Charles Darnay
07-14-2013, 12:09 PM
Some ideas of been flirting with. No complete ending I'm afraid....
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It was too late: he was already out the door, arms spread wide to the rain; a pool forming on his head, cradled by curled reeds. Distorted lights, fractured cars: the world disappeared until he removed his glasses and wiped them on the bit of shirt sticking out of his coat. He wondered why we have windshield wipers for our cars but not our glasses. A puddle freed itself from his boots and leapt up his leg. Splishsplishsplish: a soldier’s revenge for a fallen leg.
That was the day that the old woman vanished into the sky.
“That was just your imagination, Jeremy,” his mom said. He was leaving the Tim Horton’s on the corner of John and Centre. He held the door open for the old woman behind him, balancing his hot chocolate and bag with fruit explosion muffin in his left hand. She tanked him in her thick accent, leaning her head up slightly to meet his gaze. She had dark eyes, and two long wrinkles running down her cheeks. There was a noticeably bloody mark at the corner of her bottom lip. The woman saw that it was raining, unfolded her umbrella and was carried into the sky by a strong gust of wind. Jeremy was too slow to react: by the time he let go of the door and regained control of the hot chocolate, she was out of reach; her stubby legs and brown shoes swallowed by a hungry cloud.
“Then why did no one else see her?”
“Cause no one was around! It was raining.” He didn’t have time to look if anyone else was around. He let go of the door and ran, the hot chocolate splashing out of the flimsy black lid. Would the cloud eat him too? He didn’t stop running until he reached his house, half the hot chocolate trailing behind him.
“I don’t want to fight with you about this. Grab a towel before you flood the house.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Fine. I’m going to start dinner.” She stared at her dripping son as he struggled to pull off his boots. “I love you.”
“I’m not lying.” He always had a response: I love you too was never it.
That was the evening the rain started. Three days into the storm, one of the neighbourhood cats – a fat, off-white Siamese, with a black face and black paws – found a discarded Styrofoam box from a take-out restaurant. He did not mind that it contained the lingering remnants of the previous night’s pad thai dinner; he fashioned the box into a boat and sailed down the flooded street. Jeremy watched from his window as Plumpy set out on his watery adventure. Jeremy ran out the door barefoot and caught up with Plumpy, who was just a little perturbed by the waves that Jeremy stirred up.
“Let me go with you.” Plumpy lifted a paw and spread it across the box: there’s not enough room for us both.
“I’ll find my own boat!” Plumpy turned his head and paddled with his stubby paws in order to put some distance between himself and the troubled boy. Jeremy splashed his way home.
His mother followed the muddy footprints up the carpeted stairs and towards Jeremy’s room.
“Jeremy!” It was too much effort to go upstairs and confront him head on. “What did you do?” The door creaked open and the small head of curly hair poked out.
“I wanted to go with Plumpy,” he shouted back. The door closed and Catherine was left at the bottom of the stairs, listening to Taylor Swift billowing down.
The conversation was taken up again over dinner – quinoa and sliced hot dogs – while the news anchors in the next room quietly talked about the ongoing rain.
“I’m not angry. I just want to know why you ran outside without shoes.”
“I had to catch Plumpy,” he said with his mouth full.
“Plowy?” Jeremy swallowed.
“Plump-y!” When his mother showed no sign of recognition, he elaborated. “The big fat white one, with the small black tail.”
“Right, sorry. Plumpy. What was Plumpy doing?”
“Going on an adventure in his boat. I wanted to go with him but there wasn’t enough space in his boat, and besides, he didn’t want me to come.” Jeremy picked up a piece of hotdog and placed it into his drooping mouth. Catherine pressed the glass of cold water to her mouth. She wanted to say something comforting, something like: It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m sure Plumpy was just looking for shelter from the storm, and he is probably just jealous of you because you have a nice, warm house. She wanted to, but she couldn’t encourage his fantasies. Doctor’s orders.
__________________________________________________ _________________________
It was too late: he was already out the door, arms spread wide to the rain; a pool forming on his head, cradled by curled reeds. Distorted lights, fractured cars: the world disappeared until he removed his glasses and wiped them on the bit of shirt sticking out of his coat. He wondered why we have windshield wipers for our cars but not our glasses. A puddle freed itself from his boots and leapt up his leg. Splishsplishsplish: a soldier’s revenge for a fallen leg.
That was the day that the old woman vanished into the sky.
“That was just your imagination, Jeremy,” his mom said. He was leaving the Tim Horton’s on the corner of John and Centre. He held the door open for the old woman behind him, balancing his hot chocolate and bag with fruit explosion muffin in his left hand. She tanked him in her thick accent, leaning her head up slightly to meet his gaze. She had dark eyes, and two long wrinkles running down her cheeks. There was a noticeably bloody mark at the corner of her bottom lip. The woman saw that it was raining, unfolded her umbrella and was carried into the sky by a strong gust of wind. Jeremy was too slow to react: by the time he let go of the door and regained control of the hot chocolate, she was out of reach; her stubby legs and brown shoes swallowed by a hungry cloud.
“Then why did no one else see her?”
“Cause no one was around! It was raining.” He didn’t have time to look if anyone else was around. He let go of the door and ran, the hot chocolate splashing out of the flimsy black lid. Would the cloud eat him too? He didn’t stop running until he reached his house, half the hot chocolate trailing behind him.
“I don’t want to fight with you about this. Grab a towel before you flood the house.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Fine. I’m going to start dinner.” She stared at her dripping son as he struggled to pull off his boots. “I love you.”
“I’m not lying.” He always had a response: I love you too was never it.
That was the evening the rain started. Three days into the storm, one of the neighbourhood cats – a fat, off-white Siamese, with a black face and black paws – found a discarded Styrofoam box from a take-out restaurant. He did not mind that it contained the lingering remnants of the previous night’s pad thai dinner; he fashioned the box into a boat and sailed down the flooded street. Jeremy watched from his window as Plumpy set out on his watery adventure. Jeremy ran out the door barefoot and caught up with Plumpy, who was just a little perturbed by the waves that Jeremy stirred up.
“Let me go with you.” Plumpy lifted a paw and spread it across the box: there’s not enough room for us both.
“I’ll find my own boat!” Plumpy turned his head and paddled with his stubby paws in order to put some distance between himself and the troubled boy. Jeremy splashed his way home.
His mother followed the muddy footprints up the carpeted stairs and towards Jeremy’s room.
“Jeremy!” It was too much effort to go upstairs and confront him head on. “What did you do?” The door creaked open and the small head of curly hair poked out.
“I wanted to go with Plumpy,” he shouted back. The door closed and Catherine was left at the bottom of the stairs, listening to Taylor Swift billowing down.
The conversation was taken up again over dinner – quinoa and sliced hot dogs – while the news anchors in the next room quietly talked about the ongoing rain.
“I’m not angry. I just want to know why you ran outside without shoes.”
“I had to catch Plumpy,” he said with his mouth full.
“Plowy?” Jeremy swallowed.
“Plump-y!” When his mother showed no sign of recognition, he elaborated. “The big fat white one, with the small black tail.”
“Right, sorry. Plumpy. What was Plumpy doing?”
“Going on an adventure in his boat. I wanted to go with him but there wasn’t enough space in his boat, and besides, he didn’t want me to come.” Jeremy picked up a piece of hotdog and placed it into his drooping mouth. Catherine pressed the glass of cold water to her mouth. She wanted to say something comforting, something like: It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m sure Plumpy was just looking for shelter from the storm, and he is probably just jealous of you because you have a nice, warm house. She wanted to, but she couldn’t encourage his fantasies. Doctor’s orders.