Cracks in the Concrete

I started another story a few days ago. The idea came from a dream I had, and it was so full of details I decided to see what I could make of it. Yes, her name is also Kimberly. She needs a new name, any suggestions??

I know I need some conflict to happen to her. There is my trouble, I like her and don't want bad things to happen to her. Is it possible to have a novel that is interesting to read where only good things happen? Someday I will finish a story.


Kimberly awoke to the sounds and smells of breakfast. Bacon sizzling, water running, the oven door opening and banging shut. The oven, that meant biscuits and gravy. The boys were up, the shouting and running made that obvious. It sounded like everyone was already up but her. Chaos, that's what this house is. Still in her pajamas, she opened her door, walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and then right down the hall and out the front door. No one even noticed. That was one of the benefits of living in a house full of people. The actions of the individual could go unnoticed. You could become invisible in the crowd.

As the door closed the chaos was replaced by the peaceful morning air. The ground was covered in leaves, in shades of orange, yellow and red, but some of them had been there long enough to be brown, and the new arrivals were still green. The thunderstorm from last night had left the sidewalk wet, but clean and cold. The slight chill in the air was invigorating. She walked down the street and up the steps to the old house. The stairs were made of brick and concrete. As she hopped up to take her favorite spot, the damp concrete felt cool and rough on her hands. After only a few moments the pattern was visible on the palms of her hands. The concrete ledges were pitted from rain and snow slowly seeping in, expanding and contracting, season after season, year after year. The effect was not immediate, but over time the texture and structure had changed. Unless you got up close, climbed up here and actually touched it like Kim did, you would never know. From the sidewalk 617 Mulberry street had looked the same for decades.

She had been coming here for years. The house was already old when her family moved in around the corner. The way the trees hid the stairs but all the action on the street was still visible from this spot made it the perfect place to escape. Old lady Olsen, as the neighbor kids always called her, was quiet, and kept to herself. She didn't speak much English, so mostly she was misunderstood. She had been widowed for years, and her only son went off to college and rarely came back. As a tiny girl Kimberly was afraid that day when she was first discovered in her hiding spot. The old ladies' broken English sounded harsh and she had started to cry. Marshmallows made it all better. Any grown up that ate marshmallows couldn't be all that bad. If they shared them with you, they were not so scary. If they let you eat the entire bag with no mention of ruining your next meal, or rotting your teeth, they were a friend for sure.

What a friend she was. Mrs. Olsen's house was everything that Kimberly's was not. First of all, it was quiet and second it was clean. Kimberly was the oldest of 6, and the only girl. Her house was always loud. Someone was always wrestling with someone else. It was like the WWF smack down round, day in and day out. Mom was always yelling. Not that she was angry, just to be heard over the noise. Someone was always cooking and making a mess. The dishes were never done, and the laundry, well, it had a life of it's own.


Mrs. Olsen always had a something yummy to share with her when she showed up on the door step. Marshmallows were only the beginning. At home, anything worth eating was gone in seconds. 5 growing boys and a pack of dogs saw to that. A few minutes of extra sleep or slow walk home, and your portion was gone.

But today things had changed. It wasn't Mrs. Olsen's house anymore, and if Kim wanted marshmallows, she would have to bring them herself. She hadn't sat long when up pulled the craziest little vehicle - it sounded like a lawn mower, had side panels that looked something like a Deloreon with a flashy gold paint job, and an open roof. Steve's shaggy blond head popped up and flashed her one of those melt your heart smiles. His smile out shown even that flaming gold paint. She jumped off the ledge and bounded down the hill, half skipping to great him. "Get in," he said, reaching up to grab her hand. As she slid through the roof and into the passenger seat he kissed her. Laughing, she said,"Good morning to you too".