Praise for
Ducks and Daisies
"A writer whose voice you don't want to miss out on. Knott follows every story with compassion."
–Tyler Michael Jacobs, 5th year SHP Creative Writing Instructor
For Mom, Dad, and my sister.
Joelle, Andrew, and Kenzi.
Table of Contents
Lies
I Don’t Even Know Her Name
Feathered Fantasy
The Sourdough Daughter
Not Fiction
Acknowledgments
Lies
Well, I guess I won’t be seeing you around. Too many times you pulled your stupid stunts. Too many times you said it was nothing. I believed you. I believed you. Stupid.
I heard from a friend you’re being homeschooled. I guess I should let it go. I have. I did. It took me a while. Three months actually. Before I finally realized that, yeah, you were lying, and you were not worth my time and tears.
I still wonder sometimes if you’d be different had I not broken up with you. Was it even real? Did you even care about me at all? It's hard. It was.
I wonder what was going on with you. What made you do it? Why? I kick myself for not trying harder to help you. They tell me you can’t make people change. But I still wonder.
Don’t think I still dwell on you. I don’t. You just happened to come up today. And I needed a story inspiration. So, thanks I guess, for your lies.
I Don’t Even Know Her Name
One more delivery, then I can go home and shoot around. Deven thought as he sat at the town’s singular stop light. The disgusting aroma of fresh pepperoni pizza lingered in the Pablo Peter Pizza’s delivery car. The smell had practically been infused in Deven’s brain and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to eat a slice of pizza ever again.
He glanced down at the digital clock on the stereo; it was already half past eight, but tomorrow was Saturday, so he didn’t have to worry about getting up at five in the morning for weights. Even so, Deven was tired; it had been his first week of summer weights, his first week of summer basketball practice, and his first week at his new job: pizza delivery boy. All he wanted to do was go home and curl up into the sprawl of sheets and clothes that coated his bed.
The light turned green and he put his foot into the gas. The pizza, safely buckled into the passenger seat, was sticky-noted with its intended address: 316 West Evergreen. All Deven needed to do was turn right in a few yards and then find the house with 316 on it. After turning the corner labeled West Evergreen and Main, he passed a few houses: 319, 318, 317- ah ha! 316.
He unbuckled the pizza and walked the cardboard square up the sidewalk and porch steps. He sounded the doorbell, summoning a shadow he saw through the crystally window in the door that beamed a welcoming yellow light into the muggy June air. The lock clicked and the knob quivered. Slowly the white door slid open to reveal a lean, silky haired girl, his age, with piercing jade eyes, rosy pink lips, loose fit pajamas, and a floral designed, lavender study Bible.
Deven felt something flutter in his chest. He found himself staring dumbfounded. Who was this girl? He’d never seen her before at school. If he had he definitely would have noticed, and remembered her.
“Um. Hey?” She started, spooking Deven from his daze.
“Oh, uh, hey. I- uh- have your pepperoni pizza,” He cursed himself for stuttering.
“Oh um, we didn’t order pizza,” She glanced at the box awkwardly.
“Oh, it has your address on it. Three sixteen,” Deven showed her the sticky note on the box and pointed to the address, wondering to himself why on earth he was arguing with her in the first place.
“Um, that says three ten.”
Deven pulled the box back toward himself, daftly. He’d thought the zero was a six. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
“It’s just down that way,” She gestured down the street.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I’ve had a rough day. I must’ve read it wrong.”
“Yeah.”
“So, are you new around here?” The question escaped Deven’s lips before he could even think.
“No, I’m home schooled,” Her green gaze fell to the concrete.
“Oh,” he paused, “Do you want to get some coffee sometime?” Again, he didn’t think.
Dang it! You idiot! xxxxxxxxxxxxx are you doing?
“Um,” Her honey hair hung in a low messy bun as she thought about it, “Ya’ know, sure.”
Deven exhaled realizing he’d stopped breathing.
“I’ll have to tell my parents,” She explained.
“Yeah, yeah, ok. Um, I’ll see ya at Cally’s- Uh tomorrow- at ten?” Deven referred to the cafe on the square.
“Yeah sure,” She started closing the door, “See ya.”
The knob clicked and Deven turned on his heel to head back to the car. His mind a whirl wind. As he walked down the sidewalk he began to wonder about the girl who had pretty much just agreed to go on a date with him after thirty seconds of awkward conversation.
He got in his car, drove down the street, and dropped the pizza off at its correct address. A grimy little boy answered that door.
Deven drove the delivery car back to Pablo Peter’s Pizza then took his own pickup four miles out of town to his house. On the way, he was in a lovestruck daze, and it wasn’t until he got home, and went straight to bed instead of shooting around like he’d wanted to, that he realized he didn’t even know her name.
~~~
The next morning, Deven rolled out of bed to his alarm, he grabbed his phone from his night stand and swiped the silence. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He wanted to look his best for his date, so after he took a shower he blow dried his dark hair and fluffed it the best he could.
His phone alarm sounded again. Lifting it from the bathroom counter, he looked at the time. Nine forty-five?! I’m late! Deven rushed back to his room, threw on his nice shirt and jeans, and bounded down the stairs.
In the kitchen, his mom, still in her pajamas, stood over the eggs and bacon cooking on the stove. “Good mornin’ sunshine!” She laughed, “Sleep good?”
“Sorry, Mom,” Deven huffed as he hurriedly squirmed into his boots, “I got a coffee date.”
“Oooo,” His mom cooed, “What’s her name?”
“Well…” How could he explain to his mom he didn’t even know her name? He decided to just dodge the question entirely, “I told her I’d be there at ten so I got to go.” As his mom walked over to peck him on the cheek and remind him not to speed, Deven shoved his phone in his pocket, then gave her a hug.
“Drive carefully,” She said as he was walking out the door.
“I-,” Just then his dad thumped up the stairs from the lower living room where his bathroom was.
“Yo, yo, yo!” he mocked being, as he called it, ‘hip’. “What’s up dude?”
“Deven’s got a coffee date!” His mom answered for him.
“Nice, Deven,” He nodded his scruffy head.
Deven was getting anxious. “I really need to go, guys. I’m gonna be late!”
“Right!” His dad said, “Don’t speed!”
Deven continued out the door and sprinted to his truck. It rumbled, and he was off.
When he got to the square and expertly parked, he hastily walked to the white brick building that was Cally’s Cafe. The black canopy over the large window quivered in the wind, and baskets with spindly flowers sat on the windowsill. Deven tugged the glass door, that was on the corner of the building, open and immediately his eyes found his date sitting to his right on the high top chairs looking out at the square.
She lifted her hand to give him a slight wave. He lifted his hand to wave back and started shuffling around the tables and chairs to get to the high tops.
“Hey,” She chimed when he reached her.
“Hey,” Deven echoed the word as he slid onto the chair, “Sorry I’m late. How’s it going?” He noticed a shimmery gold cross necklace decorating her neck.
She smiled as she looked down and swirled the straw in her blended white mocha, “You’re fine. It’s going, I guess. How about you?”
“I’m doin’ alright. I’m busy, that’s for sure. Basketball, weights.”
“Pizza delivery,” The girl continued for him.
They both chuckled.
“Yeah,” Deven started, “Sorry about last night by the way. It was my first week on the job. And my first week of weights. And basketball.”
She laughed and sigh, “Yeah, I’ve started cross country, and it’s been some early mornings, but it’s also been really fun. I’ve made some good friends already.”
Her and Deven talked for a few hours just about things they found interesting. By the time it was lunch, they both received texts from their parents that they needed to come home.
“I should probably go,” She said, “My mom just texted me.”
“Yeah, me too. Anyway, it was really nice talking to you,” Deven stated, “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”
“Yeah, I would like that,” She smiled, “Before you go, can I get your number?”
They exchanged numbers then looked up from their phones and grinned; they both had the same realization. Bursting into laughter, they received awkward glances from the baristas behind the counter, but neither of them noticed.
“What’s your name?” They laughed the words out simultaneously.
“Deven.” “Skylee.”
“Skylee.” “Deven.” They echoed each other’s names, suddenly blissful. Their eyes met, and, for some odd reason, it was so difficult for the both of them to tear them away.
“Tomorrow? Same time?” Skylee asked her gaze searing into his.
“I’ve got church tomorrow morning, but for lunch?” Deven hoped he hadn’t made it inconvenient for her, but Jesus came first.
“Oh! I forgot tomorrow is Sunday! Maybe you could come to my Church, Saint Paul Lutheran, or I could go to yours?”
“I’ll come to yours,” Deven smiled, “Alright I got to go.” Though he didn’t want to. “See ya tomorrow, Skylee.”
“Bye, Deven.”
And the names lingered on their lips the whole way home.
Feathered Fantasy
The family of ducks nestles safely in their nest, with walls of reeds bobbing in the warm summer breeze. Mother Duck sits, still awake watching her little ones dream. Father Duck is by her side, soundly asleep, his mind a peaceful calm. Mother Duck looks up at the starry night sky, the sounds of the pond chirping, croaking, buzzing, and swaying around her. Sister Duck Dilli dreams of her first flight, soaring through the clouds to a warmer place before a cold winter that she’s never experienced. Sister Duck Dabbi has visions of her first caught minnow, one as long as the flowerheads of the cattails. Mother Duck listens to her ducklings’ soft breath and feels their tiny chests rise and fall against her down. Her heart swells with content. She knows she is lucky. She knows her life is good. Mother Duck now rests comfortably, dreaming of her little ones’ triumphs.
The Sourdough Daughter
Deep in the Everknead cottonwood forest, rested the elegant cobble pathed village of Niatoun. The layout of which was circular with wooden houses with dark accents to complement the light. At the center sat the tower, shaped like a steeple with three tiers, a cone roof at the top. To the foreigner's eye, it might seem insignificant compared to the homes of higher standing leaders, however to the people of Niatoun, it was the Tousah, house of their leader, and to Niva, it was home. Despite what you may think, her fortune in living in the Tousah was not determined by wealth. No, it was a role she was born into, not a bad one at that, however a busy one.
The role being Soudah, the watcher and caretaker of the two hundred year old sourdough mother, forbidden to be fed or seen by anyone not of the Soudah line, as it was magical, and whoever should look at or touch it raw would surely die.
The Soudah was also the feeder and leader of Niatoun, making sure everyone was fed and every need met, even giving them advice during meal times and speaking with them one on one.
When Niva was learning to be Soudah, there were three things her mother, and predecessor, had always said to keep in mind: one, always put the village first, two, never promise the people anything, and three always keep them fed. No meal time should go by where a single stomach is empty or tongue underwhelmed. There was only one rest day for every six days of working for the Soudah. On this day the people would make their own meals with foods from their gardens, have leftovers from days prior, or fast, we called this day Irrilassada.
One Irrilassada, when Niva was six years old and knew the basics of math and the Niatounian language, after schooling with her peers in the village schoolhouse, her mother decided it was time for her to learn the foundations of sourdough.
Inside the Tousah, Niva’s lessons had begun, and in those first lessons, she decided she would become the best Soudah that Niatoun had ever looked to as their leader.
The leaven smell of baking bread wafted from the tower’s turret, the part of the village no one was allowed into, except for the Soudah, her first born daughter, and occasionally her husband.
With privilege, she watched intently as her mother’s soft, tanned hands kneaded the dough with a sure regularity that Niva was determined to master. The light freckle on her knuckle disappeared behind the potential of a perfect sourdough loaf only to emerge again and squash the sticky lump like a pillow. Her perfect fingernails were lightly crusted around the edges, as a result of picking at her cuticles and handling the flour, making her slim fingers seem only slightly less dainty. Her muscles, revealed by her rolled up sleeves, flexed as she worked the dough on the cool quartz countertop. When she was satisfied with the dough’s consistency, she scooped it into one hand and used the other to make it into a bun shape. “Now we tuck it in and under itself to create a tight ball,” she explained to Niva as she did so, “Now set it in the bowl…” she plopped it gingerly into the clay bowl sitting on the counter next to her work station, “...to let it rise.”
“But mom, that much bread is hardly enough for a couple people! How do you make so many every day?” The amount of bread pumped out of that tiny kitchen everyday was baffling, impossible even, afterall how would there even be enough supplies to feed a whole village three times a day, let alone enough time?
“Ah, Niva!” she shook her head, “How do you think I do it?”
Niva gazed to the ground and put her hands together behind her back twisting left and right, her silky blue nightgown and thick dark hair swaying with her. “Magic?” She whispered sweetly.
“Ah ha! I knew you knew better! The yeast used to create the starter two hundred and fourteen years ago was multiayeast, a magic ingredient that is very rare, and can only be found on seaweed that has absorbed starfish and crab tears at the same time.” She grabbed the towel from the water heating on the stove, wrung it out, then covered the bowl and blew out the fire, “It can only be accessed by those whose previous family members touched the yeast in its original form. ” Her amber eyes glowed, showering Niva with unnecessary warm pride. She grinned, her blue eyes reflecting her mother’s. “The multiayeast produces replicas of the original bread or pastry while baking in the oven!” Her mother’s enthusiasm was infectious and Niva found herself elated to begin her journey with everything sourdough.
“All right, sweets, that’s enough baking for today. We’ll let this rise overnight and I’ll make bread for monish (morning meal) tomorrow.” The mother jar was sitting on the quartz counter that was partially wrapped around the spiral staircase. Niva’s mother covered it with a different towel so that it wouldn’t be accidentally seen by my father who was already asleep. Then she walked around the counter and gestured for her to follow her up the spiral stairs to Niva’s room.
“Mommy, I don’t wanna go to bed!” Niva stayed where she was and stomped her sock covered foot and then hung her arms on the counter. Her mother made an ‘oh really?’ face and Niva knew she was in for it. She stood up. “Ugh. Fine,” Niva wasn’t going to be getting a spanking today, but now she wouldn’t be getting a story time either. Her mother went to her own room on the level just under the bread kitchen, where her husband was, and Niva went to the attic that was her room.
It didn’t take her long to catch onto all of her mother’s teachings, and by the time she was thirteen, Niva had learned everything there was to know about sourdough, cooking, baking, gardening, foraging, and everything in between.
~~~
Years passed and life was good. She helped her mother with her duties as Soudah, and when she was twenty one, Niva became the JuniSou, and was able to give advice to the villagers officially. She had also begun courting Keshll Alicott, an archer, whom Niva’s mother did not know about.
One, calm summer Dejenda evening, the day before Irrilassada, her mother and Niva left the village to forage for forest spices, dressed in their cotton nightgowns. They brought their wicker baskets and tall boots so as to not get their ankles bit by the eversnakes that slept near spice plants. Their poison was deadly and once bit, one had only seconds before their fingernails turned purple and they dropped dead.
As they strolled through the trees, the choir of crickets belted their nightly corus. The warm air tugged at the women’s skirts and tresses. The fireflies flickered and floated. The night was perfect.
“Mother?” Niva began.
“Yes, dear?” She bent to pluck feathery stems from a dill bush and then set it into her wicker basket.
“Do you know the archer’s son?”
“Well of course, he delivers his and his father’s catch almost every Irrilassada,” She chuckled, “Quite the handsome young man, isn’t he?”
Niva paused as she picked dainty white sweet woodruff flowers. Her mother’s mischievous eyes caught hers and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Ahhhh,” She used her elbow to nudge Niva’s arm then she gasped, “Have you been seeing him?”
Niva strided across the clearing to a tuft of chives and grinning and swinging her basket to and fro, “I don’t know; maybe.”
“Ahhh,” She expressed again, “What's his name again? Kesh- something?”
Niva let out an excited squeal, “Keshll! Oh, Mother! He is the sweetest! And his eyes are like melted chocolate! He is so patient and you should see how he helps at the school! He loves children and-”
“Niva, did you say melted chocolate?” She covered her mouth to suppress her laughter.
“Don’t poke fun, mother! They just are! Like sweet and captivating chocolates!”
The two women chortled as they both kneeled to pick up the wild ginger they had come for.
Placing the root into their baskets they sighed. The Soudah reached down with her now more aged hand, intending to supply her cupboards with the spice to make her people gingerbread, instead the leaves rustled. She’d been careless. The fond moment turned cold. A sharp pain shot through her hand up her arm. She screamed and stood up. Blood oozed from two holes in the soft flesh near her thumb. Dark grape color seeped into her cuticles and her nails.
“MOTHER!” Niva screeched and yelled for help but by then it was too late, there was nothing anyone could do for the Soudah. She was dead.
~~~
Niva AoLochi, my mother, was young to be a Soudah. She was coronated abruptly at the tender age of twenty one after my grandmother, Soudah Keffni AoLochi was killed after being bitten by a snake while foraging in the forest. Niatoun fasted for eight days and sorrow draped the town like cold mist. My grandfather died just months after the accident, most say out of sadness, but Mother knows he lifted the towel off the Mother Sourdough, but that was a separate time of mourning. Mother did not speak to anyone in the mourning days of grandmother. She stayed in the middle level of the Tousah, the room now belonging to her.
The next Irrilassada, Niva was crowned by the village pastor. Yarrow flowers of pink and yellow decorated the stone path she walked, dressed in the snow white gown and veil. When she approached the Tousah, her neck was adorned with twine; she felt the eyes of her people looking on, hopefully, expectantly, desperately. She couldn’t mourn anymore. Niva was Soudah now, she needed to stay strong.
The weeks that followed were slow, but Mother made sure her meals were immaculate. Keshll visited often. Their Irrilassadas consisted of just being in each other's company: gardening, talking. That day however, Niva had to tell Keshll what she’d been worried about since her last talk with her mother; she was pregnant.
Not Fiction
It’s ok to do whatever you want. Choose your own path. See how it works out for you. You disobey, get out of line, and they pat you on the back and say that it’s just your way of doing things. Tell me, then, why is there so much depression, isolation, and separation? Well let me tell you something different. Something unexpected, you haven’t heard yet. Something that today would be groundbreaking. Maybe it is time to get out of line, not back to the one we used to walk, just one similar, but even better. Maybe we should get off the bandwagon and back in our Bibles, back to respecting our elders and not thinking that, even though they are older then us, they have not learned more than us, which makes no sense to me. Let's get out of sin and look to what is good. Look to what is lovely. Stop dwelling on the bad and find the hope, truth, and good. Where do we find this, you ask. We find it in Jesus Christ. I may have been meant to write ‘fiction’ but I assure you, this is not fiction. This is real. This is truth. Jesus.
Acknowledgments
I have enjoyed the Summer Honors Writing Class so much and would first would like to thank my teacher Mrs. Maulsby for encouraging and nominating me. I would also like to thank everyone in my Creative Writing Class and all my friends at SHP for making the two weeks so memorable and amazing. Thank you to my parents and sister for always being there and encouraging me to get up, go to weights, summer honors, and all my other activities even while being in that exhausting wheel of go go go. Thank you so much to my friend, Alexa Werner, who isn’t in SHP, and Sophia Birkestrand for always supporting me in my faith and in my life. I also want to thank Brielle Boudreau, Jolie Beauchler, and Jaelyn Verbeek for putting up with my crazy on the ride to Holdrege and in general. I’m sure I’m forgetting so many people, but thank you to the whole Summer Honors Program for providing me with an awesome experience and enhanced academic learning.