Category: To Be Young

“Grandma!” Martin said.  “Are you here to play with me?”

“Yes,” Grandma said.  “Your mom and dad are going to watch a movie, so we have all evening to spend together.”

“Yay!” Martin said.

Mom and Dad came in to the living room, all dressed up to go out.  Mom gave him a hug.  “You be good for Grandma,” she said.

“We got you pizza for dinner, it’s on the counter,” Dad said.

“I get pizza and Grandma?  This is the best day ever,” Martin said.

The grownups chuckled and gave more hugs and finally left.  “What do you want to do first?” Grandma asked.

“Eat pizza,” Martin said.

“Of course,” Grandma said.  “It wouldn’t be as good if it got cold.”  So they ate pizza.  It was the best kind, with sauce and cheese and nothing else, just like pizza should be.  And Grandma didn’t care if Martin didn’t eat the crusts.  Grandma was always nice like that.

“Grandma, look,” Martin said.  “It’s my new favorite book. I got it yesterday.”

“That is new.  It must be really good if it’s your favorite already,” Grandma said.

“Uh huh,” Martin said.  “Look at the pictures.”  He pointed to the robot on the cover with the glowing eyes.

“What is your favorite part?” Grandma asked.

“I don’t know.  I haven’t read it yet,” Martin said.

“So why is it your favorite?” Grandma asked.

“It’s about dinosaurs and robots.  And maybe robot dinosaurs.  I hope so.  Isn’t it great?”

“It is,” Grandma said.  “Would you like me to read you a chapter?”

“Today just keeps getting better and better,” Martin said.  “Is it my birthday?”

“Nope,” Grandma said.  “Just a good day.  Maybe your socks are lucky.”

“I don’t think so,” Martin said.  “They don’t match.  If they were lucky, they’d have been a match when I took them out of the drawer, right?”

“I don’t know,” Grandma said.  “Would you still like me to read to you?  We could play a game or watch a movie instead if you’d like.”

“Let’s read,” Martin said.  “I’ve decided I don’t like movies.  Did you know that movies aren’t like real life?  They’re just pretend.”

“That’s true,” Grandma said.

“Yeah,” Martin said.  He folded his arms and frowned.  “No one ever hits me in the face with a cream pie.  It isn’t fair.”

Grandma smiled.  “Then let’s read this story about maybe robot dinosaurs.”

“Yeah, cause dinosaurs and robots are real,” Martin said.  “Let’s sit on the couch so I can see all the pictures.”

“That’s a great idea,” Grandma said.  She sat down and patted the seat next to her.

Martin sat down and snuggled in next to his Grandma.  “Today is the best day ever,” he said.

Will looked up at the big pine tree in disgust. Its lowest branches were too high to reach, even if he managed to drag the ladder here. The other two trees in the yard were new spindly little things. If he tried to climb them, the branches would probably snap off. Besides, what was the point?   The ladder was taller.

Will stomped into the house. He fell back onto the couch and scowled. “What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

“Our trees are too tall or too short. I want to climb a tree and build a tree house and maybe look at a bird nest close up. Why don’t we have any just right trees?” Will said. He tried hard not to sound like he was whining, but he wasn’t entirely successful.

Dad smiled. “It’s not as bad as all that. You know what the obvious answer to your problem is, right?”

Will sat up. Of course.   He just needed to build a time machine.   It shouldn’t be too hard. “So I have permission then, right?” Will said.

“Certainly,” Dad said. “It’ll be fun. I’ll be right back.” Dad left the room.

Will jumped up. This was going to be great. He looked around the living room first. Hmmm.   He’d need a clock, obviously.   He pulled the fancy clock with the pendulum off the wall. It had the most parts, after all. He tucked it under his arm.

He looked around the kitchen next. The expensive blender went really fast. He wouldn’t want his trip to take too long. Even if he could arrive back just after he’d left, he didn’t want to sit around too long waiting for it to happen.

Now he needed a vehicle. Will went out to the garage. He considered the car. No, that was too complicated. He had no idea where to begin. Plus the parts looked heavy. He looked around. Dad’s bike was hanging up on some hooks on the wall. Perfect.

Will shoved some boxes out of the way and dropped the clock and blender on the floor with a clang and a clatter. He grinned and rushed to pull the bike off the wall. He propped it against the boxes.

He opened the toolbox on the workbench. Hmmm. He considered the hammer, but reluctantly set it aside. He didn’t want to damage any of the parts. He looked through the screwdrivers and wrenches. He wasn’t sure which ones he’d need. In the end, he decided to use his shirt as a basket and pile them all in.

Will dumped the tools in a pile next to the clock and blender. He looked down. There were black streaks on his shirt, the kind that never came out in the wash. That was too bad. He’d liked this shirt.   Well, sometimes things like that happened.

He turned the base of the blender over and was trying to figure out how to open it, when the garage door opened.   Dad stepped into the garage from the house and frowned. “Will, what are you doing? Is that the blender? And the clock? Why is my bike down?”

“You said I could. I want to climb the trees in our yard, remember? And you said the answer is obvious,” Will said. He set down the blender so that he could fold his arms and scowl. He shouldn’t be in trouble.   He had permission this time.

“But why would you need any of this to climb trees?” Dad asked.

“I need all of them for the time machine,” Will said.

“A time machine?” Dad walked over and picked up the clock. He turned it over in his hands and straightened the pendulum.

“Obviously,” Will said.

“I meant that you could go and climb the trees in the park. I was getting changed so that I could take you there,” Dad said. “Anytime you want to take something apart, you need to ask. You need to ask separately for each item you want to take apart.”

“Oh,” Will said. How disappointing. “So can I take the clock apart?”

“No,” Dad said.

“The blender?”

“No,” Dad said.

“Your bike?”

“No,” Dad said.

Will frowned. “What good was asking if you are just going to say no?” Will asked.

“Maybe it would be easier to ask what you can take apart,” Dad said.

“So what can I take apart?” Will asked.

“I’ll look around the house and see what I can find,” Dad said.

“Maybe you could do that later,” Will said. “Let’s go to the park first.”

Kyle frowned and patted the freshly overturned dirt. He straightened the large rock that was sitting just off to the side. He’d have to come out later with a permanent marker to write the date on it. He sighed and stood up, facing his family who were mostly waiting patiently. Andrew didn’t count, of course.   He was too little and didn’t understand.

Kyle put his hands behind his back and started to pace. Then he pulled out his notes. It had taken him hours to write this. Luckily he’d been able to find lots of examples to borrow from.   “Friends, family, and fellow citizens, we are gathered here together on this sad occasion…”

Natalie interrupted him. “But Kyle, it’s only family here. Are you trying to make this take longer?”

“Natalie,” Mom said. “Just let him finish.”

“As I was saying,” Kyle said. “We are gathered here together on this sad occasion to mourn the passing of our beloved friend and companion, George.”

“You named your violin?” Natalie asked. “That’s kind of weird Kyle.”

“Natalie,” Mom said.

“We could still do Dad’s idea. We can dig it up and set it on fire, like a Viking funeral. Then we could roast marshmallows and hot dogs,” Natalie said.

“Natalie,” Mom said.

“It’s not like Kyle doesn’t already have a new violin,” Natalie said.

“Natalie,” Mom said.

“Don’t listen to her, George,” Kyle said. “You were much better than the new violin. Its tone sounds off.”

“Why are you talking to your violin?” Andrew asked. “I thought it was dead.”

“The tone sounds off because you aren’t tuning it right,” Natalie said.

“Everybody just go away,” Kyle said. “Except Mom. She can stay.”

“Finally,” Natalie said. “It’s not like I wanted to be here in the first place.” She stalked off and slammed the door.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Dad said.

“Can I stay outside and play on the swings?” Andrew asked.

“What do you think, Kyle?” Mom asked.

“Fine,” Kyle said.

Andrew scampered away. He leapt on the swing, arms hanging down on one side and legs on the other. “Whee!” he yelled. The swing gently rocked back and forth.

Kyle looked down at the loose dirt and the rock beside it. “George was a good violin. He was my friend. He was always there when I needed him. I don’t want a new violin. I want George back.” Kyle wiped away a tear and blinked several times.

“I know, dear,” Mom said. “But he was too badly damaged. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it was his time to go.”

“I’m never going to forget him,” Kyle said. “Never ever. There will never be a violin as good as George.”

“Of course not,” Mom said. “Why don’t you finish the funeral? Maybe it will help.”

Kyle finished the funeral. Later he came out with a permanent marker and wrote on the big rock by George’s grave.   It was in a nice sunny spot at the end of the yard. Kyle came out often as the weather warmed up to talk to George and hum their favorite tune.

A few weeks after the funeral, Kyle noticed a tiny shoot coming up out of George’s grave. It grew and stretched out tiny leaves. “Mom, come see,” Kyle said. He dragged his mom out to the grave and pointed at the tall plant. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a little maple tree,” Mom said.

“George was made out of maple wood,” Kyle said.

“He was,” Mom said.

Just then, a breeze blew through the yard. The tiny leaves rattled in the wind. Faintly, Kyle could hear the sound of a violin. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?” Mom asked.

“I heard music,” Kyle said. The breeze blew again, and again Kyle heard a violin. “There it was again,” he said.

“Perhaps this little tree is somehow related to George,” Mom said.

“Are you George’s cousin?” Kyle asked the little tree. “Are you like George and you have music inside you that you want to share with the world?” The breeze blew and the music played. “Don’t worry little tree. I’ll keep practicing, and maybe someday you’ll grow up and become a violin like George. We’ll share our music with everyone.”

“Maggie, if you’re going to grow your hair out, you need to keep it brushed,” Mom said.

“It hurts when you brush it,” Maggie said. “I’ll brush it.”

“You’re only brushing the top layer of hair,” Mom said. She reached for the brush. “Let me do it. It’s all knotted up underneath.”

Maggie hugged the brush to her chest and turned sideways so that her shoulder shielded the brush. “No.   I can do it,” Maggie said.

“Maggie, if you don’t keep your hair neat and tidy, things will nest in it,” Mom said. She reached out again.

Maggie pulled her shoulder in closer and hunched over the brush.   “No. I can do it. Let me do it,” she said.

Mom dropped her hand and sighed. “If the knots get too tight, we may have to cut your hair.”

“It’s my hair and I want it long,” Maggie said. “I want princess hair.”

“Then let me brush it for you,” Mom said.

“No,” Maggie said.

“I’ll let you try for now, but I’m going to brush through your hair before your bath tonight. If you do a good job of brushing it now, there won’t be any knots for the brush to catch on later,” Mom said.

“Okay,” Maggie said. But she didn’t brush her hair.   She hid the hairbrush under her bed and went outside to play. She crawled under bushes and rolled somersaults across the grass. She stuck leaves and flowers into the knots of her hair and pretended to be a queen.

When it was time for dinner, she hid under the table and grabbed at her mom’s ankles when she walked past. She stuck her silverware into her hair. “Look, no hands,” she said.

“Please sit down and put your silverware at your place,” Mom said.   “It’s time to eat.”

“Use your fork,” her dad said. “Spaghetti isn’t finger food. Go get something to wipe your hands.”

“I’m fine,” Maggie said. She wiped her hands on her hair.

“Next time use a paper towel, Maggie,” Dad said.

After dinner, Maggie rolled herself into a blanket. “It’s time for a bath,” Mom said. “Where’s the brush?”

“I can’t talk now,” Maggie said. “I’m in a cocoon. I guess I’ll have to wait to take a bath until I’m ready to hatch out. Maybe next week.”

“Humans don’t need cocoons,” Mom said.

“Then I’m a burrito,” Maggie said. “Burritos don’t have hair.”

“Come on out,” Mom said. “I have an extra brush in the bathroom.” She grabbed the edge of the blanket and gently rolled Maggie out of the blanket.

“That’s cheating,” Maggie said. She stomped into the bathroom. She tried to close the door, but Mom caught it and held it open.

“Maggie, that’s enough,” she said. “I’ll get the brush and you can sit in front of the couch. I’ll brush your hair while you watch a show.”

“Forest Fairy Princess Bunnies?” Maggie asked.

“Sure,” Mom said.

Maggie sat in front of the couch and her mom started her favorite cartoon.   Her mom started to brush out her hair.   It hurt a little. “Ouch,” she said. “Mom, what kinds of things would nest in my hair if I didn’t brush it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mom said. “Birds, small animals, fairies, nightmares, poisonous mushrooms, that sort of thing.”

“That would be nice,” Maggie said. “Ouch. Stop brushing my hair. I want the fairies to live there.”

“They’d be awfully heavy. They’d want to move their furniture in too. You wouldn’t be able to lift your head up,” Mom said. She kept brushing. She sprayed something on Maggie’s hair and the brush slid through the hair a little easier.

“I wouldn’t mind. I’d keep the furniture and put it in my dollhouse,” Maggie said.

“The fairies wouldn’t want to live in the dollhouse,” Mom said. “They’d move all the furniture back out.”

“Where do they live now?” Maggie asked.

“Probably with the bunnies,” Mom said.

“Would the bunnies miss them if they left to live in my hair?” Maggie asked.

“I think so,” Mom said.

“Oh,” Maggie said. “Are you almost done?”

“Yes, almost,” Mom said.

“How almost?”

“Almost almost,” Mom said.

“It’s going to take a long time, isn’t it?” Maggie said.

“Yes,” Mom said. And it did.