Sophie

My mother named me Sophie because she isn’t a creative person. Everybody is named Sophie. I had four of them in my class last year. Why did she have to add me to the family of Sophies with uncreative mothers? “Its a lovely name,” she tells me when I complain.

 

 

I tell you, Maria Rodriguez had more creativity that my mother when she named her kid. That was the thought going through my head when my mother dragged me across the street to meet the new neighbors. We talked for a bit and he asked me if I had any other brothers and sisters. I don’t know why people always ask me that question. Like, they got tired of me and wanted to see if I was related to anybody less boring? I don’t know. 

“I have an older brother. He’s in college,” I said like I always do. I left out, like I always do, his three friends who for some reason all flunked their tests, so they had to repeat the twelfth grade. And I left out, like I always do, the way they come driving by with their loud music, all squashed into a little car. 

“Stay away from them. They make trouble,” says my mom whenever they roll down the street. I have no problem doing that. Besides, I think the music they blast from their speakers is totally weird.

“Come on, Sophie,” said my mother. She had finished talking to our neighbor. 

I waved to Carlos and he smiled a little bit and lifted his hand. 

Carlos

I was sitting in the front yard again. My parents were still unpacking, and while I tried to help them, I’d much rather escape to the peacefulness of the outdoors. I had my binoculars this time, having managed locate them among all the stuff in boxes. For a moment it was peaceful, not quiet, as lone cars swished past, the trees around my rustled and the wind blew over the wooden fence that squared off our little corner of the block. But peaceful. I raised them to my eyes and scanned the treetops, searching for any sign of life. A couple squirrels chased each other around a tree trunk, but that was it. I lowered my head and started looking for birds at ground level. I saw a lot of houses, cars, and flower beds, but nothing else. I was scanning the area to my right when I saw through my binoculars a great mass of yellow hair. That was unusual, I thought. I lowered the binoculars to see Sophia. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Suddenly “looking for birds,” seemed too dorky to say. I shrugged. 

“Looking for birds?” she asked. 

I shrugged again. Right on target. 

“That’s a lousy place you’re looking for,” she said casually. “Here’s a really nice place. Right behind my house. She got up and trotted to the sidewalk, pointing to a big dead tree in her backyard. I followed and saw that there were a few pigeons and blackbirds sitting on it. Suddenly they all flew away, fluttering, flaming and calling to each other. I knew what that meant. 

“A hawk’s coming,” I said. 

To be continued!