AtomicCafe1
10-10-2010, 03:21 PM
The boy’s hand was in the air. He was flicking it back and forth at the wrist, like he was waving to someone over a wall. The mother had been looking at her paper plate on the picnic table, chewing her sandwich, and then she saw the boy waving his hand.
—Hunter. Hunter what are you doing?
—I’m making someone in China sneeze.
Down the hill, across the pond, across the valley, across all those trees, a building collapsed in the city. The waves of dust in the sky. A cloud passed over the sun, but it was a miniature cloud, a miniature cloud by itself, and
soon enough it was sunny again.
—What? You’re—what?
—I’m making someone sneeze. In China.
—Cut that out. Now where did you get an idea such as that? Cut it out!
The boy’s face was stuck, with no expression except one of a child who has a piece of candy in his mouth when he’s forbidden to. He looked at his mother, and then let his arm fall, and he looked down at his paper plate and picked up a piece of cheese that was there. The boy and his mother were under a tree. It was late afternoon and the sun was at a point where half the picnic table was in the shade and half in the sun. The mother’s side was in the shade and the boy was half in the shade, half in the sun. He kept moving his right shoulder, because it was getting warm from the sun, but he liked the sensation. Their picnic basket was in the middle of the table.
—Thank you, the mother said. Now, why would waving your hand make someone sneeze? And do you want some pear, Hunter?
She got out a pear from the picnic basket, along with a knife.
—Yes.
—Yes what?
—Yes I want some pear.
—No.
—No?
—No!
—But. I want some pear.
—What is the magic word, Hunter?
—Um. Please? I want some pear, please?
—Yes. Now say it with a little more affirmation.
—Affirmation?
—Yes. Affirmation.
—What’s. What’s affirmation?
—It means you say please like you know what you are saying. That’s an important lesson right there, Hunter. When your voice is weak and it doesn’t know what it wants, that really puts people off. Do you understand? But when your voice is confident and you say things like you know what you are saying, with affirmation, then people respect you for your strength.
—Yes I want some pear, please?
His voice went up at the end like a butterfly in the wind.
—No.
—Yes I want some pear, please.
—There you are.
The cloud of smoke above the faraway city looked like a swarm of hazy, tan locust. It went up and up and grew and grew across the sky. An explosion sounded. Another one shortly followed.
The boy raised his arm and began maneuvering his hand.
—What did I say Hunter?
—I said yes, please.
—Don’t you be a smart-alleck. I said cut that out, and when I say cut that out, I mean cut that out.
The boy let his arm fall down, again.
—Now would you like your pear without the skin?
—Yes. Please.
The mother set down the knife and pear and looked straight at the boy. She looked at him and he looked back at her with that look of there being candy in his mouth. She picked up the knife and pear.
—Hunter. Hunter, I’m trying to teach you manners. You need manners to function in a civilized society. You need manners to get a job, to get married, to be respected. You don’t have to give me an attitude about it, okay? I’m trying to help. Okay?
—Sorry.
—Just don’t be snotty to me. I just want you to know that I’m helping you, okay? Now. Would you like your pear without the skin?
—Yes, please.
—There. Better.
She put the pear on her paper plate and sliced the pear down the middle. Juice trickled off the blade and fell on the paper plate. Another skyscraper in the faraway city collapsed and left a cloud of smoke and dust billowing in its absence.
—So tell me about your new waving routine. Why does it make someone in China sneeze?
—‘S what Mr. Garrison said.
—He said that?
—The Butterfly Effect.
—Hm.
She cut the pear in half again and she began carving the skin off of the boy’s two slices.
—Tell me more.
—He said the flap of butterfly’s wing can affect the other side of the world.
Even though it’s really small. And that’s what I’m doing, I’m being a butterfly and flapping my wing.
—Hm. Sounds a little far-fetched to me.
—I think it’s cool.
—Well it’s good you think it’s cool, but it needs to stop. Now give me your plate Hunter—thank you. Here’s your pear.
—Thanks.
—You’re welcome.
Hunter looked off in the distance for a while, then without moving his head he took a bite of the pear. The mother stirred her drink with a straw. A breeze the size of a baby’s footprint pushed through where they were sitting, and she slightly shivered and drew her body closer to her. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip, pausing as she swallowed, and then took another sip. A fire was now taking form on the outskirts of the city. She sighed.
—You know, Hunter. Soon enough you’re going to have to eat your pears with the skins.
—Okay —he mouthed, still chewing his food.
—I’m serious. You can’t eat your pears without the skins forever.
The boy swallowed.
—But I like them that way.
—It’s just not reasonable Hunter. You can’t go peeling the skins off your pears when you’re forty years old. Maybe—maybe—and I’m just thinking aloud here, don’t get any ideas. Maybe when you have kids your age, you can peel the skins off for them—until they’re old enough—and then you can have pears without skins. But that’s the one time you can eat them. Because you have to stop soon. You can’t have them forever. It’s just not reasonable.
The boy picked up his last slice of pear and put it in his mouth, and began to chew. Some of the pear missed his mouth and landed on his chin.
—You’ve got a little something on your chin, honey. No, not there, just a little to the right. No, your other right. Here, let me just get it.
The mother took a napkin out of the picnic basket, a relic handed down from her grandmother, who’d driven into her the appreciation of a good picnic.
She reached over the table and wiped the pear off the boy’s chin. He made a face.
—I don’t like the skins.
—I know you don’t, honey. But you will learn to like them.
A plane appeared from the western sky, to the left of the lady and the boy, and it crept across the sky towards the city like a turtle holding its breath. It was big and black and it seemed to collapse the sky around it, like it were a black hole. Suddenly, Hunter raised his arm, began flicking his wrist.
—Hunter—
—Know what happens when I, after I make someone sneeze?
—No, I don’t. Hunter, cut it—
—This what happens. A man says “Gesamtheit.” And then the lady that sneezed says thank you.
—Hunter, I asked you to cut it out. Knock it off!
—And then they go on dates and to the movies and to real nice restaurants.
—Cut it out!
The plane flew over the city, and it opened up its belly and burped out a round of bombs, one of which landed right on the biggest skyscraper left, causing all of its hundreds of floors to mash into a heap of rubble. The boy’s wrist was working with more frivolity now.
—And then the two people fall in love and get married!
—Hunter!
—Get married! And then they have a baby! And you know what they name it, they name it Hunter and guess whose twin it is? It’s my twin. He’s my twin!
The mother stood up with what the table allowed her to, her knees hitting the picnic table and she lurched to catch the boy’s arm. Only she missed and she bumped the table. Her glass spilled all over her front side. All over her flower print dress. She shrieked. The black plane disappeared into the eastern sky, like the ocean swallowing up a diver, and Hunter lowered his arm with his eyes wide and looked at his mother.
—Hunter! Hunter, look what you made me do! Uhhhh! Give me some paper towels, right now. Right now! Uhhhh!
The mother threw her hands up in the air, and Hunter scrambled to get paper towels out of the picnic basket. For a second, no more, he thought about reminding her that she’d forgotten the magic word. But he didn’t and he gave the paper towels to her and she padded the wet spot on her dress. Hunter watched her—he was shaking—and his thoughts turned to how he was going to stop making people sneeze, and about how he was going to start eating the skins on his pears. Maybe Mother will be happy with me then, he thought.
—Look at this stain, Hunter. Look at it. Look at the stain.
—I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
The fire had crept inward on the city, and slowly it was growing. Its smoke was black. It grew. It would advance on a building, and the building what crackle and sizzle, trying its best not to burst into flames. For a few minutes it would crackle and sizzle, nothing remotely appearing to burn, but it would relinquish, and when it did, the building would go up in flames and the flames would hop to the next building. Soon enough the fire would engulf the entire city.
—Hunter. Hunter what are you doing?
—I’m making someone in China sneeze.
Down the hill, across the pond, across the valley, across all those trees, a building collapsed in the city. The waves of dust in the sky. A cloud passed over the sun, but it was a miniature cloud, a miniature cloud by itself, and
soon enough it was sunny again.
—What? You’re—what?
—I’m making someone sneeze. In China.
—Cut that out. Now where did you get an idea such as that? Cut it out!
The boy’s face was stuck, with no expression except one of a child who has a piece of candy in his mouth when he’s forbidden to. He looked at his mother, and then let his arm fall, and he looked down at his paper plate and picked up a piece of cheese that was there. The boy and his mother were under a tree. It was late afternoon and the sun was at a point where half the picnic table was in the shade and half in the sun. The mother’s side was in the shade and the boy was half in the shade, half in the sun. He kept moving his right shoulder, because it was getting warm from the sun, but he liked the sensation. Their picnic basket was in the middle of the table.
—Thank you, the mother said. Now, why would waving your hand make someone sneeze? And do you want some pear, Hunter?
She got out a pear from the picnic basket, along with a knife.
—Yes.
—Yes what?
—Yes I want some pear.
—No.
—No?
—No!
—But. I want some pear.
—What is the magic word, Hunter?
—Um. Please? I want some pear, please?
—Yes. Now say it with a little more affirmation.
—Affirmation?
—Yes. Affirmation.
—What’s. What’s affirmation?
—It means you say please like you know what you are saying. That’s an important lesson right there, Hunter. When your voice is weak and it doesn’t know what it wants, that really puts people off. Do you understand? But when your voice is confident and you say things like you know what you are saying, with affirmation, then people respect you for your strength.
—Yes I want some pear, please?
His voice went up at the end like a butterfly in the wind.
—No.
—Yes I want some pear, please.
—There you are.
The cloud of smoke above the faraway city looked like a swarm of hazy, tan locust. It went up and up and grew and grew across the sky. An explosion sounded. Another one shortly followed.
The boy raised his arm and began maneuvering his hand.
—What did I say Hunter?
—I said yes, please.
—Don’t you be a smart-alleck. I said cut that out, and when I say cut that out, I mean cut that out.
The boy let his arm fall down, again.
—Now would you like your pear without the skin?
—Yes. Please.
The mother set down the knife and pear and looked straight at the boy. She looked at him and he looked back at her with that look of there being candy in his mouth. She picked up the knife and pear.
—Hunter. Hunter, I’m trying to teach you manners. You need manners to function in a civilized society. You need manners to get a job, to get married, to be respected. You don’t have to give me an attitude about it, okay? I’m trying to help. Okay?
—Sorry.
—Just don’t be snotty to me. I just want you to know that I’m helping you, okay? Now. Would you like your pear without the skin?
—Yes, please.
—There. Better.
She put the pear on her paper plate and sliced the pear down the middle. Juice trickled off the blade and fell on the paper plate. Another skyscraper in the faraway city collapsed and left a cloud of smoke and dust billowing in its absence.
—So tell me about your new waving routine. Why does it make someone in China sneeze?
—‘S what Mr. Garrison said.
—He said that?
—The Butterfly Effect.
—Hm.
She cut the pear in half again and she began carving the skin off of the boy’s two slices.
—Tell me more.
—He said the flap of butterfly’s wing can affect the other side of the world.
Even though it’s really small. And that’s what I’m doing, I’m being a butterfly and flapping my wing.
—Hm. Sounds a little far-fetched to me.
—I think it’s cool.
—Well it’s good you think it’s cool, but it needs to stop. Now give me your plate Hunter—thank you. Here’s your pear.
—Thanks.
—You’re welcome.
Hunter looked off in the distance for a while, then without moving his head he took a bite of the pear. The mother stirred her drink with a straw. A breeze the size of a baby’s footprint pushed through where they were sitting, and she slightly shivered and drew her body closer to her. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip, pausing as she swallowed, and then took another sip. A fire was now taking form on the outskirts of the city. She sighed.
—You know, Hunter. Soon enough you’re going to have to eat your pears with the skins.
—Okay —he mouthed, still chewing his food.
—I’m serious. You can’t eat your pears without the skins forever.
The boy swallowed.
—But I like them that way.
—It’s just not reasonable Hunter. You can’t go peeling the skins off your pears when you’re forty years old. Maybe—maybe—and I’m just thinking aloud here, don’t get any ideas. Maybe when you have kids your age, you can peel the skins off for them—until they’re old enough—and then you can have pears without skins. But that’s the one time you can eat them. Because you have to stop soon. You can’t have them forever. It’s just not reasonable.
The boy picked up his last slice of pear and put it in his mouth, and began to chew. Some of the pear missed his mouth and landed on his chin.
—You’ve got a little something on your chin, honey. No, not there, just a little to the right. No, your other right. Here, let me just get it.
The mother took a napkin out of the picnic basket, a relic handed down from her grandmother, who’d driven into her the appreciation of a good picnic.
She reached over the table and wiped the pear off the boy’s chin. He made a face.
—I don’t like the skins.
—I know you don’t, honey. But you will learn to like them.
A plane appeared from the western sky, to the left of the lady and the boy, and it crept across the sky towards the city like a turtle holding its breath. It was big and black and it seemed to collapse the sky around it, like it were a black hole. Suddenly, Hunter raised his arm, began flicking his wrist.
—Hunter—
—Know what happens when I, after I make someone sneeze?
—No, I don’t. Hunter, cut it—
—This what happens. A man says “Gesamtheit.” And then the lady that sneezed says thank you.
—Hunter, I asked you to cut it out. Knock it off!
—And then they go on dates and to the movies and to real nice restaurants.
—Cut it out!
The plane flew over the city, and it opened up its belly and burped out a round of bombs, one of which landed right on the biggest skyscraper left, causing all of its hundreds of floors to mash into a heap of rubble. The boy’s wrist was working with more frivolity now.
—And then the two people fall in love and get married!
—Hunter!
—Get married! And then they have a baby! And you know what they name it, they name it Hunter and guess whose twin it is? It’s my twin. He’s my twin!
The mother stood up with what the table allowed her to, her knees hitting the picnic table and she lurched to catch the boy’s arm. Only she missed and she bumped the table. Her glass spilled all over her front side. All over her flower print dress. She shrieked. The black plane disappeared into the eastern sky, like the ocean swallowing up a diver, and Hunter lowered his arm with his eyes wide and looked at his mother.
—Hunter! Hunter, look what you made me do! Uhhhh! Give me some paper towels, right now. Right now! Uhhhh!
The mother threw her hands up in the air, and Hunter scrambled to get paper towels out of the picnic basket. For a second, no more, he thought about reminding her that she’d forgotten the magic word. But he didn’t and he gave the paper towels to her and she padded the wet spot on her dress. Hunter watched her—he was shaking—and his thoughts turned to how he was going to stop making people sneeze, and about how he was going to start eating the skins on his pears. Maybe Mother will be happy with me then, he thought.
—Look at this stain, Hunter. Look at it. Look at the stain.
—I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
The fire had crept inward on the city, and slowly it was growing. Its smoke was black. It grew. It would advance on a building, and the building what crackle and sizzle, trying its best not to burst into flames. For a few minutes it would crackle and sizzle, nothing remotely appearing to burn, but it would relinquish, and when it did, the building would go up in flames and the flames would hop to the next building. Soon enough the fire would engulf the entire city.