A Tentative Offering

I found this little ditty a few hours ago in a long-lost writing folder, and I liked it so much I tweaked it a bit and now I'm going to foist it off on you. One thing - I have alternately seen "Dipsophobia" defined as "fear of drinking" and "fear of drinking alcohol". If it's the former, it's a good title. If it's the latter, not so much...

Comments welcome!

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Dipsophobia

Lizzy was a normal little girl in most ways. She had a cute little haircut, wore cute little shoes, said cute little things. You’d never know to look at her she lived in mortal fear since that day at the park. That was the day they had started taking her big brother away. Oh, he came back, sure – but he didn’t smile as much any more, and he seemed somehow more serious, less willing to talk to Lizzie than before. Lizzie was sure it had something to do with that fountain, and she was terrified of going near it.

“Look how tall he’s gotten!” mom had exclaimed, watching her son drink, unassisted for the first time in his life, out of the tall, green, bird bath shaped faucet which stuck out of the ground by the hotdog stand. The Summer had been going on forever, and while the heat was crushing it also was comfortable in a way, completely surrounding you with its presence, making you feel drowsy and safe. Lizzie loved Summer. She also loved her brother – he was her own personal sun. Until the fountain did something, and mom took him away.

She was only a year younger than he was, that’s what mom said. Lizzie didn’t know what that meant and she didn’t care. Every morning when her brother was leaving she opened her closet door and checked her height against the mark she had made (with her yellow crayon, of course) which was her idea of how tall her brother was on that day. She had almost forgotten about it over the Summer, since her brother was back and was almost back to normal again. Maybe he was cured.

Summer was ending, however, and when Lizzy opened her closet door she noticed that the mark was a lot lower than it used to be. She knew she hadn’t changed it, and ran screaming into the bathroom where she locked herself in and wouldn’t come out until her brother promised he would help her to make mud pies, which was her favorite thing to do. By the time she remembered she’d have to go to the park to do it, it was too late. She had already been coaxed into the car.

They pulled into the lot, and when daddy opened the door the heat leapt in and grabbed her, feeling like a bully today instead of a friend. Lizzy bolted for the sand pile, as if she could outrun all of the water faucets ever made, but her brother beat her there easily. A sure sign he had changed – he used to let her win. She refused to look over at the hotdog stand, however. Whatever else awaited her, first there were mud pies to be made.