Crossing my arms with a determined huff, I decided, at that moment, when I grew up, I was going to change my name.
The unoiled hinges to the wooden front door creaked, and I peeked around the living room doorway.
Even though Momma made a fuss over Elias when Daddy nudged him over the threshold, he wouldn’t look up at her.
I was just about to walk away when she grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me into the entranceway. “Elias,” she said. “This is our daughter, Sunny.”
He didn’t lift his head, but he looked up just enough that I could see his eyes. They were speckled with green and brown and blue, like when God made him he wasn’t exactly sure what color eyes a boy named Elias Black should have so he dipped his paintbrush in a few colors and swirled them all together.
Had God asked me I would have told him to make that boy’s eyes black like his name and like the storm cloud that seemed to live on his face.
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The Sun
Falling In Between
Whiskey Lullaby