Chapter Ninety-Seven

My son walked out of a 1950’s picture book this morning. His Doctor Who bath robe tie almost dragged the floor as he entered our room, rubberband gun in hand, ready for breakfast. [And, yes, I realize Doctor Who did not exist in the 1950’s.]

“Watch me hit that with a rubberband,” Puck told me at the table. “And then you’ll lose,” he added with a grin.

“Lose what?”

“The bet that you don’t know about.”

While I snipped myself some shorter side-swept bangs in the bathroom mirror, Puck changed in his room. He had inspirational thoughts of the morning…

“I heard that ladies wear bare feet when they have long wedding dresses. Is that true, Mom?”

“Well, I guess some ladies do…”

He switched gears on me before I could fully process the meaning of the first question…

“Boys don’t like girls, Mom.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Except they like to go on dates and stuff. They only like girls when they’re bigger.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah… I think Francis is in my league. I don’t think he likes sissy that much. Did you know that, Mom? He doesn’t like sissies.”

“Um…”

Does this really happen in Kindergarten?

“Mom? Can I name my cat Chainsaw?”

That one was at least explainable.

After Puck stuffed about three small chocolate donuts at church – I try – he was all ready for a rubberband war with Francis back at the house. We were waiting around for Joe and Jaya to get back from visiting the old choir church, where they joined us for burgers, which almost burned on the grill, family recipe potato casserole, and Edy’s ice cream. We lunched on the picnic tables in the increasing heat of the afternoon as some burgeoning puffy whites floated in. Joe and Jaya didn’t stay more than an hour. Their social calendars were always popping. This time it was a wedding and reception at the Columns Banquet Center.

“You should have heard Puck earlier,” Carrie told me. “I was pointing out all the contour lines to him in the sky, and I asked him where he thought they all came from. And he told me, ‘Sun… They just had gas. Wait. Never mind. Sun, just don’t ask those questions.’”

Conversation during dessert in the living room was enlightening…

“You’ll be just like a Triffid, following the ice cream truck.”

“Wait. The Triffids ate ice cream?”

“No, no.” Rose, who is expert on all things Triffid, cut in. “They were attracted to sounds so they followed the ice cream trucks to the electric fence and they set them on fire.”

“You look like a gumpy fish that just ran into a wall, Francis,” Carrie told him for reasons I can’t remember.

“What’s a gumpy fish?”

“Look in the mirror.”

“Must be a pretty fine catch,” Francis grinned stupidly.

“Ug, this scratch,” Rose pointed to her face, revealing the recent effects of a fist fight with Stinkerbelle. “And then she jumped on my jaw this morning. And I got hit in the back with a frisbee by some Swiss person…”

Sometimes these conversations just happen. We continued these sorts of things at Klondike Park in Augusta, where just about everyone partook in climbing the jungle gym apparatus. It wasn’t for long, but enough to clown around for awhile. We chatted a little about the insanity of North Korea on the way back.

Dad tackled Francis in a wrestling match in the living room. Ten seconds later Francis was wrapped around Dad’s shoulders.

“What happened?” he laughed.

Clouds were forming. Storms were coming. We watched skies as Theodore and Gloria dropped by for a little while. Carrie checked hail predictions. Five percent chance after nine o’clock, which for hail is pretty good. But we had to finally split ways, shortly after the Cards finished their blow-out against the Giants, to return to a house with a refrigerator that seemed to be slowly dying. So long, cheese. So long, milk. So long, reserve Simply Apple apple juice… I wouldn’t be making strawberry bread this week. What do you do with a fridge full of food that just didn’t stay cold enough? What makes up for that is a squishy tike all tucked down for the night in a fuzzy blanket who calls me over…

“Come cuddle with me, Mom.”

Of course I did.

“And I will never let you go!”

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Jamie Larson
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