SandScript 2020

Connie Nicholson
Street Food Deli Wurstel
Painting, Oil on Canvas, 36”x42”
VISUAL ART
sat, excruciatingly still. Coffee-flavored
sunlight streamed in through her window,
cinnamon-colored dust illuminated by its
rays. The breeze suddenly sucked it all out
the other side, through her father’s window.
In the coolness, Ryan sweated.
She wondered if still there were a
chance that her father would give her a
piece, find her deserving. She had behaved
perfectly that day, adhered to all of his
codes of behavior. No excess fidgeting.
No loud bodily functions. She had done
absolutely nothing that would indicate
her age. She figured she had earned a small
reward, one small edge, of a piece, of a bite,
of a Bit-O-Honey, at least.
Ryan just knew that the next piece
was hers. She watched as her father threw
it up into the air and opened his mouth wide
to catch it. It landed on the pink pillow of
his tongue.
Darnit, she thought. Cool, but darnit.
Her mouth watered again. She
watched him take not only the fifth segment
of confection from the wrapper, but the
final, sixth piece as well.
Ah, she thought. He’s going to split
the last two between us. She suddenly felt
ashamed that she had gotten mad at her
father, that she had doubted his love for her.
He had been saving the last piece for me.
William shoved both pieces into his
mouth.
He then crumpled up the wrapper
and tossed it onto his oiled dashboard.
Ryan had never known her father to leave
trash anywhere inside his vehicle. The
discarded paper lay perfectly at her eyelevel.
It taunted her with a fruity, zealous
laugh. She forced herself to look away from
it. She didn’t want her father to see her
disappointment. She knew that she must
have done something wrong. It had to have
been her fault.
She looked far away, up into the
now dark sky. A lone star shone, like heated,
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