Amelie

Amelie became an adult when she was seven years old. That's also when her daddy died and her mommy stopped being a mom.

The thing she remembered most about the day of the funeral was all the people. There were people to help her into her best church dress. There were people to pull her hair back into a bow and curl the ends into lovely little ringlets. There were people with their arms around her mother. There were people who took her hand in theirs and led her first to the church, then to the cemetery, then back home. There were people coming through the front door of their house bringing casseroles and cookies and pies. And after that day, there were no more people.

She had woken up the next day expecting everything to be normal. But it wasn't. Her mother did not get out of bed. She did not shower. She did not make breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

She took advantage of it, of course. She spent the whole day in her jammies. She watched cartoons until the grown up shows came on, and then she watched videos. She dug through the leftovers from all those people the day before, eating cookies and pie and very little casserole.

Sammy and Delilah didn't fare so well. They were just little, and they really needed their mom. Sammy was stinky before cartoons were up, and he spent most of the day crying at their mother's bedroom door. Delilah fell off the chair while climbing onto the table to reach the food. Amelie felt sorry for her, so she shared her cookies with her to make her feel better.

By nighttime, their mother still had not come out of her room. Amelie opened the door and peeked inside. It was dark. The large mound of her mother's body lay curled in a ball under the covers. Panic suddenly gripped her heart as she thought maybe her mom was dead, too. She tiptoed quietly up to the bed and poked the blanketed lump.

"Mom?"

The lump moved and a muffled groan rose from the bed. Amelie sighed her relief.

"Are you getting up, Mom?"

She waited a long time, but her mother didn't answer. She quietly backed out of the room and closed the door again.

She walked into the kitchen and found one of Sammy's bottles in the dishwasher. She filled it with milk and brought it to him. She had him lie down. She found a clean diaper in his bedroom. She took a washcloth from the bathroom and soaked it in the sink. It trailed water as she made her way back to her brother.
"Don't wiggle," she said, but she needn't have worried. He sucked furiously at his bottle and his weary eyelids drooped. His breath came in quivering gasps.

She pulled off his dirty pajama pants and tentatively pulled the diaper away from his body. She washed and washed and washed his little bottom until it was pink and clean. There were sores starting, so she left him for a minute to run to his room for the baby powder. She came back and poured a whole bunch on him. She unfolded the diaper and scrutinized it carefully. She tucked it under his bum and fastened the tapes around his waist. It was a little loose, the first time. If he had gotten up and moved around at all, it would have fallen off. Instead, he let her pick him up and carry him to his crib where she lay him down to sleep.

She helped Delilah go potty and put clean pajamas on her. She tucked her into bed and sang a song to her, one that their mom had sung to her when she was little. She kissed her goodnight.

She brushed her teeth and climbed into her own bed. She was too tired to stay up past her bedtime. She snuggled under the covers and dreamed, for the last time, of chasing butterflies and swinging so high in the sky she was sure she could touch the clouds.

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Today's prompt:  A coming of age tale.  To play along, visit Write Anything's [Fiction] Friday.