Expiration Date by J. Del Vecchio (books for students to read TXT) 📕

June 3rd, 1947

"A bend in the road is not the end of the road...unless you fail to make the turn" - Author Unknown

“It’s not fair!” Tears streamed down my face; how could they do this to me—to us?
“I know, but please don’t cry. We’ll figure something out.” He gently tucked a stray piece of hair that had stuck to my face behind my ear; “After all,” he leaned in close “we always do.”

The penetrating sound of my alarm clock lanced through my ears, each beep signaling to me a new day, new pain, and new trials to face. Summer had barely begun, but the sun could no longer keep its rays from shining down on the small stained glass window on the wall in my room. There were so many different colors, each one a unique symbol of some hidden meaning. Red . . . the color of blood. This color is a constant reminder of all the bloodshed in my past. The red in the window is situated next to the blue, which is fitting, because it is as water, symbolic to my wet tears. Tears shed in memory of her

. She

was there too- in the swirly purple. Purple was her

favorite color. Yellow lined the edges, this color gave me hope; a hope that things would get better. It’s such a bright and joyous color, maybe that’s why I saw hope in it. That, or because it was the only color I couldn’t match an unpleasant memory with. There was one other color blown into the glass: dark gray. Gray filled my soul with a darkness I could not dispel. A darkness no amount of yellow dye could ever forbid. The colors vanished as I lifted the window just slightly. It was going to be a warm day. The warm air blowing against my skin was hint enough, and because the early birds across the pathway had already hung their laundry up for the day; they only did this when they thought the day would be especially warm.

I dusted off my dresser with a stained cloth. The previous night I had been too tired to shake the dirt of my apron before I took it off and tossed it atop my dresser. Now the clothes I had set out for the day were a bit dusty, but it didn’t matter much to me. They were going to get dirty anyways.

"Jane,” I heard as I pulled the blouse she had made for me over my head. Even though my room was up in the attic, I could hear his words as clearly as if we were in the same room. His voice had that sort of effect.

“One minute!” I yelled banging my elbow on my dresser as I bent down to slip on my shoes.

“Jane, get down now!” That was my call, my only warning. There would be consequences if I didn’t immediately go downstairs; I learned that lesson quickly, and not only did I have painful scars across my back to verify that memory, but a sad heart knowing that whom I loved, I also had to fear.

“I’m coming!” I shouted, rolling my eyes. Ever since the one day I came down late, I never could look at belts the same way, because when something reminds you of pain, you tend to notice it more than normal, despite how discrete it might be.

Even before I leaped over two or three steps at a time to get down to the kitchen, my heart raced at a fast pace. I ran into the kitchen where my demanding father stood awaiting me with glares of disapproval. “Why is it that you’re always the last down?” he barked at me. Of course my little sister Ashley had gotten to the kitchen before me; her room was closer than mine, but it was always pointless to try to explain this to him, so I didn't bother wasting what breath I had. And it was his idea to make the attic my room. I remember he told me it would be easier this way. So he wouldn’t have to look at me as much.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, knowing there would be no other reply he would take approval of.

“Slacker” He spit on the ground in front of me, displaying his disgust with me, “And just for your behavior, add an hour of weeding to your chores.” Neither sigh nor groan escaped from my cracked lips. I knew better than that. I looked him in the eyes, eyes that used to have so much life and youth to them.

“Yes, sir.” I respected my father even with the little faith I had in him, but respect and trust are two completely different things.

He pointed to the door, “Get started.”


Weeding was not only a dirty task, but one that took much tolerance. It might not be quite as bad, if I didn’t know my next four-five hours of the day would be spent scrubbing floors, washing dishes, doing laundry, and cleaning just about everything in sight. Now I’d almost rather already be on my hands and knees with my knees scraped by cement every time I attempted to move, because even though that was pain, this felt more like torture.

Plus, the high temperatures scorched my skin as I sat in the dirt picking weed after weed with blistered hands. Sweat poured from off my brow, as the thought of being in the cool shade crossed my mind. Is this how the ants felt when the callous children around town stood over them, burning their tiny bodies with sun focused through a magnifying glass? If so, I wished like them I too would shrivel up and die, because there isn’t much point to living in pain when you can end the suffering. My eyes watered. My life wasn’t always this way; it used to be enjoyable and filled with happiness, but now the only enjoyable moments I had were the nights I didn’t lie awake with a tortured mind and the only happiness in my life was in knowing that maybe tomorrow would be better. That thought was the closest thing I had to hope. It amazed me how one thing had changed my whole life. How, had only one thing happened differently, my life wouldn’t have
swerved from how it was supposed to be.

“Jane, can I stop?” I watched as Ashley sat down on one of the sandy rocks in the garden. The garden was more lifeless from lack of watering than alive with the vegetables that were supposed to be growing.

“I’m sorry ,Ash, but Dad said neither of us could stop until I finished the weeding, and I don’t see myself being done here any time soon.” I felt cruel. The only reason she was still outside,working her little body to death was because of me. If only I hadn’t been late getting downstairs this morning, then we would be inside. We would still be working, of course, but at least we would be out of the sun. I loved Ashley and wished with all my heart that I could just take her away from all of this, and show her that not all of life was bad.

Ashley stood up placing her hands atop her worn out apron. “You know ,Jane, I thought that maybe what happened would bring me and you closer together, but I guess I was wrong. Mom wouldn’t want to see us like this. I just hope someday you realize that what happened wasn’t your fault. More importantly, I hope one day Dad realizes that it wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong, Jane.” Her eyes showed that she meant every word of what she said, but how could she say that? How could she look at me and not see the monster my dad saw in me . . . it was my fault. Wasn’t it? A doubtful expression fell upon my face as Suzan stared at me, longing for me to see what she saw. What she knew. Ash was almost four years younger then me, and she was so naïve. I felt almost bad for having taken advantage of her childish gullibility, but it was better this way. The story I told her of what happened wasn’t exactly the full truth, but how do you tell your sister something you’re too ashamed to admit even to yourself? Besides, I preferred my false tale over the truth; it hurt less.

After Ashley went back to raking in the backyard, I sat there just pondering over what she had said. I truly did want to believe everything she mentioned was true, but for some reason I just couldn’t. One of the hardest things to do is convince yourself of something you believe in your heart and mind not to be true. I tried to keep my mind from dwelling on the past, I started weeding again, but my mind drifted back to the memories. Everyone always warned me that my stupid habit would get me hurt someday. I just never imagined the hurt would come in this way. I can still remember what day it had all taken place on.

It had been one of Virginia’s typical dry summer days. I and my aficionado, Blaze, decided we were going to push as far to the limits as we could. We were planning something big. A lot of the folks in our small clustered town thought Blaze and I were just your typical rebellious teenagers. In their eyes, I was just a stupid girl too blind to see what trouble I was getting myself into, and in their eyes Blaze was to blame for me turning ‘bad’. Maybe I really was blinded after all, because the eyes I saw Blaze through were definitely not the same ones as theirs.

Blaze has one of those contagious smiles. He always made me smile. I can still remember the way the sun used to make his green eyes glitter when we would sneak out to watch the sun set. To me, he seemed like the boy every girl would think of when she dreamt of her perfect boy. Dark hair, green eyes, white smile, and despite the fact that he was paler then myself , he was the cause for the envy taking anchor in practically every girls heart. Not mine though. My heart was the harbor and his was the ship. Everyone else just seemed to weigh down our ship with all their anchors, never allowing us to just sail free for just one moment in time. Mostly what I loved most about Blaze though, was his personality. He not only put his heart and soul into everything he cared about, but he was passionate about a lot of the same things I was.