Bad Allergies by Brian J. Smith

Author:Brian J. Smith [Smith, Brian J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Evil Cookie Publishing
Published: 2023-04-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

The world is full of dangerous things

When they reach the bend in the road, they hear the sound of trickling water.

Wendy raises her head from behind the left sleeve of Gail’s shirt and glances down the road. Gail follows her gaze, her face creasing with confusion, and squints her eyes against the glare of the sun. When they arrive at a tall dirt hill sitting on the left side of the road and blots out the sun, the aforementioned shingled black roof appears at the top of a tall covered bridge.

A creek bed that measures at eight feet wide and four inches deep stretched nine miles west toward Lake Michelle. Currents of water bubble and gurgles around brown and black rocks glinting under the sun.

“The Chapman Bridge,” Gail whispers.

Wendy stares up at her in astonishment. It is as if the girl had never seen a covered bridge before in her life. If she had not, then she would take back her awkward stare but until then she is not as amazed by the bridge’s presence as much as Gail is.

Upon closer inspection, she convinces herself that it is not The Chapman Bridge like she had assumed it is. She remembers that The Chapman Bridge is on the other side of town, two miles away from the local train station.

A sense of nostalgia pings inside the core of Wendy’s chest.

When an image of the train station appears in her mind, her father Julian Strausbaugh appears along with it. He had worked as a contractor for over seven years and he had worked hard to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. She had loved her father with all of the love and admiration that a daughter has for her father and had despised it when her parents would argue over the smallest things.

One day, he told little Wendy that he was going to Cleveland to interview for a new job with a new company. One day had gone to one week; one week had gone to one month. His absence plunged her and Rebecca into years of sadness and poverty; the former had grown to despise her father while the latter had dove into a bottle until she cried herself to sleep in hopes that he would return when he did not.

Something taps the crown of her left shoulder. She flicks her gaze from the bridge to the left side of Gail’s neck and down the front of her shirt. She contemplates asking her if her boobs were real or if she’d just stuffed her bra until she could complete her full transformation.

She does not know if Gail is one of the pseudo-sensitive transgender people who get easily angry about people asking such questions as those. She does not want to find out the hard way. Instead, she brushes the question away, casting it out of her head and into the distance where she cannot find it again.

“Isn’t that where–”

“Where what?”

Gail trails off and glances at her from the corner of her left eye.

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