Jackie's Lunch Box
 
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	My sister, Carla, goes to school now.  She takes her  lunch box and waits on the corner for the school bus.  I  have a lunch box, too, and I watch from the porch.  She  always remembers to wave to me.  Then I have to play by myself.  That's the hard part.

 
 
 
 
 
 

	Today I walk in the backyard.  All around the edge.  I hit  the pickets with a stick.  Clickety-click, clickety-click.  One,  two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.  That's as many as I can count.  Carla taught me how.  She  can count more.  One, two, three four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,  eleven.  One, two, three four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,  eleven.  I count all the way around the yard.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	In the corner by the porch I see a spider making a new  web.  I'm going to show it to my sister when she comes  home.

 
 
 
 
 

	One, two, three, four.  I count up the  back steps and into the kitchen.  "Hello, Mama."  "Hello, Jackie."

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	I help Mama do the dishes.  I put the clean pots in the  cupboard with the other pots.  The next cupboard has  cans.  Cans of soup and cans of peas, and cans of beans,  and cans of tomatoes, and cans of applesauce, and cans  of ravioli, all crowded together.

 
 
 
 
 

	The silverware goes in the top drawer. Knives and forks  and spoons and big spoons.  Lots of them.  In the next  drawer are dish towels, a whole big stack.  Then pot lids,  two big ones and two little ones.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	In the last drawer, the one at the very bottom, there is just  one potato.  All by itself.  I put a can of tomato soup in  beside it, so it won't be lonely.

 
 
 
 

	At lunchtime, I eat my lunch out of my lunch box.  I have  a peanut butter sandwich, a banana, two cookies and  some milk.  My sister's lunch is just the same, but she eats  hers at school.  "Do you think Carla misses us?" I ask.  "I'll bet she does," Mama says.

 
 
 
 
 
 

	Mama reads a story just for me.  She tucks me in for a  nap and gives me a kiss. "One special kiss for one special  girl," she says.  There is no one in Carla's bed except Midgie, her doll.  Midgie is lonely, so I put her in bed with me and Fudge.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	When we get up, Mama gives me some raisins. She says  Carla will be home in an hour.  An hour is a long time,  but not as long as a day.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	I play school with Midgie and Fudge.  I sit them in the  chairs.  I am the teacher.  Carla says that's how it is in  school.  When she's home she's the teacher and I have to  sit in the chairs, too.  I give Fudge and Midgie some paper  and crayons, but I have to draw the pictures for them.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	I tape the pictures on the front porch so Carla will see  them as soon as she gets home.  She might even see them  from the bus, if she's looking.  "How long now?" I ask Mama.  "Half an hour," she says.  Half an hour is a long time, but  not as long as an hour.

 
 
 
 
 

	I look at the book that Carla knows how to read.  She read  it to me last night.  She doesn't read fast, like Mama.  Carla  said, "It doesn't sound as exciting when I read it, does it,  Jackie?"  But I don't care.  I like it when my sister reads to  me.  I want to make a surprise for her and I know just  what it will be.

 
 
 
 
 
 

	I get my lunch box.  I put in some crackers, some raisins,  some lemonade, and four cups.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	I take the old blanket into the front yard and spread it on  the grass.  I take Midgie and Fudge and my lunch box and put them  on the blanket.  Then we wait.

 
 
 
 
 

	The school bus finally brings my sister home.  Carla drew a picture for me, too.

 
 
 
 
 
 

	And she thinks I made a wonderful surprise.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

	The End