Opinions And Changes

• Lazuli Chittleborough, Grade 6, Crafers Primary School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'Read Write Repeat 2015' competition

I walked through the dappled light of the forest under soft shadows. If you looked upward, you’d see a series of mottled greens and yellows, along with the occasional bird. If you looked down, you’d see an army of tattered brown and red leaves, symbolising the commencement of Autumn. I didn’t want to look after Jemima Finch on my Saturday mornings, but then again, I didn’t have a choice. Eventually, the forest spread out into an open field. I crossed it, and came to an enormous house. I walked towards the smooth concrete steps of the big house. I considered turning back, but I could already hear happy scurrying footsteps even before I had placed a finger on their dainty little doorbell.
I pressed it, and in two seconds flat, the heavy door opened. I straightened down my K-mart skirt. But it was not Jemima who answered the doorbell, it was Mrs. Finch.
Mrs. Finch had a quaint elegance about her. Her vocabulary was ever-extending. Her skin was the same colour as boiled egg shell. She was overwhelmingly tall, and her hair was always piled on the top of her head in a bun so tight that the top of her forehead was fresh-paper white.
Mrs. Finch raised one eyebrow, questioningly, causing a few hairs to pop off her head and spring into their naturally curly form. I could see Jemima’s cheeky freckled face peek through one of the numerous windows.
“May I help you?” Mrs. Finch inquired.
“I’ve come to take care of Jemima,” I replied. Mrs. Finch pursed her lips.
“You’re the ‘Blakely’ girl I gather?
“Yes, Tia Blakely.”
Mrs. Finch led me in. Through a maze of corridors, past several doors and up two flights of stairs, until we came to a particularly unsophisticated door with the letter ‘J’ and lots of love-hearts on it.
“She’s in her room. I’ll be in the garden for a few hours if you need me.” I watched her walk away and then knocked on the door. A little face appeared at my waist, and before I knew it, I was enveloped in a tight hug.
For a couple of hours, we passed the time doing animal related jigsaw-puzzles, playing charades, and reading. Something outside caught my eye. I was alarmed to see Mrs. Finch still outside in the garden. I checked my watch. 11:32. Three hours! I take little Jemima’s hand. I could see that Mrs. Finch was trying to use the shovel to plant a waiting tree, but she was using it like a child. She swung it over her head and bashed it on the ground. After three more tries, I went over to her and grasped the shovel with her. To my utter surprise, she didn’t flinch. I guided her wordlessly, and sliced into the ground. We buried the tree, Jemima, Mrs. Finch and I, and that is how this story ends; three different people, each with different hopes and anxieties, patting down a potential-filled tree.