Jeremiah's School of Levitation
Upsy-Daisy!
Friday, May 05, 2006
Poetry Friday, Part III
The word to create on was "package." Thanks Gypsy. A fine choice.
And, here's what my brain said to say about that...
Package
"You can't send a package to Pluto, silly," said Millicent.
Roman kept his head up straight as he wrapped another long, noisy strand of scotch tape around the bundle of brown construction paper that he'd crumpled over the present he had for the Plutonians. The present was a baseball, signed, of course, by Roman Rushmore, famous Earth baseball player, someday.
"I'm not sending it. They're coming to get it," said Roman, over the stripping, harsh sound of tape pulling off its roller.
Millicent turned 11 yesterday and was officially believing in nothing. She made that proclaimation at her birthday party at the lake park. She made the proclaimation to her skinny mother who was already bulging at the middle with the third Rushmore little person, a boy, who they'd name Larson. Millicent said that she was declaring the Tooth Fairy D.O.A., Santa Claus a joke, the Easter Bunny a figment of her parents' imagination, and the Sugar Sprite, the little imp that took away all the Halloween candy, a big fat lie just made up so that her parents could take away all the Halloween candy, except for a handful. Millicent Rushmore was, as far as she could see, free of fantasy and ready to go forth unto the world of car crashes and tidal waves. She was all grown up, she said.
"That was my wish, you know," she said later on her birthday night, snuggled in between her parents, getting the birthday bedtime treatment. "When I blew out my candles, my wish was to finally be all grown up."
Her father had nodded and said, "Well, grown up isn't an age, little angel. Grown up is a place."
"Well, I'm at that place," said Millicent.
Her father had only chuckled and rubbed her dirty blonde hair, the same hair that, just 5 years later, would be green and orange, with glitter.
So, now, the grown up Millicent had to bring a horse-load of sense into her 6 year-old brother's head. Her little brother was wrapping a present to Pluto. He'd wrapped a present for her birthday. The present was a necklace from the silver shop, which mom had actually bought because Roman really didn't have any money at all. He'd wrapped the chain in a grocery store bag, but not a normal grocery store bag, but one from one of the fancy grocery stores where mom shopped. That store gave out white bags, and the carry-out people begged you to let them carry out your groceries. The package he made for her looked like something he'd pulled out of the trash, minus the smell of wet rats. This package to Pluto looked just about the same, but it smelled much better.
"And, what did you put on it? Why does it smell like that?" said Millicent.
"I put mommy's smelling sauce on it," said Roman.
"Her what?"
"Smelling. Sauce." He finished his last rotation of tape around the present. "Okay. Done!"
"Smelling sauce? Her perfume?" said Millicent. "You put her perfume on it? You are in such big trouble!"
Roman held his package out at the length of his short arms, and he smiled at it. "Nice!" he said. They were in the living room the high windows streaming sunlight through the blinds and painting pale yellow bands of daylight across their foreheads.
"I'm telling Mom," said Millicent.
"She won't do nothing," said Roman. "She loves me."
Millicent rolled her eyes. "There's no such thing as aliens. You are wasting your stupid time. And, what would aliens want with your stupid baseball. They don't even have baseball on Pluto. They don't have nothing on Pluto."
Roman pulled his package under his arm. "No, they don't have baseball. I'm going to invent it for them."
Millicent reached out suddenly, to try to grab the package. Roman swerved and dodged her. "No!" he said.
Millicent snatched again, and Roman dodged again. She gave up and walked away. "You're dumb," she said. "The dumbest little kid in the world." And, she walked down the hall to her room.
Roman looked at his package. He thought of his sister, how she was acting so different now, but, how she didn't look any different. She still wore the same berets in her hair, she still walked on her toes, she still sneezed and made a sound like a toy, and she still couldn't snatch anything from him. She wasn't so grown up.
He looked up at the high windows, at the sunbeam shafts stabbing through the still air in their living room, the pieces of stuff floating in the light. He'd once asked his father what those things were that floated in the sunlight that came through the window, those twisty little things that you just couldn't catch, and his father just called them "pieces of stuff."
But, he knew what they were. They were the aliens. And, he realized that aliens probably had birthdays, just like his big sister. And, they needed packages.
"Happy Birthday, Pluto," he said. He went outside and put his package under a tree, a tree that he believed was going to be the place where the Pluto People would come. All the little pieces of stuff will pile up into one big Pluto Person and they'd take the package.
Millicent watched him from her bedroom window, watched him place the package so gently into the shadow of the bush next to the house. She watched him step back and look at the package. She watched him look to the sky and say something, and then point to the package under the tree. Then, he disappeared around the side of the house, skipping in the sunlight.
"Stupid boy," she said. "Believes in aliens."
The next day, a Saturday, a cloudy day so gray that the roses in the garden began to look drained of color, Roman woke up and ran past the breakfast table. Millicent was already at the table, eating a bowl of frosted flakes. Roman went outside and checked under the bush. The package was gone. He ran back in and stopped right in front of Millicent.
"It's gone! It's gone! The aliens took it! I told you!"
Millicent shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, right."
"Come look! Come look!" he said.
"You're going to wake up mom and dad," she said.
"Come look!"
She got up and went outside with him. The package was definitely gone.
"Probably rolled away," she said, and went back in.
She sighed and walked down the hall to her room. She looked behind her to see if Roman had followed. He hadn't.
She crawled under her bed, the smell of her mother's perfume grabbing her. She pulled Roman's package to Pluto from under a pile of her dirty clothes. She smelled it and smiled a little.
Roman's not old enough to not believe, she thought to herself. He's just not old enough to not believe.
She felt herself wanting to cry. So, for just a small time, she went ahead and cried.
And, here's what my brain said to say about that...
Package
"You can't send a package to Pluto, silly," said Millicent.
Roman kept his head up straight as he wrapped another long, noisy strand of scotch tape around the bundle of brown construction paper that he'd crumpled over the present he had for the Plutonians. The present was a baseball, signed, of course, by Roman Rushmore, famous Earth baseball player, someday.
"I'm not sending it. They're coming to get it," said Roman, over the stripping, harsh sound of tape pulling off its roller.
Millicent turned 11 yesterday and was officially believing in nothing. She made that proclaimation at her birthday party at the lake park. She made the proclaimation to her skinny mother who was already bulging at the middle with the third Rushmore little person, a boy, who they'd name Larson. Millicent said that she was declaring the Tooth Fairy D.O.A., Santa Claus a joke, the Easter Bunny a figment of her parents' imagination, and the Sugar Sprite, the little imp that took away all the Halloween candy, a big fat lie just made up so that her parents could take away all the Halloween candy, except for a handful. Millicent Rushmore was, as far as she could see, free of fantasy and ready to go forth unto the world of car crashes and tidal waves. She was all grown up, she said.
"That was my wish, you know," she said later on her birthday night, snuggled in between her parents, getting the birthday bedtime treatment. "When I blew out my candles, my wish was to finally be all grown up."
Her father had nodded and said, "Well, grown up isn't an age, little angel. Grown up is a place."
"Well, I'm at that place," said Millicent.
Her father had only chuckled and rubbed her dirty blonde hair, the same hair that, just 5 years later, would be green and orange, with glitter.
So, now, the grown up Millicent had to bring a horse-load of sense into her 6 year-old brother's head. Her little brother was wrapping a present to Pluto. He'd wrapped a present for her birthday. The present was a necklace from the silver shop, which mom had actually bought because Roman really didn't have any money at all. He'd wrapped the chain in a grocery store bag, but not a normal grocery store bag, but one from one of the fancy grocery stores where mom shopped. That store gave out white bags, and the carry-out people begged you to let them carry out your groceries. The package he made for her looked like something he'd pulled out of the trash, minus the smell of wet rats. This package to Pluto looked just about the same, but it smelled much better.
"And, what did you put on it? Why does it smell like that?" said Millicent.
"I put mommy's smelling sauce on it," said Roman.
"Her what?"
"Smelling. Sauce." He finished his last rotation of tape around the present. "Okay. Done!"
"Smelling sauce? Her perfume?" said Millicent. "You put her perfume on it? You are in such big trouble!"
Roman held his package out at the length of his short arms, and he smiled at it. "Nice!" he said. They were in the living room the high windows streaming sunlight through the blinds and painting pale yellow bands of daylight across their foreheads.
"I'm telling Mom," said Millicent.
"She won't do nothing," said Roman. "She loves me."
Millicent rolled her eyes. "There's no such thing as aliens. You are wasting your stupid time. And, what would aliens want with your stupid baseball. They don't even have baseball on Pluto. They don't have nothing on Pluto."
Roman pulled his package under his arm. "No, they don't have baseball. I'm going to invent it for them."
Millicent reached out suddenly, to try to grab the package. Roman swerved and dodged her. "No!" he said.
Millicent snatched again, and Roman dodged again. She gave up and walked away. "You're dumb," she said. "The dumbest little kid in the world." And, she walked down the hall to her room.
Roman looked at his package. He thought of his sister, how she was acting so different now, but, how she didn't look any different. She still wore the same berets in her hair, she still walked on her toes, she still sneezed and made a sound like a toy, and she still couldn't snatch anything from him. She wasn't so grown up.
He looked up at the high windows, at the sunbeam shafts stabbing through the still air in their living room, the pieces of stuff floating in the light. He'd once asked his father what those things were that floated in the sunlight that came through the window, those twisty little things that you just couldn't catch, and his father just called them "pieces of stuff."
But, he knew what they were. They were the aliens. And, he realized that aliens probably had birthdays, just like his big sister. And, they needed packages.
"Happy Birthday, Pluto," he said. He went outside and put his package under a tree, a tree that he believed was going to be the place where the Pluto People would come. All the little pieces of stuff will pile up into one big Pluto Person and they'd take the package.
Millicent watched him from her bedroom window, watched him place the package so gently into the shadow of the bush next to the house. She watched him step back and look at the package. She watched him look to the sky and say something, and then point to the package under the tree. Then, he disappeared around the side of the house, skipping in the sunlight.
"Stupid boy," she said. "Believes in aliens."
The next day, a Saturday, a cloudy day so gray that the roses in the garden began to look drained of color, Roman woke up and ran past the breakfast table. Millicent was already at the table, eating a bowl of frosted flakes. Roman went outside and checked under the bush. The package was gone. He ran back in and stopped right in front of Millicent.
"It's gone! It's gone! The aliens took it! I told you!"
Millicent shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, right."
"Come look! Come look!" he said.
"You're going to wake up mom and dad," she said.
"Come look!"
She got up and went outside with him. The package was definitely gone.
"Probably rolled away," she said, and went back in.
She sighed and walked down the hall to her room. She looked behind her to see if Roman had followed. He hadn't.
She crawled under her bed, the smell of her mother's perfume grabbing her. She pulled Roman's package to Pluto from under a pile of her dirty clothes. She smelled it and smiled a little.
Roman's not old enough to not believe, she thought to herself. He's just not old enough to not believe.
She felt herself wanting to cry. So, for just a small time, she went ahead and cried.
Elliot, 12:41 AM
3 Back at me:
sweet. :)
OOOHHHH!!! This is so incredibly sweet! Fabulous, fabulous work! (I got teary, I rilly rilly did.) I love that the big sister felt so kindly toward the lil brother. Sigh....
My 6-year old daughter is into making 'presents'. I don't have the heart to throw them away. When she's out of college I plan to give her several trunks full of glued-together construction paper, paper balls stuck to paper towel tubes, straws and glitter in mysterious configurations, and crepe-paper flowers.
My 6-year old daughter is into making 'presents'. I don't have the heart to throw them away. When she's out of college I plan to give her several trunks full of glued-together construction paper, paper balls stuck to paper towel tubes, straws and glitter in mysterious configurations, and crepe-paper flowers.
Oh-my-gosh-! I'm sitting here blowing my nose with a kleenex. *sob* that was so unbelievably sweet. I have to go hug my little brother right now.
