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Falling down the rabbit hole, we write as we fall, not knowing where our words or ourselves will end up… Today’s Free Fall Friday pieces are four: two lighter, then two heavier.
prompt- I love you to death,
…and/or
a photo of a dog in a box
“How much is that doggie in the box?” My girlfriend—if you can call a lady of 31 years a girl, and I sure can—asked that as she was on my arm, and we were on the sidewalk, in front of the church.
“We don’t need a doggie,” I said.
Stella said, “Oh you! Yes we do; look, the colour matches our drapes.
“Geez,” I said hoping to distract her, “he looks a little cold. I wonder where he came from.”
“Schenectady!” Stella spit out. “Tommy dear, don’t you think she would lovely against your mother-in-law?”
“Yes, shedding fur!” Stella laughed. “Or yes” I continued, “jumping up on her and—” I stopped. After all, you can’t get too graphic with your girlfriend’s mother. But she saw me grin.
“Oh you” and she swatted me. She looked at the dog. “Ooh!” Some girls go aw, mine goes ooh. Again, “Ooh! … I know you’d make a good father. (meaning for the dog)
My face didn’t change a millimetre. Meanwhile the alarm was going Red Alert! Red Alert!
I nudged her arm, “Let’s go see if the parson is around; I’m sure he’s a dog lover.”
She said, “OK sweetums, I just love you to death!” And I walked like one doomed to go to the far side of the church: the graveyard was there.
…
Prompt- a messy house
I like a messy house, it matches my messy creative mind. I like to survey my domain and think, with great satisfaction, that is all my stuff. Some folks have no stuff, some folks have stuff but it is all at right angles and put away somewhere, but I have stuff cluttered out where I can see it. Hurray!
Some folks have an inner rebel that pops out sometimes, or an inner child that despairs: Do I have to tidy up again and forever and every dam day forever? For what? For who? What is the meaning of life?—it sure ain’t being without clutter.
I’m sure God loves my stuff—hey, the more stuff, the more stuff to bless when God looks over my house on pretty moonlit nights: God bless this home. And the blessed stuff.
…
prompt-every good story deserves embellishment
(Prompt)That’s what my uncle always said, back before the war. And now? I adopted an orphan from the war and I just can’t tell any stories. On the tube there are no frivolous game shows, no award shows: it’s mostly old comfort series these days. My orphan’s name is Kimmy. Age eight. Eyes grey, in grey sockets in a grey face. My own child would have been her age, before she was caught in a Strike. I was at the research quad, came home to ruins; kept showing up to work, but not functioning much. Now the war is over and I want to help Kimmy to function.
Sunday morning I found her going through the kitchen knife drawer. I halted, held my breath, as Kimmy seemed so intent. There were several knives on the counter that she had put out…. “No, not this one” she said to herself and put it on the counter. She held up another, for cutting steak, peering intently along the blade, and turning it to see both sides, then at where the handle meets the hilt, turning the handle around.
“No, not good enough.”
I breathed. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t startle at all. “This knife has a blob of glue showing right at the handle, on the blade.” I came over and looked down as Kimmy said, head down over the knife, “It’s not good enough. All the knives must be perfect.”
I put my arm over her far shoulder, then asked, “Why?”
“And the plates” she continued. And I saw a stack away on the counter. Had she been up in the middle of the morning? “One plate cracked. Two plates chipped. Six plates china. We can’t have plates that will break” she said seriously.
I knelt down. “What plates would you like?”
“Pyrellware. Everything must be good. Perfect.” Her eyes were so intent.
“Why?”
“Everything must be strong. Perfect.”
I hugged her. “We’ll get some pyrellware. For my perfect little princess.” Perhaps I always hugged too hard, but Kimmy never complained. I said, “We’re going out. Let’s put this stuff back.”
I think she was a little less solemn as she pulled a chair over and stood on it. I handed up the plates and Kimmy put them back. I lifted her down. “Guess what? We are going out to get new plates, and a cat.”
…
prompt-queen
It was a chilly glorious day. We walked along the blue canal, marvelling at how they had got the water running again, so swift, so clear. We went to Queen’s and played with stuff on the shelf, fumbled it, actually, and came away with two pyrell plates, one for her and one for me. Kimmy smiled a big broad smile to be the official carrier of the plates. I was smiling too, but my mouth didn’t get sore: I was learning to smile with Kimmy.
At last we turned down that little hollow by the Martian consulate and went into Alfredo’s animal place. No sooner had the doors swooshed back than Alfredo was right up to us. He looked down and up and said to us both, “What are we looking at today?” And my poor orphan looked as though her smile had whooshed away with the doors.
I put my arm on her shoulder but she didn’t warm up, of course. “Tell him, Kimmy.”
She said calmly, “We are here to get a cat.”
Alfredo smiled. “A kitten for you?”
“No. Uncle says we are getting a cat.”
I squeezed. “Sure, a nice cat.”
“Then come this way” and Alfredo led us to an entire wall of cats. Kimmy did not smile.
…
…
Sean Crawford
May 2021 Weather: For the first time this year we had a decent amount of rain: gentle, throughout Saturday and Sunday. We rejoice.
Landing with as bump as my peers laugh:‘Messiness is next to Godliness.’
Afterthought: The term “resilient child” was only coined because most children are not resilient.
