Sharons Nephew

Sharon looked around at her home, to her it was sweet, a cool yellow was on the walls in the kitchen with a few pictures. She took her nephews plate and stacked it in the dishwasher behind them. Directly afterward she stared for a while out the kitchen window and fiddled with her beautiful brown hair. She smiled to herself while she watched her memories advance on her back yard; Children laughing, playing some made-up game that they enjoyed. 

 

Her Nephew looked at her for a second or two and laughed as he realized why she smiled at the most boring view he had ever seen. He preferred a busier view; he hated the countryside unlike his parents, which would constantly say that it was nice to get away from it all. He would think of the city as, adventure- danger- an experience rather than a bothersome, busy, noisy, place that isn’t much use to live there. His parents were continuously considering moving as they worked at home.

 

Sharon took her laptop from her Dinner table then after that she plugged it in and used it to finish off one of her projects. Sharon worked as a writer for the local radio station.  She had to write a snappy but informative news item.  She had at least 6 items to finish although they weren’t long she still had trouble accepting what she wrote.

 

Sharon’s nephew carelessly turned the volume up with his pudgy fingers and the icing of his chocolate cake that he just ate were all over his fingers and left brown marks on the numbers. Sharon watched in disgust. She was wondering how on earth he managed to get like that. His father was of course very athletic and muscled and his mother was not at all fat, not muscular though she had limp arms and had a flat-chest, no muscle on her. She was, nevertheless, anorexic during her teen years.

 

Sharon hated her nephew being at her house. The carpets would get ruined and everything had sticky chocolate marks on them. She sighed and politely asked him to turn the volume down as it was making it hard for her to work. She had to move away from the living room eventually when he didn’t turn the volume down. 

 

She didn’t really blame her brother for leaving him to her for the weekend; she too wouldn’t mind a break away from him. She slowly advanced in her work as she put up with a crashing sound of music coming from the other room. Forgetting for a moment that she was 12 once…  A familiar sound jingled that was comforting and was a rather tiny version of Beethoven’s most famous Symphony.  She smiled as she saw the Caller ID show up and say ‘Warren’ her brother.

 

“Hello?” she said loudly.

“What’s going on down there?”

“Oh nothing…”

“Then why are you shouting?”  Warren at that moment drove through a tunnel the reception wasn’t very flash as it hissed and roared.  It finally cut off and both phones made a loud beeping sound.

 

Warren looked at his wife that was putting her bright red lipstick on and put his cell-phone down after he hung up   “Today we’re suppose to pick up Gregory” she whispered.

“I thought to pick him up now.”

“Why? We’re still on holiday…” she complained.

“Sharon is a busy woman.”

“No she’s not! She’s a writer, Warren.”

“Are you saying I’m not busy?”

“No…I just said, radio writer’s aren’t busy”

“Well if you were to work once in awhile you would know what its like to be busy!”

“I am busy, busier than that sister of yours. All she does is write stupid news reports.”

“It’s the first step to real journalism.” He said supportably towards his sister but also taking his eyes off the road slightly.

“Oh really now? I would think it would be working for a news paper…you did that didn’t you?”

Warren looked at his wife; she had slightly smudged lipstick on: her eye shadow on too dark or too blue Her hands flying around her hair as if to say I want to do this too you..! Her high anorexic cheek bones had gone red with rage, she got upset easily. He made himself think he liked her for her personality. But since she’s been anorexic there was no personality all she would talk about was how dumb his job was and how fat she was or how fat their son, Gregory was or how fat he was. How fat Paris Hilton was. How could she judge him?

“Yes, but different people take different paths.” He said Finally

“Oh! You and your ‘different paths’” She used her fingers as if they were quote marks.

He stared at her, “What’s wrong with the phrase ‘different paths’?”

His wife went silent.

 

“We had better call Sharon again.”

Still Silence.

Dial tone.

Author's Note

What do you think should it be a short story or should I continue it?