Reliable babysitter, sort of

At Fourteen

Like a good babysitter, I arrived on time, I put the kids to bed when I was supposed to, and as a bonus, I would wash dishes.

I liked kids. I didn’t yell at them or slap them in the face, like one sitter did to me when I told her, jokingly, that the cookies she brought were “crummy,” meaning crumbly. I thought it was a clever play on words. Obviously she was an idiot.

Misunderstood

I had horrible hay fever. One spring it was so bad that my Eustachian tubes filled with fluid and made me hard of hearing. Not that I wouldn’t hear a fire alarm, or a kid screaming bloody murder, but sometimes it was difficult to make out exactly what a person was saying, especially if they were standing across the room.

I was also shy at fourteen. The father of the two children I was in charge of had asked me something as he and the mother were on their way out the door. He stood there, smiling, awaiting my answer. I had no idea what he’d asked me. Embarrassed, I just smiled back and nodded affirmatively. My intention was to be polite, but I noticed an odd expression on his face. The parents left, I babysat, the parents returned, and the father walked me home. They never asked me to babysit for them again.

I often wonder what he’d asked.

“You aren’t going to eat all the ice cream again, are you?

“Promise not to watch ‘Ghost Story of the Snake Woman’ with the kids?”

“Your boyfriend isn’t coming over to smoke weed and make out with you after the kids are asleep, is he?”

I’ll never know.

When I in my mid thirties, I endured a series of weekly allergy shots that left hard, hot lumps in my arm. They helped immensely.

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Linda K. Sienkiewicz is a writer, poet, and artist.
Learn more about her award winning novel, In the Context of Love.
Learn more about her picture book, Gordy and the Ghost Crab.
Learn more about her poetry chapbook, Security