Chocolate Brown Eyes

A story I wrote for English class - the prompt was "Write a story that focuses on the American Dream."

As I opened the door of the small house on the corner of Dumaine and North Johnson in downtown New Orleans, I immediately noticed something was wrong. The house seemed eerily quiet, and the usual scent wafting from dinner in the oven was missing. There were no younger siblings running to me, screaming my name, nor was the radio blaring music. Worry gnawed at my mind as I stepped inside. There was a knot in my stomach. The house was dark. I jumped when I heard a hacking cough from the end of the hall. I stopped in my tracks, my heart pounding.

"Gretel?" came a hoarse voice.

"Mama?" I said uncertainly. I could hear my voice shaking. I flipped a switch, but the light bulb was burned out. The coarse wood floor scratched my bare feet as I tiptoed down the dim hallway.
Mama lay on the old, worn couch, a thin, ragged blanket on her feet. In the armchair were Hans and Elsa, back-to-back and fast asleep. As I advanced into the room, a floorboard creaked, waking Elsa. She stared up at me with her chocolate brown eyes, her scraggly blond hair falling in front of her face.

"Are you sick?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth - it was clear she was severely ill. She lifted her arm and beckoned to me. I bent closer to hear her hoarse whisper.

"Get your father," she said, her rough voice shaking and cracking. I rose and looked around the room once more. Hans had woken. His blond hair pointed in all directions as he blinked owlishly at me. As I turned to walk out the door, a voice came from behind me.

"Where're you going?" he asked curiously.

"But we want to come!" Elsa piped in. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"No, it's cold out. And besides, you'll only slow me down. Go play with your toys and don't disturb Mama." I grabbed my mother's coat from the closet and left the room. As I walked down the hallway, I heard feet pattering behind me. I turned. "What is it?"

"I'm hungry," whispered Elsa, staring at her feet.

"There's bread in the kitchen."
By the time I freed myself from my siblings, the sun was starting to set. When I finally arrived at Papa's office building, all the streetlights were glowing and a few stars glittered overhead. I worried as I climbed the stairs, since Papa usually would have been home hours ago. I heard voices coming from behind the closed door leading to his office. I silently opened the door a crack and turned my ear to the gap.

"...it's already been finalized. You have two days to be out of here." That was a crisp, smooth, deep voice I didn't recognize. My father swore vehemently.

"And how exactly do you expect me to support my wife and children?" he raged. I slipped into a nearby bathroom just in time, as Papa strode out of his office angrily. I heard him lean on the wall next to the bathroom, breathing heavily. I pushed open the door and tiptoed up to him. He opened his eyes blearily as I touched his arm. I had never seen him like this. His dark hair, usually perfect and neat, was as messy as Hans's. His eyes, usually bright and smiling, were dull and sad. His suit was rumpled and his tie was crooked.

"Let's go home," I whispered.

That night, I lay in bed, pondering my family's situation. Since our only income now would be what money Mama brought in from sewing, Mama and Papa had decided to send Hans and Elsa to our Aunt Betty's farm in Kentucky. The letter to her would go in the mail tomorrow, but Elsa and Hans weren't to know until plans were finalized. Mama and Papa and I would stay here - Papa to search for a job, and I to complete my education and care for Mama. I jumped as I heard my door creak open. I stayed still, alert in the dark. I felt a small weight on my bed next to me, and Elsa's voice whispered,

"Why did Papa lose his job?" I paused before responding.

"They can't afford to pay him," I responded. I wasn't sure if that was the real reason, but it was my best guess. Times were hard - the economic recession we were in was starting to be called "The Great Depression" all over the country.

"What's going to happen to us?" Elsa's voice floated across the room. I sighed.

"I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know."

A month later, I came home to find the house empty, just like that first day when everything changed. However, this time there actually was no one in the house. Even Mama was gone. Something about this silence and emptiness put a chill in my bones. I ran down to the train station, where there was a telegraph. My hand shaking, I picked up a pen to write a message to be sent. Then I realized I had no idea who to contact. I spun around as a large hand plucked the pen out of mine. A big man stood there. I hurriedly backed up, frightened. With one last glance, I sprinted out of the station. I attracted many strange looks, as running in a long dress is an art that I had not mastered. I skidded to a stop in front of my house, thinking I had lost my pursuer. However, a hand grabbed my arm and spun me around. It was the same man. But this time I recognized something. I stopped fighting, still breathing heavily. The man smiled.

"It's okay," he said, in a deep, gravelly voice.

"Wait a minute," I gasped breathlessly. I wrenched my arm free of his and dashed into the house. I picked up a particular photograph off of the mantle and brought it outside. When I held the photograph up next to the man, I realized he was not some kidnapper - he was my uncle Albert, who I had not seen for thirteen years.

"Are you calm?" he asked. I nodded. "This morning I got a telegraph from your father. Your mother's severely ill, so your father took her to the hospital. I'm to take you back to Chicago to stay with your aunt and me for a while."

"But," I whispered, my lip trembling. "But... who'll take care of Mama? Papa's busy searching for jobs."

"Listen, Gretel. It'll be all right."

The memory of Elsa's chocolate brown eyes swam in my mind as I took the train to Chicago.

Four days later, I sat at the kitchen table in my aunt and uncle's house in Chicago. Somehow they had managed to keep their large house and my uncle's high-paying job even in the current economic state. Although I had everything I should have wanted here, I wasn't happy. There was no Papa, no Mama, no Hans, and no Elsa. There was no rough wood floor scratching my feet. There was no hard bed with flat pillows to fall asleep in every night. Every night I fell asleep with the memory of chocolate brown eyes. Though it seemed like a perfect house, it still wasn't home to me. The screen door creaked as my aunt, Britta, came in from outside.

            "A letter for you," she said, tossing an envelope onto the table. I tore open the envelope, which had been postmarked two days earlier, anxious for news of home. My eyes blurred with tears as I skimmed the letter. I slumped forward onto the table, put my head in my hands, and cried. I soon felt a reassuring presence at my side. I turned to rest my head on my aunt's chest as I stood up. She stroked my head as she picked up the letter. Her eyes widened in shock.

            The next day, I held a pen and a blank sheet of paper. How did I start? Papa had said in his letter that he was too busy and that I would have to write to the twins. "Dear Hans and Elsa," I started my letter. "Mama got sick after you left. She was extremely ill. Papa took her to the hospital, but they couldn't save her." I continued this letter, writing for an hour - detailing my life since they had left, as well as how Mama had passed and how Papa couldn't find a job.

            For the next two months, I went about my life monotonously. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, even those eyes that swam in my mind all the time. I barely slept. I barely ate. That is, until I received another letter. I stared at the envelope, a sense of dread growing within me. My hands shaking, I ripped the letter open. Before I even unfolded it, I knew it was bad news. It was from my aunt Susanne in Kentucky, with whom my younger siblings were living. She said in her letter that Hans and Elsa had both been feeling very ill, so she had taken to them to the hospital. They had been diagnosed with scarlet fever. After receiving that letter, I went straight to my room. I dug in my bag and pulled out the money I had been saving as long as I could remember. Without even counting it, I put it in an envelope with a short note, and mailed it to Elsa and Hans.
            Just when it seemed the situation couldn't get any worse, I got a third letter. This was again from my aunt in Kentucky. She said that the night after they received my money, Elsa had gotten extremely ill in the middle of the night, just like Mama. And again, the doctors weren't able to save her. However, she also said that my money was the only reason she could afford care for Hans, for whom the doctors said there was still hope. The lingering problem was that the small amount of money I had sent would run out quickly. As my eyes blurred with tears, the only thing I could think of was those chocolate brown eyes.
            Day after day, I thought about what I could do to help Hans. I couldn't live with Britta and Albert forever. I considered getting a job, but there were no real job opportunities for a sixteen-year-old girl. I had no idea what to do. That is, until I heard the news that a new factory was opening in town. When I read the newspaper that morning, it started a nagging idea in my head that wouldn't go away.
            Two days later, my plan was fully formed. Once my uncle had left for work, I pried up the loose floorboard under my bed and grabbed the leather bag I had been storing under there.
            "I'm going out for a bit," I called as I slipped out the door. I walked quite normally to the train station, which was right next to where the new factory was opening. I ducked behind the trash cans in the back, and looked around to make sure nobody was around. I slipped off my soft cotton dress, and pulled on a pair of trousers and one of my uncle's shirts, both of which I had found the day before and hid in the bag under the floor. I tucked my hair under a cap I had found. When I stepped out from behind the trash cans, anyone would have thought that I was a young boy. Feeling only slightly hesitant, I strode across the street to the newly constructed factory, where there was a line of men, both young and old, looking for jobs. I slipped in the back of the line.
            By the time I reached the front of the line, I had only seen a couple of boys walk into the building. The others walked away, looking hopeless and dejected. I considered backing out, but the memory of those eyes kept me strong.

"What do you want?" the examiner barked.

"A - a job, please, sir," I stammered, unnerved. He looked me over with a penetrating stare. I held my breath, afraid he would realize my secret.

            "You'll do," he grunted. "Next." With a huge grin on my face, I walked into the building with a bounce in my step.
            Every day for the next three months I dressed as a boy behind those same trash cans and went to my factory job, making money. It became easier for my disguise to work after the first week, because Aunt Britta, being a seamstress, had many commissions, and hardly noticed I was gone. This disguise and work continued until one September afternoon.
            It was late at night, about the time my uncle usually came home. My aunt was preparing supper, while I sat at the kitchen table reading a book. The screen door creaked as my uncle came in.

"Gretel, a letter for you," he said, before turning to kiss his wife. "What's for dinner? I'm starved."

"Shepherd's pie," Aunt Britta responded as I unfolded the letter hesitantly. However, my worry was unfounded. This time, the letter brought good news. Since the economy had been steadily improving for a month or so, my father had been able to find a job as a secretary in an office building, and would get paid fairly well. I was coming home, as was Hans, who had almost completely recovered from his scarlet fever.

Three days later, I disembarked from the train to see Papa waiting there with Hans, who had arrived the day before. Hans was hollow-cheeked and bony, but appeared to be happy. Those chocolate brown eyes were only a distant memory, but in my heart, Elsa was with us. Papa was thinner than I remembered, and his face was more lined. But he held out his arms to me as I ran to him, half-blinded by the tears of joy streaming down my face.