, but I only had two crackers I'd saved from yesterday. I gave them both to Ellie.

We crept to the brook as usual, careful not to make a sound. Dad hadn't left for work yet.

When we hit the bank, we broke out. Like sun when it's been raining. We didn't have to be quiet. Or wait. Or watch. Just play.

Ellie was giggling and pointing out things to me. She whipped out her boat and was digging around in the weeds for ice cream containers when she saw him. I'm not really sure it was a him. I'm not an expert on these things. Anyway, Ellie yelped and ran for me. She got behind me and kept pointing at what we called poppies. I don't mean the red things, not the Remembrance Day flower. I don't know what their real name is, but they grow up to be about waist high and they have orange blossoms. They have these little pods, like pea pods, but smaller, and when you give them a little squeeze, they pop. The part that had been the pod would curl right up. It tickled your fingers. I showed Ellie how to do it. We'd take turns popping.