Ch. 177; Vol. 10
Our little toothpick-legged-bug-loving Rose was no longer toothpick-legged-bug-loving Rose. Not all these long years later. Now she was 23 and chasing after rich doctors. Well. Let’s just let that comparison fly for now. It sounds better.
Puck peddles ideas.
The Science Center.
A few pennies down the funnel.
Big beautiful yellow bruise on the back of my left calf; don’t know how. Random fact.
Hands deep in orange sand, fish vertebrae, dinosaur femurs, brushing them into piles. Adam Wainwright’s younger brother tweaked robot arms of the T-Rex on the other side of the glass. Every kid received Puck’s sell speech…
“You could build a fortress like I’m doing. Or you could brush it clean. Like this.”
Sometimes, no response. He looked at me and shrugged, like it didn’t really bother him. Then he’d try again with another client…
“You could build a fortress like I’m doing. Or you could brush it clean. Like this.”
And receive the desired result – conversation…
“I wish this was a real beach,” Puck would say.
“Yeah!” said the other boy. “A real beach!”
“Yeah! Like at THE OCEAN!”
“Or at a LAKE!”
And so forth…
It’s a shame, really, that good things come to an end. Naturally. I had just congratulated Puck for behaving so well that morning, the things moms usually try to look for in their children to encourage them in their journey of life.
“Let’s go to the gift shop now, Puck. We need to get Rose some rock candy for her birthday.”
I had also promised him a package of astronaut ice cream several months ago. But…
After Puck asked for just about everything in there – after being warned not to of course – I informed him that we would be leaving early. So when, as a result, Puck decided to throw the worst hissy fit he’s thrown since he was two, we left. The thing about Puck’s hissy fits is that they’ve only publicly happened about three or four times in his young lifetime. Maybe less. So I’m never actually sure in what form they’ll arrive. Today it was yelling – “I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY!” – broken record player – until we arrived at the car. So the whole episode was disgraceful enough that I decided we would take a break, a very long break, from events in the city.
So that was the end of that.
Yes, he recovered. And, yes, his apologies eventually actually meant something. By one o’clock he was eating peanut butter at Rose’s kitchen table. No Science Center. No Andy Griffith. No chocolate with chocolate chip astronaut ice cream. No complaints, no protests.
Then of course he spilled an entire glass of water all over the table and floor… because he’s a boy…
Sun cracked into the afternoon.
I had hoped storms would grace the radar, after yesterday’s non-happenings. A nice way to celebrate Rose’s birthday. Mom rang me up, talking about the girls taking Rose out to dinner, because everyone else was busy or out of town. The storm was hitting the front porch as she spoke. A few minutes later, I could hear the thunder.
While this was happening, Puck ran the robot bug in a flat dish, inventing a game…
“I’m going to ask you some questions about Moses, Mom. I shall ask you. If you get it, I will just put the bug right back in here and if I ask the question then I will get the… I mean you get the question and then I will put the bug back… Now let the music start and let the game begin!”
His questions ranged in double-choice format…
“Did Moses… eat a piece of cake?… or did he save the slaves in Egypt?”
“Did Moses… read Garfield?… or did he LET MY PEOPLE GO?”
“Did Moses… play UNO?… or did he take his people out of slavery?”
Rose wanted dinner at a French cafe in Creve Coeur, which – considering Puck’s… “sketchy”… day, didn’t sound like an awesome place for a new first grader – so The Bear took him home for some counseling [Chick-Fil-A and Redwall; he really is a great dad] while I hitched a rollercoaster ride with Joe to La Bonne Bouchée.
While my siblings stumbled over the French pronunciation of menu items, I went with a safe turkey and havarti sandwich smeared with almond pesto mayonnaise [not as safe, but good]. Mom wanted us to pick something from the bakery – lumpy cocoa truffle for me, three macaroons for The Bear in Peanut, Passion Fruit, and Rosewater…
“Hipster,” Carrie taunted.
And while Joe and Rose partied it up with the newly returned honeymooners from Canada, and Jaya, I joined Mom and Carrie for a candlelit viewing of the eerie “Gaslight” back at The Big House. Good film.
