The Fate of the Apple Cider

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Over at the house that morning bright yellow post-its had been stuck to everything in the house. On them was a picture of the object to which it had been stuck (or something similar to that object) with the Spanish word above it. Some post-its had the Arabic equivalent and phonetic pronunciation penned in above the Spanish. Carrie was preparing herself for two international tours.

Frances pulled out the math books shortly before Carrie, whom Rose had picked up from Elizabeth’s after work, returned home.

“Did you get to try some of that apple cider?” She asked Collette after she had set her things on the counter.

“No, Mom said it was all gone.”

“What?!”

Carrie’s eyes turned red.

“I accidentally poured it out,” said Frances.

(Collette wished, at that moment, that she had warned Frances in advance that this was a terrible thing to confess to at that moment.)

“What?!?!”

Fire flashed from Carrie’s eyes.

“That was my apple cider!”

“Oops,” Frances pretended to suddenly be very busy with his math.

“Frances, I can’t believe you did that! What were you thinking?!”

Unfortunately, Frances decided to explain himself.

“It was in that pitcher and I didn’t know what was in it. I asked Mom and she said that it was hot chocolate, so I tried some and it tasted sour. So I thought it was bad and I poured it out.”

If it was even possible, smoke came out of Carrie’s ears.

“Frances! How can you confuse apple cider for hot chocolate! I was looking forward to that all day!”

“I’m sorry,” Frances was trying not to laugh. “I’ll get you some more.”

“Yeah, Frances, you do that. You just do that. Go to Eckerts, pick me some apples, pay 28 dollars for them, bring them back, juice them, and make me some cider! Go ahead!”

“Apple season is over,” Collette said, before she caught herself.

“You just ruined my day, Frances!”

Frances’ face was red from trying to hold back his laughter. Carrie pounded into the dining room to the computer wearing one of the items from her bags – red zebra slippers.

Meanwhile, Rose was sitting on the counter looking over Carrie’s bags. She sniffed.

“Who bought Curious?”

“I did,” Carrie bellowed. “Don’t touch it.”

“But you used all mine.”

“What’s Curious?” Frances asked.

“It’s a lovely scent,” Rose explained – Harvard accent.

“It’s hot in here, Mom,” said Carrie.

“Sorry,” said Rose, fanning herself.

Mom gave Carrie a look.

Meanwhile, Joe had returned from class to open his package which had just arrived while Trooper barked at the UPS man and Frances and Linnea chased him around the yard.

“Hi, Puck!” Joe rocked him in his bouncy.

“I forbid you to use the name Caligula,” Carrie was saying from the other room.

“Why would you care?”

“Who’s Caligula?” Frances asked.

“He was a crazy emperor. He nominated his horse…”

“He was not crazy. He only nominated his horse to the Senate to prove that his horse was more competent than the senators.”

Linnea was making a sandwich of soap suds and sponges in the sink.

“Where’d all the hot chocolate go?” Rose asked.

“Gee, maybe Frances poured it out!” Said Carrie. “Hoodlum. Can’t you just spank him, Mom? I want to see some tears!”

“Hello, I’m a steam kettle and I’m fat,” Rose made the steam kettle talk from its spout.

Mom, ignoring most of these outbursts, prepared lunch with several bags of croissants and muffins from Columns.

“Who planted the pineapple outside?” Collette asked, looking out the window.

A green, slightly browned pineapple stalk was standing in the dirt underneath the persimmon tree.

“I did,” said Carrie from the computer. “It’s not working too great.”

“Hi, Fluffy,” Rose waved to Puck and picked up Snuggles.

She began to dance around the kitchen with him, singing:

“Oh, sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you!

Oh, sweet mystery of life, at last you’re mine!”

Puck giggled and grabbed at Joe’s eyebrows. Earlier, he screamed at his celery stick and pulled on poor Snuggles’ paws. Pumpkin sat under Puck’s kicking legs on a plastic bag and glowered.

Rose and Joe had been discussing ants earlier.

“You should see all the ants downstairs,” said Rose. “They’re platoons of them.”

“Yeah, they sent in about four or five platoons this morning.”

Back at home that evening, OLeif knocked Collette’s favorite plate off the couch where he had balanced it on the arm. It smashed to the floor.

“What was that?” OLeif exclaimed.

Collette sighed and continued what she was doing.