‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
Maisie sat on the back door step, bottom lip out, arms crossed over her chest like a dam holding back the flood.
‘Doesn’t look like nothing,’ said Dad. ‘Budge up.’ He squeezed in beside her, the stone cold on his backside.
Sparrows hopped in the bird table they’d made together last year – a pole with an old tea tray hammered to the top. Maisie had added the important touches such as splodges of lilac paint and glittery star stickers that had peeled off after the first heavy rain. He should have bought some varnish for it, lacquered over the stickers, but being practical never was his thing.
‘Ali doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.’
Maisie and Ali had been friends since nursery, though half of that time seemed to involve them fighting.
‘Well,’ said Dad, ‘I’m sure it’ll blow over.’
Maisie shook her head.
‘You’ve fallen out a lot of times over the years, love – ‘
‘I hate her.’
‘Maisie – ‘
‘She said I’m ugly. That I’m fat. That I’ve got slitty eyes.’
There’d been name calling over the years – of course there had – but school had handled every instance so well, the unpleasantness all dissolved so quickly. Now that mean little cow Ali … After all the birthday parties and sleepovers. And Maisie always the kindest girl … His daughter’s pain hit him in the chest, leaving him gasping for breath.
He looked at his big little girl, at the grown-up body with the ten-year-old child trapped inside. Life would never be easy for her and he wouldn’t always be around to help. But he was here today.
Gently, he took her hand. ‘You’re a beautiful, gorgeous girl – outside and in. And Ali …’
‘Is made of poo and twigs.’
He laughed so loud, the sparrows shot in the air and away over the garden fence.
‘Well, I was going to say she hasn’t got a heart half so big as yours. But maybe she’s made of twigs and poo too. I’ll ask her mum.’ He squeezed Maisie’s hand. ‘Fancy an ice cream?’
She looked at him from under long, blonde lashes. ‘Ice cream sundae.’
He smiled, smudged the tears from under her eyes. ‘Okay. Ice cream sundae. Last one with their shoes on is a rotten egg.’
Written for Stephanie at Word Adventure’s #tuesdayuseitinasentence. Take the word (this week it’s MATTER) and use it in a sentence or post). See here to join in and to read the other stories.
Beautiful, painful as often. Thank you so much for sharing your talent and your stories. Always a pleasure to read your work.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks very much, Stephanie. Always a pleasure to take part 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aw this is just gorgeous! Wish I had a dad as lovely as that!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks my lovely. May all girls have dads who understand and love them 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s sad and funny. Kids can be really mean sometimes. I watched a movie that takes about bullying on the internet.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I’m afraid they can, especially if you’re different in some way. Thanks very much for reading Jessica 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a wonderful tribute to a parent’s love, and how it can stretch to cover such a range of realities.
And I think Maisie is right, that the real problem is that Ali is made of poo and twigs.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha! I’ve met some kids and wondered … Thanks for reading Joy 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
The saddest thing about this is that the most dad can do is apply a sticking plaster, and he knows it; “‘Life would never be easy for her….., ” though maybe it would help if he put her on a diet. My daughter had to do that with Mark when he was about seven – he loved his food. It made him so miserable, and she often ended up imn tears, but she stuck firm, thank goodness.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Has he stayed slimmer since? Did it make things better for him in the long run? It’s tough, isn’t it? Some kids can be terribly mean too, can pick out weaknesses in a person where there didn’t seem to be any – the wrong name, the wrong clothing, saying the wrong thing. Who’d be a kid again? Thanks for reading, Jane 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
He’s never been overweight since.
I wouldn’t mind going back to being – that was lovely. We lived in the middle of nowhere and mum and I were side by side all day. She did her washing and I washed the dolls clothes. She cooked dinner and I made something for my bestest brother. I sat on her lap for Listen with Mother… 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
A lovely memory Jane. Sounds idyllic 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
This isn’t a case of rose tinted specs, either 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
It does sound wonderful
LikeLiked by 1 person
so very emotional and excellent. And the next time someone is mean, I will tell them they are made of poo and twigs 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s a lot of it about. Maybe all children should be tested to see if they’re made of poo and twigs … Thanks so much Samantha 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful story, Lynn. 🙂 Maisie has a wonderful Dad. Hopefully Ali is just going through a tough patch herself and eventually she’ll be the friend that Maisie needs again. On the other hand she could just be made of twigs and poo…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Louise. Yes, I think there are more people out there made of twigs and poo than we realise. More investigation must be done 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on Hypervigilant.org and commented:
I love this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Casey. Glad you liked it 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this one. Twigs and poo. ..can confirm, based on years of research while I was young. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha! Yep, at least half of girls are made of twigs and poo I reckon. Of course as we grow up we get better at disguising that fact … Thanks so much for the reblog – lovely of you
LikeLiked by 1 person
Now we have to figure out what boys are… 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Unmentionable, that’s what boys are 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person