By Peter Burr
Sis was 13 when Dad drove them through 1972 Utica to volunteer at the only telethon ever held for St. E’s Hospital, now defunct.
An auction for a grand handcrafted dollhouse excited the finale, which apparently few watched besides me—Sis’s older brother and only sibling. Minutes remaining before usual programming resumed, the high bid only $26, my new St. E’s board-member father met his annual giving commitment by offering $200 for the dwelling.
Dad was thrilled to be celebrated on camera for his “impossible generosity,” but (having outgrown dolls two years before) Sister’s unrestrained tears stole the show as the credits rolled. Dad put the dollhouse in Sis’s bedroom to be forever ignored, except for its expansive attic where her cigarettes and the occasional prophylactic resided until she left for college.
Peter Burr writes in South Florida, USA, and is a member of the Fishtown Writers’ Circle. Thirteen of his very short stories have been published to date.
MoonPark Review 