My Big Sister Charley’s a Bang Snap
by Amy Allen
lash on the driveway’s hot pavement, her white Chuck Taylors slap snap smack on Mom’s wood floors, green eyes gleaming, our hearts racing to see her again. She moved out on her 18th birthday, backpack on one shoulder, a black garbage bag over the other. On her way out of our bedroom Charley kissed my forehead, told me to enjoy the extra space. Now she only appears at Christmas, probably for the money I’ve seen Mom tuck into her palm when Dad’s not watching. When Charley enters the scene the cousins crowd at her feet, tuck under her elbows, follow her around. I notice how her hair smells of lilacs, the white eye shadow she’s smoothed onto her lids, the gold and silver rings she wears on every finger, her thick belt with its western buckle. When Dad asks what she’s doing for income Charley deflects, tossing a roll at our brother, cousins erupting in laughter.
On the post-dinner walk Charley plays tag with the littles as the winter sun dips below the hills. Back at the house our coats are off but Charley’s stays on as she high fives the kids who beg her to stay then hugs our mom whose sad face returns. Can I come? I whisper, imagining us roommates once more in some city apartment, but she shakes her head, pulls me in for a sideways hug, and then slap snap smack she’s back out the door and into a waiting car, its headlights pouring through the front windows, all of us squinting as it backs down the drive and into the darkness. Mom puts on a kettle, Dad settles into the couch, and we’re all listless and cranky, trapped inside with each other, longing for one more flash, for a bit more Charley.
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Author's Note
I wrote this piece in an effort to capture that larger than life family figure who drops into the picture in an almost cinematic way, bringing light, life, color, and energy along with them, disrupting the status quo, captivating everyone in their orbit—especially children, before leaving once more. I’m the youngest of five siblings, by a lot (11-16 years), all of them already out of the house for the bulk of my childhood. All I ever wanted was to be around them, and when they came home for holidays, they brought that “Charley”-like energy with them, until just as quickly they left again, leaving me bereft, alone with my quiet parents in a quiet house. I think we all have a Charley in our lives, whether it’s a friend or a family member, someone whose energy we both crave but also leaves us feeling a bit off balance.
Amy Allen is a writer based in Shelburne, Vermont, where she serves as the town’s Poet Laureate and runs the writing and editing business All of the Write Words. Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals, earning nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net in 2025, with one of her flash pieces having been selected for publication in Best Microfiction 2026. She’s the author of the poetry chapbook Mountain Offerings (2024).
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Published August 2026 - Fiction