The last image of the dream burned in my mind. A tall man, a stranger, thin, in a pair of overalls, his dark, hollow face in shadow. He held up a limb rag of rabbit fur. My rabbit. Dead.
I swallowed, listening to the sound of my heart thump, and stared at the dark ceiling. My rabbit. This was her first night to sleep outside in her new hutch. Always before we’d brought her in at night, to keep her safe. She’d slept in her cage in the corner of my room. She was only a baby. Was she all right? Was the hutch safe? What if a cat got her, or a weasel? What if she was scared, or cold?
I rolled over and looked at the red glowing numbers of my digital clock. Only a little past midnight. Even if I checked on her now, she would still have hours to go before sunrise. Why did night time have to be so long?
In my bare feet I felt my way down the stairs, hand on the railing, nearly blind in the dark. Down on the ground floor a splash of moonlight spilled in through the sliding back doors. I put my nose up to the glass. There was the hutch out in the yard, but I couldn’t make out if my rabbit was in there.
I slid the door open after undoing the latch and stepped out onto the cold cement of the back porch. Now I could make out a small white shape behind the wire, huddled on the dark grass. Dew soaked through my thin pajama pants as I knelt in front of the hutch.
“Hey, bun?” I whispered. “You okay?’
My rabbit opened one liquid black eye and stared at me in the moonlight. In the dark, with her eye closed, the side of her head had looked blank, but now the dark spot appeared, staring back at me. Calm, a little curious, as if she wondered what I was doing out here in my pajamas. Of course I’m all right, she seemed to say. Why wouldn’t I be?
Rabbits, I guess, sleep outside all the time in the wild. Or maybe they sleep in their burrows, but that’s still sort of outside.
I wondered why my rabbit hadn’t gone inside her little rabbit house. Why was she sleeping out on the grass in her run? Maybe she liked the moonlight, and the stars. I liked them too.
I watched until my rabbit closed her eye again, the black spot vanishing again into her soft, white fur. Then I quietly stood up and looked around the yard. The bushes whispered in the wind, and the trees overhead sprinkled flecks of moonlight over the grass. Right now the yard seemed safe, quiet, but what about the rest of the night?
I slid the back door open again, then closed it behind me. Instead of going back upstairs, I turned on the light and went to the closet where we kept the sleeping bags. I dragged one outside, then went to get my pillow. It was my rabbit’s first night outside, but she wasn’t going to have to spend it all alone.
Showing posts with label Contemporary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Contemporary. Show all posts
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
#169 How to Build a Sandcastle
Slice into the damp sand with a shovel. Hear music of crystal grains on metal. Smell the salt and damp rot of the sea. Lift the crumbling burden and tip it on the smooth, wave-washed surface. Clumps tumble down the small mound.
Another thrust with the shovel, cleave the sand, make the hole deeper, longer, each shovel-full creates both moat and hill. The rhythm of digging matches the hiss of the waves. Stop to look out over the sea, its deep, mysterious blues that shift with the passing of the day. Drink in the colors that only it can spread in such profusion, cover the earth in indigoes and turquoise.
Finish the moat, a deep rectangle around the lumpy cone at the middle. The boundaries of your imaginary kingdom are set. No stranger will cross them. This is your world now. Toss the shovel aside to lie with the driftwood. Now is the time for hands. Feel the grains on your bare knees, the sun baking the back of your legs and neck. Pound the sand, push it, knead it, shape it. Create plateus and cliffs, spaces for building, places for paths, terraces for gardens.
Now for the water.
Dig again, this time deep enough to find the sea. Down, down into the sand, create a well of saltwater and fine sand. A quarry for the slurry of crumbling, quick-drying cement that will be your building material. Deeper, deeper, and then at the bottom a darkening of the sand, then a gleam of reflected sky. Water.
Reach in and take a handful. Feel it drip down your arm, the flowing grit. Place it on your mound, cup your hands to make it round, wait while the water drains away, leaving the firm base of a tower. Another handful, set it on top, the water liquefies the whole mass into jiggly clay. Shape it, hold it, wait for it to set. Build your towers, layer by layer. Add a building, square, rectangle, or round. Make bridges by supporting the sand slurry from below as it hardens into an arch. Find a stick to carve windows, doors, and stair-steps.
Now for the magic.
Take a handful of watery sand and let it dribble off your fingers. See each drop fall, then freeze, building up a sand stalagmite. Lace your tower tops with sand-drip caps, sharp and pointed. Drizzle railings for the stairs and walls for the gardens.
A wave splashes at your ankles, then sucks the sand from beneath your knees. The next one comes, the water a great paw carving a hollow in the side of your hill. The castle falls into the pit of the moat.
The sea reclaims your kingdom for its own.
Take your shovel and walk a little higher up the beach. Slice into the damp sand.
Another thrust with the shovel, cleave the sand, make the hole deeper, longer, each shovel-full creates both moat and hill. The rhythm of digging matches the hiss of the waves. Stop to look out over the sea, its deep, mysterious blues that shift with the passing of the day. Drink in the colors that only it can spread in such profusion, cover the earth in indigoes and turquoise.
Finish the moat, a deep rectangle around the lumpy cone at the middle. The boundaries of your imaginary kingdom are set. No stranger will cross them. This is your world now. Toss the shovel aside to lie with the driftwood. Now is the time for hands. Feel the grains on your bare knees, the sun baking the back of your legs and neck. Pound the sand, push it, knead it, shape it. Create plateus and cliffs, spaces for building, places for paths, terraces for gardens.
Now for the water.
Dig again, this time deep enough to find the sea. Down, down into the sand, create a well of saltwater and fine sand. A quarry for the slurry of crumbling, quick-drying cement that will be your building material. Deeper, deeper, and then at the bottom a darkening of the sand, then a gleam of reflected sky. Water.
Reach in and take a handful. Feel it drip down your arm, the flowing grit. Place it on your mound, cup your hands to make it round, wait while the water drains away, leaving the firm base of a tower. Another handful, set it on top, the water liquefies the whole mass into jiggly clay. Shape it, hold it, wait for it to set. Build your towers, layer by layer. Add a building, square, rectangle, or round. Make bridges by supporting the sand slurry from below as it hardens into an arch. Find a stick to carve windows, doors, and stair-steps.
Now for the magic.
Take a handful of watery sand and let it dribble off your fingers. See each drop fall, then freeze, building up a sand stalagmite. Lace your tower tops with sand-drip caps, sharp and pointed. Drizzle railings for the stairs and walls for the gardens.
A wave splashes at your ankles, then sucks the sand from beneath your knees. The next one comes, the water a great paw carving a hollow in the side of your hill. The castle falls into the pit of the moat.
The sea reclaims your kingdom for its own.
Take your shovel and walk a little higher up the beach. Slice into the damp sand.
Monday, May 4, 2015
#168 Desert Lights
A red sunset burned across the endless flat expanse of the Mojave desert. I could feel the left-over heat from the sun through the material of my sleeping bag as I spread it on the sun-baked crust. Hot as the day had been, it was going to be a chilly night. I could already feel the temperature dropping.
I couldn’t wait for dark.
I went back to the car, passing my boyfriend with his sleeping bag and my cousin who had just pulled a deck chair out of the trunk. I reached in the back seat and took a smooth, wooden box from the floor. My birthday present. It was still too early to use it, really, but I took it back to my sleeping bag and sat down with it in my lap, then opened it up to admire it.
Ultraviolet lamp. A long glass tube with a black, metal hood. I turned it on and shone its faint purple glow on my sleeping bag. My white socks lit up like the full moon on a clear night, but everything else stayed dim.
There were certain rocks, certain minerals, that would light up too. All around me on the desert ground, pebbles, crystals, bits of petrified wood, they held secrets that darkness and the ultraviolet light would reveal.
My boyfriend pulled the ice chest from the back of the car and slammed the trunk down. He brought me a can of coke. “Ready to start looking?” he asked with a grin.
I grinned back, “I want to wait until it’s really dark.”
While my cousin sat in her deck chair and read a fashion magazine, I listened to my boyfriend talk about the drag races tomorrow, the real reason we were camping out here in the desert. He knew all the drivers, their cars, their wins and losses. It made me nervous to hear him talk about it. I didn’t want him to ever get behind the wheel of one of those cars, but I could hear it in his voice. It was his dream, he was going to do it someday. I didn’t think I could ever bear to watch him race, to know at any moment he could be crushed and burning. No, I wouldn't let it happen.
When the stars came out, I turned on my light.
We all gasped, even my cousin. The desert floor was as starry as the desert sky. Tiny bright lights gleamed everywhere, shining in the ultraviolet glow.
My boyfriend reached out to pick one up.
It moved.
He turned on his flashlight.
Scorpions! Tiny scorpions everywhere, each one glowing in my ultraviolet light.
My cousin screamed.
The three of us bolted for the car. My cousin tore the door open and we piled in, a tangle of arms and legs.
When we got ourselves sorted out and caught our breath, we all started to laugh. We laughed a really long time.
But none of us got out of the car.
We stayed in there all night.
I couldn’t wait for dark.
I went back to the car, passing my boyfriend with his sleeping bag and my cousin who had just pulled a deck chair out of the trunk. I reached in the back seat and took a smooth, wooden box from the floor. My birthday present. It was still too early to use it, really, but I took it back to my sleeping bag and sat down with it in my lap, then opened it up to admire it.
Ultraviolet lamp. A long glass tube with a black, metal hood. I turned it on and shone its faint purple glow on my sleeping bag. My white socks lit up like the full moon on a clear night, but everything else stayed dim.
There were certain rocks, certain minerals, that would light up too. All around me on the desert ground, pebbles, crystals, bits of petrified wood, they held secrets that darkness and the ultraviolet light would reveal.
My boyfriend pulled the ice chest from the back of the car and slammed the trunk down. He brought me a can of coke. “Ready to start looking?” he asked with a grin.
I grinned back, “I want to wait until it’s really dark.”
While my cousin sat in her deck chair and read a fashion magazine, I listened to my boyfriend talk about the drag races tomorrow, the real reason we were camping out here in the desert. He knew all the drivers, their cars, their wins and losses. It made me nervous to hear him talk about it. I didn’t want him to ever get behind the wheel of one of those cars, but I could hear it in his voice. It was his dream, he was going to do it someday. I didn’t think I could ever bear to watch him race, to know at any moment he could be crushed and burning. No, I wouldn't let it happen.
When the stars came out, I turned on my light.
We all gasped, even my cousin. The desert floor was as starry as the desert sky. Tiny bright lights gleamed everywhere, shining in the ultraviolet glow.
My boyfriend reached out to pick one up.
It moved.
He turned on his flashlight.
Scorpions! Tiny scorpions everywhere, each one glowing in my ultraviolet light.
My cousin screamed.
The three of us bolted for the car. My cousin tore the door open and we piled in, a tangle of arms and legs.
When we got ourselves sorted out and caught our breath, we all started to laugh. We laughed a really long time.
But none of us got out of the car.
We stayed in there all night.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
#167 Fireflies
“I brought you something,” I told my little brother.
Turn off the lights. I unzipped my suitcase. The glass of a baby food jar shone faintly among my used socks and shirts. I pulled it out, felt the cool glass in my hands. Two tiny insects sat still inside, barely glowing.
My brother sucked in a big gasp of air.
“Fireflies,” I said
“Fireflies!” my brother echoed.
Fireflies, caught in auntie’s back garden. Fireflies, that rose up between the poles of okra and beans like green-yellow sparks from a cold fire. Slow, they were, and easy to catch. Easy to put in a jar and smuggle in my suitcase from Louisiana back to Texas.
Texas, where there weren’t any fireflies.
But now there were.
I opened the jar lid. The bugs didn’t know they were free. I had to shake the jar and tumble them out onto the bed. Gently, I didn’t want to hurt them. My brother watched, not daring to breathe, as they crawled slow, jet-lagged I guess.
One eventually took off, and then the other. I waited for them to flash, to spark, but all they did was make their dull green glow. Like a glow-in-the dark plastic toy. In the dark of my bedroom they wove their way up to the ceiling, bumped it a couple times, then landed on the wall, the two of them close together.
I’d wanted to bring my brother that whole garden full of fireflies, night after night of amazing fireflies. These two weren’t anything compared to that.
Should I have let them alone? It tugged at me, a little sadness, a little guilt. I’d brought them all this way, so far from home. No wonder they wouldn’t flash for us. They missed their garden.
I couldn’t take them back.
Wow, my brother said, but that’s just because he hadn’t seen what I’d seen. To him, two sad little glowing bugs on the wall was amazing.
I left them there, on the wall. In the morning, they were gone.
Turn off the lights. I unzipped my suitcase. The glass of a baby food jar shone faintly among my used socks and shirts. I pulled it out, felt the cool glass in my hands. Two tiny insects sat still inside, barely glowing.
My brother sucked in a big gasp of air.
“Fireflies,” I said
“Fireflies!” my brother echoed.
Fireflies, caught in auntie’s back garden. Fireflies, that rose up between the poles of okra and beans like green-yellow sparks from a cold fire. Slow, they were, and easy to catch. Easy to put in a jar and smuggle in my suitcase from Louisiana back to Texas.
Texas, where there weren’t any fireflies.
But now there were.
I opened the jar lid. The bugs didn’t know they were free. I had to shake the jar and tumble them out onto the bed. Gently, I didn’t want to hurt them. My brother watched, not daring to breathe, as they crawled slow, jet-lagged I guess.
One eventually took off, and then the other. I waited for them to flash, to spark, but all they did was make their dull green glow. Like a glow-in-the dark plastic toy. In the dark of my bedroom they wove their way up to the ceiling, bumped it a couple times, then landed on the wall, the two of them close together.
I’d wanted to bring my brother that whole garden full of fireflies, night after night of amazing fireflies. These two weren’t anything compared to that.
Should I have let them alone? It tugged at me, a little sadness, a little guilt. I’d brought them all this way, so far from home. No wonder they wouldn’t flash for us. They missed their garden.
I couldn’t take them back.
Wow, my brother said, but that’s just because he hadn’t seen what I’d seen. To him, two sad little glowing bugs on the wall was amazing.
I left them there, on the wall. In the morning, they were gone.
Monday, April 27, 2015
#163 Wrong Turn
"Get on the freeway here!" My little sister said, shaking the map in a panic.
"Going which way?" I asked.
"North!"
"Aaaaah!" I wailed as we hurtled under the overpass. "I was in the wrong lane! You have to tell me sooner."
"It was confusing," My sister leaned back with the map over her face. "I didn't figure it out until just when I told you."
I pulled over to the right and turned us into a parking lot. Breathing hard, head on the steering wheel, I tried to get up the courage to get back on the road. Why hadn't I brought my phone? Navigating by map was impossible.
"Hey, guys, what's that building?" My little brother said from the back seat.
I hadn't bothered to notice what kind of a parking lot we had pulled into. It was mostly empty, only a few cars gathered at the base of a tall, brick building.
There was something wrong with that building.
I stared at it in disbelief. Can a building exude evil? Because that's just what this one was doing. It felt wrong, like some kind of affront to nature.
The sign at the base said, "Ashton Medical Facility." Nothing sinister about that. Except the word medical. And facility. Okay, Ashton sounded kind of creepy too. Like ashes of dead people.
"Do you feel that?" I asked my sister. "That building is evil."
She nodded, staring out the window.
That's when I noticed something else about the building. There were no windows on the ground floor. No windows on the second or third floors either. Only the top half of the building had any windows at all. I couldn't see anything inside except for long fluorescent bulbs on the ceilings of the upper floors.
"What do you think they do in there?" my little brother asked.
"I don't want to know," my little sister said quietly.
I wanted to get out of there, get back on the road, take the right freeway entrance, and go home. On the other hand, I really wanted to know what was making that building ooze out a horrible feeling of badness. I'd never felt anything like it. It didn't make sense.
Could it just be because of the lack of lower floor windows?
Seriously, why would they put windows on the top floors but not on the lower floors unless they were doing something in there they didn't want anyone to see.
None of us said anything for at least a minute. As much as I wanted to know what was going on in there, no way was I going to get out of the car. I wasn't even going to drive any closer and see what that small print was on the sign.
"Let's go home and look this place up on the internet," I said, turning the car around. I gave the building one more glance as we pulled away, and the cold, dark feeling hit me again, hard as ever.
What was wrong with that place?
"Going which way?" I asked.
"North!"
"Aaaaah!" I wailed as we hurtled under the overpass. "I was in the wrong lane! You have to tell me sooner."
"It was confusing," My sister leaned back with the map over her face. "I didn't figure it out until just when I told you."
I pulled over to the right and turned us into a parking lot. Breathing hard, head on the steering wheel, I tried to get up the courage to get back on the road. Why hadn't I brought my phone? Navigating by map was impossible.
"Hey, guys, what's that building?" My little brother said from the back seat.
I hadn't bothered to notice what kind of a parking lot we had pulled into. It was mostly empty, only a few cars gathered at the base of a tall, brick building.
There was something wrong with that building.
I stared at it in disbelief. Can a building exude evil? Because that's just what this one was doing. It felt wrong, like some kind of affront to nature.
The sign at the base said, "Ashton Medical Facility." Nothing sinister about that. Except the word medical. And facility. Okay, Ashton sounded kind of creepy too. Like ashes of dead people.
"Do you feel that?" I asked my sister. "That building is evil."
She nodded, staring out the window.
That's when I noticed something else about the building. There were no windows on the ground floor. No windows on the second or third floors either. Only the top half of the building had any windows at all. I couldn't see anything inside except for long fluorescent bulbs on the ceilings of the upper floors.
"What do you think they do in there?" my little brother asked.
"I don't want to know," my little sister said quietly.
I wanted to get out of there, get back on the road, take the right freeway entrance, and go home. On the other hand, I really wanted to know what was making that building ooze out a horrible feeling of badness. I'd never felt anything like it. It didn't make sense.
Could it just be because of the lack of lower floor windows?
Seriously, why would they put windows on the top floors but not on the lower floors unless they were doing something in there they didn't want anyone to see.
None of us said anything for at least a minute. As much as I wanted to know what was going on in there, no way was I going to get out of the car. I wasn't even going to drive any closer and see what that small print was on the sign.
"Let's go home and look this place up on the internet," I said, turning the car around. I gave the building one more glance as we pulled away, and the cold, dark feeling hit me again, hard as ever.
What was wrong with that place?
Thursday, April 23, 2015
#161 Volunteer
I knew I’d had this dream before. I couldn’t actually remember when, but it all looked familiar. I was in the high school cafeteria with everyone in the whole school. Up at the front, an old guy in a grey suit was talking into the microphone.
“We are sorry we can not help you more,” he said.
Suddenly the cafeteria became a concert hall, and the same old man was in a tux and tails, up there on the stage. His voice filled the auditorium. “If we were to try and come to your aid, Voraak’s forces would destroy us. This is the best we can do.”
Voraak. I knew that name. They’d told us before. That’s what this was about. Voraak was coming.
Now we were all outside, seated on a grassy slope. Down below the old man had some kind of forest ranger uniform on. The kid next to me scratched at his bare knee.
“We need volunteers,” he said. “Even though we can not hope to defend your world, we can teach you how to defend yourselves.”
This was a fun dream. I didn’t want to wake up.
“When Voraak comes, he will bring great changes with him. Your world will be enslaved as many others have been. None of the weapons you now have will be any use against him. You must learn to use the same powers he wields. There is very little time.”
Now we were on a space station. I could see Earth out the window, a huge curving arc of blue and white in an ocean of stars. The old man stood at the front of the room, dressed in silvery robes.
“Who will volunteer to defend your world against Voraak’s invasion? Who will train with us and prepare to meet him? If you are willing, stand up.”
This was the best dream I’d had in ages, or at least since I’d had it last time I’d had it, though I couldn’t quite remember when that was. Sure, I’d fight this Voraak. It sounded exciting.
I stood up.
The old man was right in front of me.
“Thank you,” he said, and touched my forehead.
I actually felt the touch. In my dreams, things don’t usually actually touch me.
I woke up. In my bed. Everything normal. Two minutes before my alarm went off.
What a disappointment. It had only been a dream.
“We are sorry we can not help you more,” he said.
Suddenly the cafeteria became a concert hall, and the same old man was in a tux and tails, up there on the stage. His voice filled the auditorium. “If we were to try and come to your aid, Voraak’s forces would destroy us. This is the best we can do.”
Voraak. I knew that name. They’d told us before. That’s what this was about. Voraak was coming.
Now we were all outside, seated on a grassy slope. Down below the old man had some kind of forest ranger uniform on. The kid next to me scratched at his bare knee.
“We need volunteers,” he said. “Even though we can not hope to defend your world, we can teach you how to defend yourselves.”
This was a fun dream. I didn’t want to wake up.
“When Voraak comes, he will bring great changes with him. Your world will be enslaved as many others have been. None of the weapons you now have will be any use against him. You must learn to use the same powers he wields. There is very little time.”
Now we were on a space station. I could see Earth out the window, a huge curving arc of blue and white in an ocean of stars. The old man stood at the front of the room, dressed in silvery robes.
“Who will volunteer to defend your world against Voraak’s invasion? Who will train with us and prepare to meet him? If you are willing, stand up.”
This was the best dream I’d had in ages, or at least since I’d had it last time I’d had it, though I couldn’t quite remember when that was. Sure, I’d fight this Voraak. It sounded exciting.
I stood up.
The old man was right in front of me.
“Thank you,” he said, and touched my forehead.
I actually felt the touch. In my dreams, things don’t usually actually touch me.
I woke up. In my bed. Everything normal. Two minutes before my alarm went off.
What a disappointment. It had only been a dream.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
#157 Wiggle Tooth
It started at lunch, when I bit into a carrot and my milk carton fell over.
At the time I didn’t think that biting into a carrot could possibly make my milk fall over. I just thought maybe I’d bumped the table. It could have happened. I wasn’t paying much attention because when I bit that carrot, my tooth came lose, and that hurts!
“What happened?” Joe asked.
“You okay?” Kelly watched my milk puddle all over my tray.
“My tooth is loose,” I said, holding my hand up over my mouth to hide the chewed bits of carrot.
“Awesome,” said Andy. “Does the tooth fairy bring you a dollar?”
“A dollar? I get five dollars when my teeth come out,” said Kelly.
I grabbed some napkins and started mopping the spilled milk, then gave up and just went to throw out the rest of my tray.
It happened again during class. Mrs. Reed was talking about prepositions or something, and I was staring at my pencil lying on top of my language arts worksheet. My loose tooth still hurt a little from the carrot during lunch, so I pushed at it with my tongue.
The tooth wiggled. So did my pencil.
I made a kind of sniffle-snort of surprise. Was there an earthquake going on. I looked all around the room, but nothing else was shaking.
I pushed at my tooth again, staring at the pencil. Wiggle tooth. Wiggle pencil.
Awesome.
I tried it with some other stuff in the room. I made the American flag over the front board wiggle, but no one seemed to notice. I guess they thought it was just the air conditioning. I tried to make the second hand on the clock go around a little faster, but I couldn’t quite get the timing right, and just kept making it go back and forth. I even made Mrs. Reed’s glasses wiggle, so she wrinkled up her nose, then took them off and set them on her desk.
On the way home from school, I was so busy looking for stuff to wiggle I didn’t notice my brothers arguing at first.
“You have to give it back to me!” my little brother Tyse said.
“No, you traded it to me. It’s mine now,” my big brother Tim was being a jerk again.
“I’ll give you back your guy.”
“I don’t want him back. You traded and that’s it.”
My little brother shoved past me and ran out into the crosswalk. He turned to scowl back at my big brother. That’s probably why he didn’t see the car coming around the corner.
“Tyse!” my big brother shouted.
I stared at my little brother as the car braked and swerved, trying to miss him. There was no way to reach him in time.
I grabbed my tooth and pulled as hard as I could.
My brother jerked out of the way of the car, as if someone had pulled him on a puppet string. He landed on his backside in the road just as the car squealed to a stop. An old lady got out and started yelling at us for running in the street.
My little brother Tyse, his eyes big and scared, stared up at me, and at the bloody tooth I was holding in my fingers.
At the time I didn’t think that biting into a carrot could possibly make my milk fall over. I just thought maybe I’d bumped the table. It could have happened. I wasn’t paying much attention because when I bit that carrot, my tooth came lose, and that hurts!
“What happened?” Joe asked.
“You okay?” Kelly watched my milk puddle all over my tray.
“My tooth is loose,” I said, holding my hand up over my mouth to hide the chewed bits of carrot.
“Awesome,” said Andy. “Does the tooth fairy bring you a dollar?”
“A dollar? I get five dollars when my teeth come out,” said Kelly.
I grabbed some napkins and started mopping the spilled milk, then gave up and just went to throw out the rest of my tray.
It happened again during class. Mrs. Reed was talking about prepositions or something, and I was staring at my pencil lying on top of my language arts worksheet. My loose tooth still hurt a little from the carrot during lunch, so I pushed at it with my tongue.
The tooth wiggled. So did my pencil.
I made a kind of sniffle-snort of surprise. Was there an earthquake going on. I looked all around the room, but nothing else was shaking.
I pushed at my tooth again, staring at the pencil. Wiggle tooth. Wiggle pencil.
Awesome.
I tried it with some other stuff in the room. I made the American flag over the front board wiggle, but no one seemed to notice. I guess they thought it was just the air conditioning. I tried to make the second hand on the clock go around a little faster, but I couldn’t quite get the timing right, and just kept making it go back and forth. I even made Mrs. Reed’s glasses wiggle, so she wrinkled up her nose, then took them off and set them on her desk.
On the way home from school, I was so busy looking for stuff to wiggle I didn’t notice my brothers arguing at first.
“You have to give it back to me!” my little brother Tyse said.
“No, you traded it to me. It’s mine now,” my big brother Tim was being a jerk again.
“I’ll give you back your guy.”
“I don’t want him back. You traded and that’s it.”
My little brother shoved past me and ran out into the crosswalk. He turned to scowl back at my big brother. That’s probably why he didn’t see the car coming around the corner.
“Tyse!” my big brother shouted.
I stared at my little brother as the car braked and swerved, trying to miss him. There was no way to reach him in time.
I grabbed my tooth and pulled as hard as I could.
My brother jerked out of the way of the car, as if someone had pulled him on a puppet string. He landed on his backside in the road just as the car squealed to a stop. An old lady got out and started yelling at us for running in the street.
My little brother Tyse, his eyes big and scared, stared up at me, and at the bloody tooth I was holding in my fingers.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
#152 Catching the Bus
The bus was supposed to come by any minute. I dash to the street corner and scan the opposite side for a bus stop while I wait for the light to change. I don't see one. Further and further down the street I search, until there at the next corner I see the back end of a bus, waiting at a little covered bus stop, a whole block away.
That can’t be my bus, can it?
It probably is. No way am I going to catch it now.
I watch for the bus to pull away from the stop, but it doesn't. Maybe the driver knows the bus is early. Maybe the driver is waiting.
I still have a chance.
Come on light, change! Change change change.
Traffic growls by, palm fronds rattle in the wind, myna birds peck at someone’s spilled French fries. The traffic light finally blinks green and the walk signal flashes white. I jog into the crosswalk, speed up, and hit the corner of the sidewalk at a dead run, wishing I was in shoes and not my thick-soled sandals.
Flop-slap, flop-slap, I push myself as hard as I can with my lap top computer tucked under my arm and my purse banging my side. The bus still has its doors open. Gradually, the yellow-green dots that spell out the bus number come into focus. Bus 55. My bus. The bus that only comes once an hour to take people from the city up to the north shore.
The bus doors close. I am still a whole parking lot away.
Wait for me, wait for me, wait for me, bus! I chant silently to the rhythm of my flapping sandals, too out of breath to say anything out loud.
Brakes squeak, the engine revs.
I bang on the glass doors.
The driver had been looking at something to her left. She pauses a moment. I see her thinking, I totally don’t have to open this door for this girl. I could just drive away. But then she scowls at me and leans over to yank on the handle.
“Thank you!” I gasp, digging two one-dollar bills out of my wallet, then counting another fifty cents from the change pocket. I feed them into the indifferent machine. “All good?” I ask.
The driver nods, and I go as quick as I can to find a seat. I plop down, sweaty and out of breath, next to a pregnant woman who is looking at something on her cell phone. My short-sleeve jacket had come half-way off as I ran, so I pull it back on my shoulders, trying not to grin too big in case one of the other passengers might be looking. I had actually caught the bus!
The brakes squeal and the engine revs, and we lurch away from the curb.
That can’t be my bus, can it?
It probably is. No way am I going to catch it now.
I watch for the bus to pull away from the stop, but it doesn't. Maybe the driver knows the bus is early. Maybe the driver is waiting.
I still have a chance.
Come on light, change! Change change change.
Traffic growls by, palm fronds rattle in the wind, myna birds peck at someone’s spilled French fries. The traffic light finally blinks green and the walk signal flashes white. I jog into the crosswalk, speed up, and hit the corner of the sidewalk at a dead run, wishing I was in shoes and not my thick-soled sandals.
Flop-slap, flop-slap, I push myself as hard as I can with my lap top computer tucked under my arm and my purse banging my side. The bus still has its doors open. Gradually, the yellow-green dots that spell out the bus number come into focus. Bus 55. My bus. The bus that only comes once an hour to take people from the city up to the north shore.
The bus doors close. I am still a whole parking lot away.
Wait for me, wait for me, wait for me, bus! I chant silently to the rhythm of my flapping sandals, too out of breath to say anything out loud.
Brakes squeak, the engine revs.
I bang on the glass doors.
The driver had been looking at something to her left. She pauses a moment. I see her thinking, I totally don’t have to open this door for this girl. I could just drive away. But then she scowls at me and leans over to yank on the handle.
“Thank you!” I gasp, digging two one-dollar bills out of my wallet, then counting another fifty cents from the change pocket. I feed them into the indifferent machine. “All good?” I ask.
The driver nods, and I go as quick as I can to find a seat. I plop down, sweaty and out of breath, next to a pregnant woman who is looking at something on her cell phone. My short-sleeve jacket had come half-way off as I ran, so I pull it back on my shoulders, trying not to grin too big in case one of the other passengers might be looking. I had actually caught the bus!
The brakes squeal and the engine revs, and we lurch away from the curb.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
#147 It Was Going To Rain
It was going to rain, I knew it.
I stood on the front porch by the garage door and watched the mist curling over the hills. The puddles reflected a cloudy sky. The thought of arriving at school cold, wet, and muddy kept me from even starting to get my bike out. “Mom?” I called back into the house. “Can I have a ride to school?”
“A ride?” Mom came to the screen door, frowning. “It’s all done raining, the ground is just wet. Avoid puddles, give yourself extra time to break, if you have to go through a puddle go slow.”
“But Mom, look,” I pointed to the sky. “It’s going to rain again.”
“No it won’t,” Mom said, disappearing back into the house. “I checked the radar.”
But the air said rain. The screen door banged behind me as I followed Mom back in. “Can I have a ride, please?”
IN the kitchen, one of my brothers spread peanut butter on his triple-decker sandwich while the other one watched little figures move from hex to hex on his computer screen in his favorite battle game simulation.
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t want to get wet,” I said.
“You won’t unless you plow through a puddle,” Mom told me. “There won’t be any more rain until mid-morning. The next cloud bands are miles out to sea. Do you want to see the radar?”
“Show me the radar,” I said.
I followed Mom up to her bedroom where her computer screen displayed a weather report. In the corner, a colorful map of our area showed a bright orange, yellow and green cloud band out at sea. Mom clicked the “play” icon and the cloud began to move toward the coast, slow and steady but still a long ways away.
Maybe Mom was right.
But then, another band of green formed between us and the coming cloud, just at the last second. When the animation stopped it hung there, right along the beach.
Mom played the animation again.
“look at that,” Mom said, tracing the new cloud band with her fingernail. “I guess you were right.”
Back downstairs, Mom announced, “The boys need a ride to school. It’s going to start raining again any minute.”
“I can take them,” Dad said. “Call the neighbors and see if they want a ride.”
A few minutes later, my brothers, my Dad, and the two neighbor kids all stood on the front porch, watching a downpour.
“Ready to run for the car?” Dad asked, almost laughing at the rain.
“Thanks for insisting on a ride to school,” Mom said to me through the screen door. “If you’d left on your bike, you’d be getting soaked right now.”
“I can smell rain, Mom,” I said. I had known it was coming.
I stood on the front porch by the garage door and watched the mist curling over the hills. The puddles reflected a cloudy sky. The thought of arriving at school cold, wet, and muddy kept me from even starting to get my bike out. “Mom?” I called back into the house. “Can I have a ride to school?”
“A ride?” Mom came to the screen door, frowning. “It’s all done raining, the ground is just wet. Avoid puddles, give yourself extra time to break, if you have to go through a puddle go slow.”
“But Mom, look,” I pointed to the sky. “It’s going to rain again.”
“No it won’t,” Mom said, disappearing back into the house. “I checked the radar.”
But the air said rain. The screen door banged behind me as I followed Mom back in. “Can I have a ride, please?”
IN the kitchen, one of my brothers spread peanut butter on his triple-decker sandwich while the other one watched little figures move from hex to hex on his computer screen in his favorite battle game simulation.
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t want to get wet,” I said.
“You won’t unless you plow through a puddle,” Mom told me. “There won’t be any more rain until mid-morning. The next cloud bands are miles out to sea. Do you want to see the radar?”
“Show me the radar,” I said.
I followed Mom up to her bedroom where her computer screen displayed a weather report. In the corner, a colorful map of our area showed a bright orange, yellow and green cloud band out at sea. Mom clicked the “play” icon and the cloud began to move toward the coast, slow and steady but still a long ways away.
Maybe Mom was right.
But then, another band of green formed between us and the coming cloud, just at the last second. When the animation stopped it hung there, right along the beach.
Mom played the animation again.
“look at that,” Mom said, tracing the new cloud band with her fingernail. “I guess you were right.”
Back downstairs, Mom announced, “The boys need a ride to school. It’s going to start raining again any minute.”
“I can take them,” Dad said. “Call the neighbors and see if they want a ride.”
A few minutes later, my brothers, my Dad, and the two neighbor kids all stood on the front porch, watching a downpour.
“Ready to run for the car?” Dad asked, almost laughing at the rain.
“Thanks for insisting on a ride to school,” Mom said to me through the screen door. “If you’d left on your bike, you’d be getting soaked right now.”
“I can smell rain, Mom,” I said. I had known it was coming.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
#144 Up A Tree
I wish I could have said there was some legit reason for my volleyball to be stuck in a tree. I wish I could have said that some mean eighth-graders had come along and stolen it from me while I waited there, all alone, for my mom to pick me up after practice. I wish I could have said they’d chucked it up in the tree and laughed at my face and walked away congratulating themselves on their meanness.
But no. It was just me, being stupid, trying to see how high I could bump it. I didn’t even think about that tree. It wasn’t like it was right overhead. I’m not sure exactly how the ball ended up over there.
But yes, I had to admit, it was entirely my fault.
I walked all around the tree, watching my ball, my very own ball, the one my big brother who is off at college bought me for Christmas, teal and white and black, my favorite colors, stuck up there in the bare twigs. There was no way to climb this tree, the school maintenance people had made sure of that by cutting off all the low branches. Even if I could climb it, the ball was stuck way out in the tiny branches near the top. The branch would break under me and I’d fall long before I got out there.
I needed a really big ladder. Or one of those crane things they use to fix telephone wires.
I looked around on the ground for a stick or a rock to throw up there, but there wasn’t anything big enough that might get a volleyball loose from the branches of a tree. The only thing I had was...
My backpack.
It wasn’t too heavy, with only two of my school notebooks and the latest Ninja Mummy manga from the school library inside it. But it felt heavy enough to knock the volleyball back out of the tree. I gave it a swing with my arm. Yep, it just might work. I went and stood directly under the volleyball, swung my arm back, and hurled the pack into the tree.
It didn’t even come close to the volleyball. A few twigs snapped and showered down around it as my pack thumped onto the grass.
I tried again, and entirely missed the tree.
On my third shot, I gave it all I had and flung the backpack up into the branches. This time it reached the volleyball and actually bumped it a little, but not enough to bring it down. And my backpack snagged in the tree just below it.
Great.
Perfect.
I heard my cell phone start to ring, and my hand instinctively went to my pocket, but I already knew from the sound of it that my phone wasn’t in my pocket like I had thought it was.
My phone was in my backpack.
At the top of a stupid tree.
But no. It was just me, being stupid, trying to see how high I could bump it. I didn’t even think about that tree. It wasn’t like it was right overhead. I’m not sure exactly how the ball ended up over there.
But yes, I had to admit, it was entirely my fault.
I walked all around the tree, watching my ball, my very own ball, the one my big brother who is off at college bought me for Christmas, teal and white and black, my favorite colors, stuck up there in the bare twigs. There was no way to climb this tree, the school maintenance people had made sure of that by cutting off all the low branches. Even if I could climb it, the ball was stuck way out in the tiny branches near the top. The branch would break under me and I’d fall long before I got out there.
I needed a really big ladder. Or one of those crane things they use to fix telephone wires.
I looked around on the ground for a stick or a rock to throw up there, but there wasn’t anything big enough that might get a volleyball loose from the branches of a tree. The only thing I had was...
My backpack.
It wasn’t too heavy, with only two of my school notebooks and the latest Ninja Mummy manga from the school library inside it. But it felt heavy enough to knock the volleyball back out of the tree. I gave it a swing with my arm. Yep, it just might work. I went and stood directly under the volleyball, swung my arm back, and hurled the pack into the tree.
It didn’t even come close to the volleyball. A few twigs snapped and showered down around it as my pack thumped onto the grass.
I tried again, and entirely missed the tree.
On my third shot, I gave it all I had and flung the backpack up into the branches. This time it reached the volleyball and actually bumped it a little, but not enough to bring it down. And my backpack snagged in the tree just below it.
Great.
Perfect.
I heard my cell phone start to ring, and my hand instinctively went to my pocket, but I already knew from the sound of it that my phone wasn’t in my pocket like I had thought it was.
My phone was in my backpack.
At the top of a stupid tree.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
#142 Roadworker 2
The next morning my brain didn’t feel quite so overheated anymore. I lay in bed, trying to see the map in my head again. I could remember it, each road a shining thread, some thick and bright, some faint and wispy, all of them woven together and spread out like a blanket. But I couldn’t really see it, not the way I had yesterday afternoon when I was biking home from my friend’s house.
I kept trying, all the time I was making my bed and brushing my teeth, trying to find all my homework, and packing my lunch. Part of me was thinking it had all been my imagination, that I’d just been daydreaming and suddenly found myself in front of my house, when I’d been at least twenty minutes away only a second before.
Nah, I’d checked my watch. Something had happened. This was real.
I was still thinking about it as I wheeled my bike, a piece of toast in my mouth, down to the curb. As soon as my foot hit the asphalt, a faint glimpse of the map flashed into my head.
I froze, and it disappeared.
I took another step on the road, and there it was again, the map, very faint in my mind. It faded a little as I hopped onto my bike, then grew stronger as I pedaled. The faster I went, the brighter the road threads shone.
It was giving me a headache.
I pushed the rest of the toast into my mouth, gave a few chews, and swallowed. I was ready to try teleporting again. I gripped my handlebars hard, and found the place on the map where a road thread passed right in front of the school. Trying to remember what I’d done yesterday, I took hold of it with my mind and bent it toward the place where I was pedaling my bike.
It bent a little, but then snapped right back into place. Pulling on it hurt my head, like using a sore muscle.
Maybe the school was too far away. I looked for a closer spot, something easy, and settled on the end of the street. I reached out, gave the road thread a little tug, and whoosh, the whole street flew by.
I slammed on my brakes, my head throbbing. No way. What good was having super teleporting powers if it made me feel like I’d bashed my head into a wall? It hadn’t hurt like this yesterday.
I kept trying, all the time I was making my bed and brushing my teeth, trying to find all my homework, and packing my lunch. Part of me was thinking it had all been my imagination, that I’d just been daydreaming and suddenly found myself in front of my house, when I’d been at least twenty minutes away only a second before.
Nah, I’d checked my watch. Something had happened. This was real.
I was still thinking about it as I wheeled my bike, a piece of toast in my mouth, down to the curb. As soon as my foot hit the asphalt, a faint glimpse of the map flashed into my head.
I froze, and it disappeared.
I took another step on the road, and there it was again, the map, very faint in my mind. It faded a little as I hopped onto my bike, then grew stronger as I pedaled. The faster I went, the brighter the road threads shone.
It was giving me a headache.
I pushed the rest of the toast into my mouth, gave a few chews, and swallowed. I was ready to try teleporting again. I gripped my handlebars hard, and found the place on the map where a road thread passed right in front of the school. Trying to remember what I’d done yesterday, I took hold of it with my mind and bent it toward the place where I was pedaling my bike.
It bent a little, but then snapped right back into place. Pulling on it hurt my head, like using a sore muscle.
Maybe the school was too far away. I looked for a closer spot, something easy, and settled on the end of the street. I reached out, gave the road thread a little tug, and whoosh, the whole street flew by.
I slammed on my brakes, my head throbbing. No way. What good was having super teleporting powers if it made me feel like I’d bashed my head into a wall? It hadn’t hurt like this yesterday.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
#141 Frankenstein's Computer
“Is this when you usually get home on Tuesdays?” Mom asked when I came in the door. “I was getting worried. When does computer club end?”
I checked my watch. It was almost five. Seriously? I had no idea it had gotten this late.
“It’s supposed to be over at four. No, four-fifteen. I just rode home slow,” I unclipped my bike helmet and tossed it in with all the others in the old laundry basket in the mud room.
“Okay,” Mom said as I followed her into the house. I wasn’t in trouble. Mom worried a lot, but she didn’t get after me unless I was really, really late.
“We had a great day at computer club today!” I said.
“What did you do?”
“Well, first we checked all the computers to see if they needed any updates. And then I said I wanted a better video card for my computer.” I unzipped the side pocket of my backpack and pulled out two pokemon decks, then gently took out my prize, wrapped in an old homework assignment. “We looked around in all the stuff and found one.”
I unwrapped it to show Mom. It was beautiful, all studded with tiny electronic components like some kind of miniature alien city, with gold and green computer chips, and a rectangle grid of black cooling spikes. And it was all mine.
“You know, when my brother was about your age, and he’d come home with something he wanted to install in our computer we all shouted, NO! NO! because we knew he wouldn’t be able to get it running again for a week. We only had one computer, you know, and we all needed it to do our homework.”
Only one computer? I couldn’t imagine it. We had a big family computer on the desk in the living room, Mom had a laptop, Dad had a tablet, my big brother had a netbook, and then I had the old Frankenstein that the club had helped me resurrect from the computer graveyard at school. No one used my computer but me, so if it took me a week to get this video card working, it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t going to take me a whole week, was it? I had games I wanted to try out.
“You got a new video card?” my brother came over to see. He had a huge grin on his face. “Do you think you’ll be able to play minecraft with it?”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” I said.
“Let’s go try it,” my brother said.
We charged up the stairs, leaving my backpack behind in the hall.
“BE SURE YOU UNPLUG IT FIRST!” Mom shouted after us.
“YES!” my brother and I chorused back at her. How stupid did she think we were?
I checked my watch. It was almost five. Seriously? I had no idea it had gotten this late.
“It’s supposed to be over at four. No, four-fifteen. I just rode home slow,” I unclipped my bike helmet and tossed it in with all the others in the old laundry basket in the mud room.
“Okay,” Mom said as I followed her into the house. I wasn’t in trouble. Mom worried a lot, but she didn’t get after me unless I was really, really late.
“We had a great day at computer club today!” I said.
“What did you do?”
“Well, first we checked all the computers to see if they needed any updates. And then I said I wanted a better video card for my computer.” I unzipped the side pocket of my backpack and pulled out two pokemon decks, then gently took out my prize, wrapped in an old homework assignment. “We looked around in all the stuff and found one.”
I unwrapped it to show Mom. It was beautiful, all studded with tiny electronic components like some kind of miniature alien city, with gold and green computer chips, and a rectangle grid of black cooling spikes. And it was all mine.
“You know, when my brother was about your age, and he’d come home with something he wanted to install in our computer we all shouted, NO! NO! because we knew he wouldn’t be able to get it running again for a week. We only had one computer, you know, and we all needed it to do our homework.”
Only one computer? I couldn’t imagine it. We had a big family computer on the desk in the living room, Mom had a laptop, Dad had a tablet, my big brother had a netbook, and then I had the old Frankenstein that the club had helped me resurrect from the computer graveyard at school. No one used my computer but me, so if it took me a week to get this video card working, it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t going to take me a whole week, was it? I had games I wanted to try out.
“You got a new video card?” my brother came over to see. He had a huge grin on his face. “Do you think you’ll be able to play minecraft with it?”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” I said.
“Let’s go try it,” my brother said.
We charged up the stairs, leaving my backpack behind in the hall.
“BE SURE YOU UNPLUG IT FIRST!” Mom shouted after us.
“YES!” my brother and I chorused back at her. How stupid did she think we were?
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
#139 Snake in the Water
Slivers of bright blue sky winked between the leaves overhead as we drifted down the river. The warm, bitter smell of rubber inner tube mixed with the sour-sharp tang of the blackberry canes that flowed over the bank. I rolled over and draped myself across the inner tube so that only my fingers and toes and belly were touching the frigid water. Beside me my sister lay back regally on her inner tube like a queen on her throne, and my brother kicked himself in a lazy spin.
Up ahead, something was coming toward us against the current. Something small swimming our way. A bobbing head cutting through the water.
“Snake!” I screamed.
My sister sat up so quick she tumbled off her tube with a splash. I turned around and started kicking and paddling as hard as I could. My hands and toes weren’t getting me anywhere, so I slipped down through the middle of the tube and wore it around my waist while I swam hard. My brother and sister and I were all screaming and splashing, trying to get away.
The snake was still gaining on us.
In sheer panic, I abandoned my inner tube and made for the shore. My sister got there first, and I climbed with her through the muck and slime onto the sandy bank. I grabbed my brother’s hand and pulled him out. He was still hanging on to his inner tube while ours continued bumping down the narrow river.
The snake’s head still bobbed out in the water. In fact, it seemed to be swimming just fast enough to beat the current, no more, no less. We all stared.
“It’s just a stick!” my brother said.
I could see that now. Only a stick, attached to a sunken snag, just the right size and angle to look like a snake’s head skimming the river.
“Our tubes!” my sister shouted, and we all splashed back into the water to go chase them down.
Up ahead, something was coming toward us against the current. Something small swimming our way. A bobbing head cutting through the water.
“Snake!” I screamed.
My sister sat up so quick she tumbled off her tube with a splash. I turned around and started kicking and paddling as hard as I could. My hands and toes weren’t getting me anywhere, so I slipped down through the middle of the tube and wore it around my waist while I swam hard. My brother and sister and I were all screaming and splashing, trying to get away.
The snake was still gaining on us.
In sheer panic, I abandoned my inner tube and made for the shore. My sister got there first, and I climbed with her through the muck and slime onto the sandy bank. I grabbed my brother’s hand and pulled him out. He was still hanging on to his inner tube while ours continued bumping down the narrow river.
The snake’s head still bobbed out in the water. In fact, it seemed to be swimming just fast enough to beat the current, no more, no less. We all stared.
“It’s just a stick!” my brother said.
I could see that now. Only a stick, attached to a sunken snag, just the right size and angle to look like a snake’s head skimming the river.
“Our tubes!” my sister shouted, and we all splashed back into the water to go chase them down.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
#137 Roadworker
I was so grounded. Mom was never going to let me go to Carl’s after school again.
I pedaled faster, watching the road fly by under my bike tires. Be home by five without fail, mom had said. It was five right now, and I was at least twenty minutes away. I meant to leave half an hour ago, but we’d never got to the fifth level of the game before, and I kind of lost track of time.
If only I had some way to get home faster.
As if it could somehow help me get there sooner, I thought about the route I had to take. I imagined myself speeding down Carl’s street, going by the canal, around the corner past the library, cutting through the empty lot, then taking the bike trail through the woods and finally emerging on a street in my neighborhood. The roads appeared in my mind, a network of possibilities. They were rivers of movement, of energy.
The roads weren’t fixed in place, like I thought they were. I could see it now. They were moveable, bendable. I could take the road I was on, and bend it to meet the road in front of my house.
I seized the roads with my mind and pulled. It felt like doing one of those long division problems when you’re dividing a triple digit number into something like fifty million and stuff. Exhausting. I pulled and pulled, the shining streams of the roads bent closer in my mind, and then they touched.
I felt a jolt, like my bike had gone over a curb. The asphalt under my tires was suddenly a different color. I squeezed my hand brakes and my bike skidded to a stop.
Right in front of my house.
Mom was just coming out the front door.
“There you are, Riley,” she said. “I was just coming out to look for you. You’re five minutes late.”
Five minutes? Impossible. Five seconds ago I was only at the end of Carl’s street. All that stuff with the roads, with bending them in my mind, I thought that was my imagination. But here I was!
I tried to call up that glowing road map again, but it wouldn’t come. My brain felt tired, like I’d just finished three chemistry exams in a row.
“Sorry, Mom,” I said. “I lost track of time.” Unsteady, I got off my bike and walked it up onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t help staring around me, not quite believing I was here already. But there was my house, my street, the sugar maple in my front yard I used to climb, and Mom right there telling me I was only five minutes late.
I’d teleported myself! Cool. I wonder if I could do it again.
I pedaled faster, watching the road fly by under my bike tires. Be home by five without fail, mom had said. It was five right now, and I was at least twenty minutes away. I meant to leave half an hour ago, but we’d never got to the fifth level of the game before, and I kind of lost track of time.
If only I had some way to get home faster.
As if it could somehow help me get there sooner, I thought about the route I had to take. I imagined myself speeding down Carl’s street, going by the canal, around the corner past the library, cutting through the empty lot, then taking the bike trail through the woods and finally emerging on a street in my neighborhood. The roads appeared in my mind, a network of possibilities. They were rivers of movement, of energy.
The roads weren’t fixed in place, like I thought they were. I could see it now. They were moveable, bendable. I could take the road I was on, and bend it to meet the road in front of my house.
I seized the roads with my mind and pulled. It felt like doing one of those long division problems when you’re dividing a triple digit number into something like fifty million and stuff. Exhausting. I pulled and pulled, the shining streams of the roads bent closer in my mind, and then they touched.
I felt a jolt, like my bike had gone over a curb. The asphalt under my tires was suddenly a different color. I squeezed my hand brakes and my bike skidded to a stop.
Right in front of my house.
Mom was just coming out the front door.
“There you are, Riley,” she said. “I was just coming out to look for you. You’re five minutes late.”
Five minutes? Impossible. Five seconds ago I was only at the end of Carl’s street. All that stuff with the roads, with bending them in my mind, I thought that was my imagination. But here I was!
I tried to call up that glowing road map again, but it wouldn’t come. My brain felt tired, like I’d just finished three chemistry exams in a row.
“Sorry, Mom,” I said. “I lost track of time.” Unsteady, I got off my bike and walked it up onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t help staring around me, not quite believing I was here already. But there was my house, my street, the sugar maple in my front yard I used to climb, and Mom right there telling me I was only five minutes late.
I’d teleported myself! Cool. I wonder if I could do it again.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
#136 Tyrannosaurus
I brought my tyrannosaurus to school the next day.
He had a hard time on the sidewalk, kept knocking over trash cans that I had to set back up, so I told him to walk in the street and watch out for cars. I held his leash in my hand and he followed beside me, making the ground shake with each step. He looked like he wanted to eat that mean dog that always barked at me in the yard on the corner, so I reminded him I had a stegosaurus sandwich in my lunch box for him, and that he could wait to eat until later.
Past the corner we crossed the street, and then we were at the high school. My elementary school was on the other side. The sidewalk ran all along the front of the high school, and then I cut across a field, and I’d be safe at my classroom. Almost there.
But first I had to get past the high school.
Teenagers were the worst. The scariest creatures on the planet. I gripped my tyrannosaurus’ leash a little tighter and kept walking.
Packs of teenagers stood around, waiting for school to start, talking, laughing, looking at their phones. I kept my head down and tried to steer past them without them noticing me.
A tall, skinny boy with a white earbud wire dangling down from one ear and into his pocket stepped right in front of me. “Hey, kid, where you going?”
His friends laughed.
“School,” I said.
“Schoo-wuhl,” he said, and his friends laughed again. My face got hot.
Tyrannosaurus was still feeling hungry.
I craned my neck back until I could see my tyrannosaurus’ huge head far above me, his ten inch long teeth dripping slobber. I shook my head no.
“What are you looking at?” the teenager said, glancing up.
I didn’t answer. I darted around him and kept running until I got to the field, my tyrannosaurus thundering on behind me, almost so loud I couldn’t hear the teenagers laughing.
That teenager was lucky. If I hadn’t run, he would have been breakfast.
I tied my tyrannosaurus to the flag pole, gave him a pat on the side and told him to be good. I’d see him again when it was time to walk home.
He had a hard time on the sidewalk, kept knocking over trash cans that I had to set back up, so I told him to walk in the street and watch out for cars. I held his leash in my hand and he followed beside me, making the ground shake with each step. He looked like he wanted to eat that mean dog that always barked at me in the yard on the corner, so I reminded him I had a stegosaurus sandwich in my lunch box for him, and that he could wait to eat until later.
Past the corner we crossed the street, and then we were at the high school. My elementary school was on the other side. The sidewalk ran all along the front of the high school, and then I cut across a field, and I’d be safe at my classroom. Almost there.
But first I had to get past the high school.
Teenagers were the worst. The scariest creatures on the planet. I gripped my tyrannosaurus’ leash a little tighter and kept walking.
Packs of teenagers stood around, waiting for school to start, talking, laughing, looking at their phones. I kept my head down and tried to steer past them without them noticing me.
A tall, skinny boy with a white earbud wire dangling down from one ear and into his pocket stepped right in front of me. “Hey, kid, where you going?”
His friends laughed.
“School,” I said.
“Schoo-wuhl,” he said, and his friends laughed again. My face got hot.
Tyrannosaurus was still feeling hungry.
I craned my neck back until I could see my tyrannosaurus’ huge head far above me, his ten inch long teeth dripping slobber. I shook my head no.
“What are you looking at?” the teenager said, glancing up.
I didn’t answer. I darted around him and kept running until I got to the field, my tyrannosaurus thundering on behind me, almost so loud I couldn’t hear the teenagers laughing.
That teenager was lucky. If I hadn’t run, he would have been breakfast.
I tied my tyrannosaurus to the flag pole, gave him a pat on the side and told him to be good. I’d see him again when it was time to walk home.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
#135 About the Bunny
“Hey Mom,” I said. “Do you remember that stuffed bunny I had? I got it for Easter when I was about three?”
“Four,” Mom said.
So she did remember.
“Do you still have it?” I asked. “You said you were going to keep it for me, for when I got older.” Even back then, I knew it was an excuse, a half-lie. Why would I want him when I was older?
Mom sighed. “Somewhere,” she said.
“You didn’t throw it away?” I sometimes wondered if she had.
“No, it’s with some other old things. I’ll see if I can find it.”
When I got home from school that afternoon, there was a white plastic bag on my bed with a small body inside it. I almost didn’t want to look.
Bunny was a very relative term. He was more like a big rag doll with a furry yellow face and rabbit ears. One plastic eye was missing, there was only a shiny pink spot of glue left of the nose, and the yellow fur was dingy and matted. The ears still had the original material, blue with pink, green, and yellow polka-dots, but the rest of the body was covered in green with little Christmas ornaments.
Christmas ornaments? That’s right, I’d forgotten. Mom had made a new suit for my bunny when I wore him out until his stuffing was showing, maybe kindergarten or first grade. She’d taken him away a week before Christmas, then I’d got him back Christmas morning. I wasn’t sure how Mom didn’t understand that Christmas material was not the right thing for him. It was one of those, “Thanks, Mom, but seriously?” moments.
That Christmas morning he had looked pretty awful, but I still loved him. And I eventually got used to his new suit.
It was strange, looking at that bunny now, remembering how attached I was. Odd tingles prickled my fingers as I touched the faded Christmas print material.
My mom came to the door.
“So, why exactly did you take him away from me?” I asked. I didn’t care about the bunny anymore, but I cared about that eight year old child who had just moved from Arizona to Texas, who was trying to figure out how a plastic lunch box with Care Bear stickers on it could possibly be called a lunch pail, and why being offered a coke meant I could have a sprite or an orange crush, but maybe not actually a coca cola because they didn’t really have any. Texas might have been another planet, and it helped to have something familiar to hug at night.
“This bunny,” Mom shook her head. “You have no idea how much time I spent repairing it for you. Every time he came apart, you’d cry. I finally decided it was best just to put him away before there was nothing left but a rag.”
There was nothing left but a rag. Maybe if she’d let me keep him I could have let go on my own.
Maybe not.
“So you’ve seen him. Do you want to keep him, or should we throw him out?”
I couldn’t throw him out. I still couldn’t, not even now. I knew he wasn’t really alive, didn’t have feelings, hadn’t missed me the way I missed him. But somewhere inside me I was afraid that throwing him out would offend… someone? The eight year old child that was still inside me, who wanted to believe that bunny was coming back some day.
He was too ugly to put on display in my room, so I tucked him back inside his body bag.
“Keep him,” I said. “Maybe someday I’ll show my kids.”
“Four,” Mom said.
So she did remember.
“Do you still have it?” I asked. “You said you were going to keep it for me, for when I got older.” Even back then, I knew it was an excuse, a half-lie. Why would I want him when I was older?
Mom sighed. “Somewhere,” she said.
“You didn’t throw it away?” I sometimes wondered if she had.
“No, it’s with some other old things. I’ll see if I can find it.”
When I got home from school that afternoon, there was a white plastic bag on my bed with a small body inside it. I almost didn’t want to look.
Bunny was a very relative term. He was more like a big rag doll with a furry yellow face and rabbit ears. One plastic eye was missing, there was only a shiny pink spot of glue left of the nose, and the yellow fur was dingy and matted. The ears still had the original material, blue with pink, green, and yellow polka-dots, but the rest of the body was covered in green with little Christmas ornaments.
Christmas ornaments? That’s right, I’d forgotten. Mom had made a new suit for my bunny when I wore him out until his stuffing was showing, maybe kindergarten or first grade. She’d taken him away a week before Christmas, then I’d got him back Christmas morning. I wasn’t sure how Mom didn’t understand that Christmas material was not the right thing for him. It was one of those, “Thanks, Mom, but seriously?” moments.
That Christmas morning he had looked pretty awful, but I still loved him. And I eventually got used to his new suit.
It was strange, looking at that bunny now, remembering how attached I was. Odd tingles prickled my fingers as I touched the faded Christmas print material.
My mom came to the door.
“So, why exactly did you take him away from me?” I asked. I didn’t care about the bunny anymore, but I cared about that eight year old child who had just moved from Arizona to Texas, who was trying to figure out how a plastic lunch box with Care Bear stickers on it could possibly be called a lunch pail, and why being offered a coke meant I could have a sprite or an orange crush, but maybe not actually a coca cola because they didn’t really have any. Texas might have been another planet, and it helped to have something familiar to hug at night.
“This bunny,” Mom shook her head. “You have no idea how much time I spent repairing it for you. Every time he came apart, you’d cry. I finally decided it was best just to put him away before there was nothing left but a rag.”
There was nothing left but a rag. Maybe if she’d let me keep him I could have let go on my own.
Maybe not.
“So you’ve seen him. Do you want to keep him, or should we throw him out?”
I couldn’t throw him out. I still couldn’t, not even now. I knew he wasn’t really alive, didn’t have feelings, hadn’t missed me the way I missed him. But somewhere inside me I was afraid that throwing him out would offend… someone? The eight year old child that was still inside me, who wanted to believe that bunny was coming back some day.
He was too ugly to put on display in my room, so I tucked him back inside his body bag.
“Keep him,” I said. “Maybe someday I’ll show my kids.”
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
#127 Fly By Night
I grabbed Jonnie by the back of his pajamas and hauled him back in through the window. “What are you doing?” I demanded in my meanest big-sister voice.
Jonnie looked up at me with those big brown eyes, sort of like he was a puppy I’d just whipped and he couldn’t figure out why.
I still had a hold of his pajamas and shook him hard, furious that he didn’t seem even a tiny bit scared to be scuttling around on the shingles in the middle of the night. Sure we went out on the roof sometimes, like on fourth of july to watch the fireworks, but that was with mom and dad up there with us, and mom doing plenty of telling us to sit still and quit moving around and stay away from the edge.
“Get back in bed,” I said, and let him go. He sulked off, and I shut the dormer window, locked it, and stacked a few books on the window sill in case he got any ideas. Then I sat down in the big orange chair and waited for Mom and Dad to get home.
I woke up with a breeze on my face.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I ran to the open window and looked out. “Jonnie!” I shouted, this time I didn’t care if I woke anybody else up. I checked the roof and didn’t see him. For a split second I teetered, hanging on to the window sill, wondering if I should check his bed, or if I should look for him lying dead on the ground.
I ran downstairs and out the front door, circling the house, gasping, ever moment sure I’d find my brother in a heap on the grass. I’d got all the way around and was just deciding I should have checked his bed when I happened to look up at the dormer window.
Jonnie was there, but he wasn’t standing on the roof. He was hovering over it. Hovering. Flying. He looked like he was trying to get back in through the window quick as he could.
But the moment I saw him, he fell.
It was like a string had been cut, and he tumbled to the roof and rolled down. I screamed and ran forward to catch him. His body slammed into my arms, and we crashed to the ground.
Jonnie looked up at me with those big brown eyes, sort of like he was a puppy I’d just whipped and he couldn’t figure out why.
I still had a hold of his pajamas and shook him hard, furious that he didn’t seem even a tiny bit scared to be scuttling around on the shingles in the middle of the night. Sure we went out on the roof sometimes, like on fourth of july to watch the fireworks, but that was with mom and dad up there with us, and mom doing plenty of telling us to sit still and quit moving around and stay away from the edge.
“Get back in bed,” I said, and let him go. He sulked off, and I shut the dormer window, locked it, and stacked a few books on the window sill in case he got any ideas. Then I sat down in the big orange chair and waited for Mom and Dad to get home.
I woke up with a breeze on my face.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I ran to the open window and looked out. “Jonnie!” I shouted, this time I didn’t care if I woke anybody else up. I checked the roof and didn’t see him. For a split second I teetered, hanging on to the window sill, wondering if I should check his bed, or if I should look for him lying dead on the ground.
I ran downstairs and out the front door, circling the house, gasping, ever moment sure I’d find my brother in a heap on the grass. I’d got all the way around and was just deciding I should have checked his bed when I happened to look up at the dormer window.
Jonnie was there, but he wasn’t standing on the roof. He was hovering over it. Hovering. Flying. He looked like he was trying to get back in through the window quick as he could.
But the moment I saw him, he fell.
It was like a string had been cut, and he tumbled to the roof and rolled down. I screamed and ran forward to catch him. His body slammed into my arms, and we crashed to the ground.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
#126 The League of Magical Nannies 2
read the first part
Di and I sat silent in the back of the car while Miz Liz drove us to ballet. In the front, Ree fired off question after question.
“So how come I’ve never heard of the League of Magical Nannies?”
“It’s a secret,” Miz Liz snapped, leaning on her horn as a cab cut us off. She turned her wheel slightly and we were somehow three lanes over and two spaces ahead. Di gasped and grabbed my hand, then gave me a huge grin.
I scowled back. This was serious! What else could this woman do?
“If it’s a secret, then how come you have a business card?” Ree said, as if she hadn’t noticed the car’s sudden change in position.
“Because,” Miz Liz said.
“Can you pop in and out of pictures? Because there’s this really weird abstract in the upstairs hall and I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like inside.”
“Let me drive, already, would you?” Miz Liz said.
The shock at finding out we had a witch for a nanny was beginning to wear off, and now my brain was working out whether this meant anything to our plans. We just needed someone we could handle, someone we could distract until Ree made enough on the stock market to buy us three plane tickets from New York to Dallas. Two days, Ree had said. Two days, and then all we had to do was ditch Miz Liz long enough to get to the airport. And then we could spend the summer with Grandma and Grandpa instead of stuck here in the city with a rotten nanny.
I didn’t see how Miz Liz’s ability to magically clean our apartment in two seconds would be any obstacle. In fact, we had something on her. If this was supposed to be a secret, she probably didn’t want us to tell Mom. And then even if Miz Liz found out a little bit of our secret plans, we could blackmail her into silence.
In the front, Ree was still pelting Miz Liz with questions. I very quietly opened my notebook and wrote, STICK TO THE PLAN, and passed it to Di. Di read it, gave me a nod, and then carefully passed the notebook up to Ree, between the seat and the car door, where Miz Liz couldn’t see it.
We were bumping our way up level after level in the parking garage next to the building where we had ballet lessons, and Miz Liz was too busy looking for a spot to notice we were passing a notebook around. Ree saw my note, passed the book back, and gave us a thumbs-up behind the seat.
Operation Cowgirl was still a go.
read the first part
Di and I sat silent in the back of the car while Miz Liz drove us to ballet. In the front, Ree fired off question after question.
“So how come I’ve never heard of the League of Magical Nannies?”
“It’s a secret,” Miz Liz snapped, leaning on her horn as a cab cut us off. She turned her wheel slightly and we were somehow three lanes over and two spaces ahead. Di gasped and grabbed my hand, then gave me a huge grin.
I scowled back. This was serious! What else could this woman do?
“If it’s a secret, then how come you have a business card?” Ree said, as if she hadn’t noticed the car’s sudden change in position.
“Because,” Miz Liz said.
“Can you pop in and out of pictures? Because there’s this really weird abstract in the upstairs hall and I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like inside.”
“Let me drive, already, would you?” Miz Liz said.
The shock at finding out we had a witch for a nanny was beginning to wear off, and now my brain was working out whether this meant anything to our plans. We just needed someone we could handle, someone we could distract until Ree made enough on the stock market to buy us three plane tickets from New York to Dallas. Two days, Ree had said. Two days, and then all we had to do was ditch Miz Liz long enough to get to the airport. And then we could spend the summer with Grandma and Grandpa instead of stuck here in the city with a rotten nanny.
I didn’t see how Miz Liz’s ability to magically clean our apartment in two seconds would be any obstacle. In fact, we had something on her. If this was supposed to be a secret, she probably didn’t want us to tell Mom. And then even if Miz Liz found out a little bit of our secret plans, we could blackmail her into silence.
In the front, Ree was still pelting Miz Liz with questions. I very quietly opened my notebook and wrote, STICK TO THE PLAN, and passed it to Di. Di read it, gave me a nod, and then carefully passed the notebook up to Ree, between the seat and the car door, where Miz Liz couldn’t see it.
We were bumping our way up level after level in the parking garage next to the building where we had ballet lessons, and Miz Liz was too busy looking for a spot to notice we were passing a notebook around. Ree saw my note, passed the book back, and gave us a thumbs-up behind the seat.
Operation Cowgirl was still a go.
read the first part
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
#123 Stagefright 2
“I’ve got an email about the show!” Mom shouted from the living room.
My brothers and I pounded down the stairs. I wanted to get a part in the play, but I didn’t want to want it too bad, because then if I didn’t I’d be sad. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t really care, but I tried hard to get a view of the screen as we crowded around Mom.
“I’m in,” Mom said.
“And me,”
“Dad too!”
“We’re all in the show! We all got parts!”
It was a good feeling.
I only got one line.
It was a short one too. I had it memorized in about thirty seconds. My brothers had more lines than me, my dad had a whole bunch of them, but I only had the one. None of us had a really big part, but mine was the smallest of all the small parts we had.
Even though I only had one line, I got to wear a costume, and go to lots of rehearsals. I got to walk around backstage in the dark, and try not to giggle with the other children while we were waiting to go on. And every night of the show I got to stand on the stage with everyone else, and my whole family too, while the audience clapped. During the show the audience always seemed so far away, distant and quiet, but each night when we ran on stage for curtain call at the end their applause rushed over us like a wave, and they were as close to us as the ocean was to the beach.
I’m not sure why I ever was afraid of them.
After the show was over, I got to help take apart the set and put away all the props, then sit on the dusty stage and eat pizza with the whole cast and crew, after midnight! Taking apart the set seemed like making a whole other world disappear, one we had all lived in together for a little while, but now it was gone never to come back.
But the feeling of belonging was still there. These were the people who could make a world out of a stage, and I was one of them, and someday, we were going to do it again.
My brothers and I pounded down the stairs. I wanted to get a part in the play, but I didn’t want to want it too bad, because then if I didn’t I’d be sad. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t really care, but I tried hard to get a view of the screen as we crowded around Mom.
“I’m in,” Mom said.
“And me,”
“Dad too!”
“We’re all in the show! We all got parts!”
It was a good feeling.
I only got one line.
It was a short one too. I had it memorized in about thirty seconds. My brothers had more lines than me, my dad had a whole bunch of them, but I only had the one. None of us had a really big part, but mine was the smallest of all the small parts we had.
Even though I only had one line, I got to wear a costume, and go to lots of rehearsals. I got to walk around backstage in the dark, and try not to giggle with the other children while we were waiting to go on. And every night of the show I got to stand on the stage with everyone else, and my whole family too, while the audience clapped. During the show the audience always seemed so far away, distant and quiet, but each night when we ran on stage for curtain call at the end their applause rushed over us like a wave, and they were as close to us as the ocean was to the beach.
I’m not sure why I ever was afraid of them.
After the show was over, I got to help take apart the set and put away all the props, then sit on the dusty stage and eat pizza with the whole cast and crew, after midnight! Taking apart the set seemed like making a whole other world disappear, one we had all lived in together for a little while, but now it was gone never to come back.
But the feeling of belonging was still there. These were the people who could make a world out of a stage, and I was one of them, and someday, we were going to do it again.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
#110 Country Gas Station
A handwritten sign stuck on the pump said, “CASH ONLY please pay inside.” The pump had a credit card slot, one so old the plastic was chipped and the keypad numbers were wearing off. I guess it was broken.
“Could I get twenty dollars on pump 2?” I asked the girl behind the counter. She jabbed at the cash register until it spat out a little white piece of paper.
“Here you go,” was all she said.
I hadn’t done that in years and years, gone inside to pay cash for gas. It threw me all the way back to when I was in high school, driving the big blue boat my dad had bought for his teenage driver, and I used to always put five dollars of gas in the tank on a Thursday to get her to the end of the week when Dad would fill it up the rest of the way. I remember trying to figure out some way to get the hood ornament off the car without Dad noticing. Couldn’t he tell that things like that mattered? There was not a single other vehicle in the entire high school parking lot with a hood ornament.
A scrawny red hen with a pack of fluffy chicks crossed my path as I walked back to the gas pump. It felt strange to just pop the gas cap cover, unscrew the cap, pick up the dispenser and start pumping. I was used to having to swipe my card. When I picked up the dispenser, gasoline spattered everywhere. Some hit my sandaled feet, and burned cold there while I fitted the end of the dispenser into the car. I squeezed the lever and the machine beside me set up a rattling whine. Every second or so a loud thump shook the hose, making it twitch like an angry snake. Alarmed, I raised my eyes to the underside of the canopy that covered the gas pumps. Dangerously rusted panels showed pipes with cracked paint visible underneath, like someone on the operating table with arteries exposed. It looked like the whole thing might fall down on top of me.
Was I going to die pumping gasoline at a tumble-down country gas station? Was the pump going to burst? Catch on fire?
A couple of women in a huge red pickup were pumping at the pump ahead of me. Their pump was thumping right along with mine, and they didn’t seem to care. Maybe they pumped gas at this station a couple times a week, and it hadn’t fallen down on them yet. While I watched the pump for any signs of spewing gas or mechanical failure, the digital numbers on the display ticked up steadily until they reached 19 dollars. Then the pump slowed and came to a final shuddering stop at $20.00.
Would you like a receipt? The digital letters ran across the little strip of screen over the keypad.
I pressed no.
The message continued to play, unresponsive, Would you like a receipt?
Grateful to have my gasoline, and that the pump hadn’t gone to pieces, I climbed back in my car and drove away.
“Could I get twenty dollars on pump 2?” I asked the girl behind the counter. She jabbed at the cash register until it spat out a little white piece of paper.
“Here you go,” was all she said.
I hadn’t done that in years and years, gone inside to pay cash for gas. It threw me all the way back to when I was in high school, driving the big blue boat my dad had bought for his teenage driver, and I used to always put five dollars of gas in the tank on a Thursday to get her to the end of the week when Dad would fill it up the rest of the way. I remember trying to figure out some way to get the hood ornament off the car without Dad noticing. Couldn’t he tell that things like that mattered? There was not a single other vehicle in the entire high school parking lot with a hood ornament.
A scrawny red hen with a pack of fluffy chicks crossed my path as I walked back to the gas pump. It felt strange to just pop the gas cap cover, unscrew the cap, pick up the dispenser and start pumping. I was used to having to swipe my card. When I picked up the dispenser, gasoline spattered everywhere. Some hit my sandaled feet, and burned cold there while I fitted the end of the dispenser into the car. I squeezed the lever and the machine beside me set up a rattling whine. Every second or so a loud thump shook the hose, making it twitch like an angry snake. Alarmed, I raised my eyes to the underside of the canopy that covered the gas pumps. Dangerously rusted panels showed pipes with cracked paint visible underneath, like someone on the operating table with arteries exposed. It looked like the whole thing might fall down on top of me.
Was I going to die pumping gasoline at a tumble-down country gas station? Was the pump going to burst? Catch on fire?
A couple of women in a huge red pickup were pumping at the pump ahead of me. Their pump was thumping right along with mine, and they didn’t seem to care. Maybe they pumped gas at this station a couple times a week, and it hadn’t fallen down on them yet. While I watched the pump for any signs of spewing gas or mechanical failure, the digital numbers on the display ticked up steadily until they reached 19 dollars. Then the pump slowed and came to a final shuddering stop at $20.00.
Would you like a receipt? The digital letters ran across the little strip of screen over the keypad.
I pressed no.
The message continued to play, unresponsive, Would you like a receipt?
Grateful to have my gasoline, and that the pump hadn’t gone to pieces, I climbed back in my car and drove away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)