The Goodie Bag
by
Martin
Nygaard and
Julie Maine
Oslo Thursday, June 07, 2001
It was five minutes
to four o’clock in the afternoon. In the cool air circulating around the
refrigerated case in the Jumbo supermarket the meats were jostling about for
prime space. After all, every piece of meat had high hopes of being selected
for someone’s dinner that evening. It was getting nearer and nearer to closing
time and those meats crowded into the back or hidden under other cuts of meat
knew they had little chance of being served upon someone’s dinner plate. No
self respecting piece of meat would wish to sit in the freezer case after
closing time until it was no longer fresh and tasty. A piece of meat past its
prime might be thrown to a stray dog passing by the back of the supermarket.
Worse yet it might be thrown into the huge dumpster where it would be
surrounded by plastic wrappers, soggy cardboard boxes and rotting vegetables –
not an entirely respectable way to leave the supermarket at all.
The rump steak lay regally on a
Styrofoam tray. “Stay away, stay away, you’re crowding me. Let the customers
see me properly,” it sniffed in a high nasal whine. “The customers don’t want a
heavy old thing like you, you old fool,” retorted the rib steak. “Stop
quarrelling!” the tenderloin ordered as he shifted himself to make room for the
rump steak. “There’s room enough for everyone here.” “Hah!” bellowed the beef
with his bull’s voice. “Yer all just a’ wastin’ your time! Customers who know
good meat always buy beef.” In the midst of all this sat the overweight ham
calmly ignoring the melee around him. “Just go on with your silly quarrelling.
Nothing is as good as a fat juicy ham like me with a little mustard on the
side.” In the corner lay the entrecote, silent and beautiful. “Whatever am I
doing in this vulgar society?” she sniffed as she turned her back on the
others. “There really should be a separate case for culinary delights such as myself.
Being forced to sit here with all this common meat is an absolute disgrace!”
Of all the meats in the meat case,
there was only one who completely refused to join in the quarrel, namely James
the Chop. He figured he would take his chances, like the rest, and hopefully,
if the fates were on his side, he would end up riding out of the supermarket in
a shiny metal cart, tucked down into someone’s brown paper shopping bag. Not
being satisfied to simply sit and wait, he thought no harm could come from putting
his energies toward improving his chances. Certainly that was far more
purposeful than sitting and bickering senselessly about position and customer
preferences.
James the Chop had a talent he
intended to put to use. He could play the guitar and sing. Of course no
customer could actually see James doing this although Mons the butcher in his
blue and white striped apron had caught James a time or two strumming soft
melodies after dark when the lights in the supermarket were low. Mons would be
cleaning up his long butcher counter and his ears would perk up to strange
sounds of singing. He had peeked through to the store aisles more than once to
see James crooning soft songs, accompanied by his melodious guitar, to the
other cuts of meat.
Now James propped his trusty guitar
upon his knee and began singing and playing with unbridled gusto:
“I’m a chop, I’m fat
You all know that.
Take a bite and I might
Satisfy your appetite!’
Ms. Olson, frenzied and rushed, came
careening around the pasta aisle with a cart loaded down with cans rattling and
rumbling amidst an assortment of baby food jars, snack boxes and soda bottles.
She nearly collided with Ms. Smith who had stopped to listen to what she
assumed to be a commercial playing over the store loudspeaker. “Oh, now what am
I going to cook for dinner tonight? Let’s see, Jeffrey goes to soccer practice
at five and then James will be back from the youth club at seven and Tina… now
what time does Tina’s ballet class end…?
“Hello Ms. Olson,” boomed Mons
jovially. “How about some nice ground beef for your dinner this evening?” It is
quite lean and very good…” “As if I have time to be cooking fancy gourmet
meals,” Ms. Olson sniffed ungraciously. “Just give me a package of hot dogs.
I’ll be lucky if I have time to cook those.” Snatching the package of hot dogs
out of the display case she hurled them into her cart and barged down the
aisle.
James wasn’t sorry he hadn’t been
sold to Mrs. Olson. He did want to be sold, but could hardly imagine the fat
grubby fingers of the Olson children snatching him off their plates and
stuffing him into their gaping mouths. He could not bear the thought of being
ground mindlessly between their brutish teeth while they sat mesmerized before
the television set not noticing his delicious flavor at all. He did not want to
sit in Tina’s pockets throughout the meal either, only to ride down the
swirling toilet after Mr. And Mrs. Olson had finished praising Tina for being
such a good little eater. He knew the false ways of awful little girls like
Tina who had developed clever schemes to trick her parents into thinking she
was much nicer and sweeter than she actually was. No, all things considered, he
was content to wait for the next customer. In truth he was watching this Mrs.
Smith quite closely. She seemed to be a likely prospect.
“… And what can I do for you Mrs.
Smith,” the butcher asked. “Hello Mons, I have invited some dinner guests
tonight and we will be having bananas for dessert. Can you recommend something
for the main dish?” Mons thought for a moment and scratched his chin. “Hmmm…
something that would complement the tropical flavor of bananas… How about the
neck of pork? It is very tasty. Give it a try. I think it will be just the
thing.” “Why thank you Mons, that sounds lovely. By the way, that is a very
effective commercial you’ve got playing in the store this evening. It almost
gives me a taste for pork chops.” Mons just smiled and when Mrs. Smith had
pushed her cart out of sight he gave James the Chop a sly wink.
James was sorry Mrs. Smith hadn’t
chosen him but his spirits were still high. He kept on playing and singing as
if nothing had happened. In the meantime Mons recommended the liver to Mrs.
Hull and boasted that the rump steak practically melted in the mouth when Ms.
Simpson asked for advice. Mons even recommended the entrecote that lay self
importantly with its back to the others to a gentleman who had come in looking
for something he might cook that would impress a new girlfriend.
“I am definitely what he needs,” smirked the entrecote haughtily.
“I’m so fine that my name doesn’t even exist in English. I am exactly right for
this gentleman and his young lady. Entrecote is French and you know what they
say about the French when it comes to romance… Oooh La La, if you know what I
mean. She won’t be able to resist him with something as elegant as me on the
table. You just sit there with your stupid guitar James. You’ll find out it is
delicacies like me people choose when they want to impress an important guest.”
“Bah, you aren’t any bit better than
the rest of us.” James said jealously. But as he looked at the entrecote with
her marbled shanks he felt a nervous pang. With all the other nice cuts of meat
in the freezer perhaps no shopper would be interested in a rather ordinary pork
chop. True, the entrecote was finer and better. Then with an air of firm
deliberation James struck another note on his guitar and sang:
Fancy is Schmancy
And entrecote’s great
If you’re wanting something
To look chic on your plate
But if you want hearty
And if you want sweet
A Chop is most definitely
Your kind of meat!
As the next hour went by there were
fewer and fewer pieces of meat for James to play for. The tenderloin had gone
home with a lady wearing a flowered hat. The middle rib steak and the rump
steak had joined the shopping cart belonging to a woman preparing for a visit
from relatives. Even the beef and ham had found someone to take them – the beef
went with a man dressed in cowboy boots and a jacket with leather fringe, the
ham with a man just as placid and plump as the ham itself. Soon only James was
left in the freezer. There had been several times when he though someone might
buy him, but it had all been only wishful thinking. Now he sat forlorn and
rejected and strummed a sad melody:
I may be a Chop
But I’m not all that bad
I begged you to try me
I wish that you had
Now I’m all alone
It’s the dumpster for me
I am the saddest
Chop you’ll ever see.
Mons took a look at his wristwatch
and sighed. He untied his blue and white striped apron and hung it on a peg. At
the sink he washed his knife and his big hands while humming happily to
himself. “Well, well, its closing time again. Let’s close up the shop, my sweet
little chop,” he said to James.
James was devastated. He threw his
guitar against the freezer wall and shouted to Mons, “Why oh why would no one
choose me? Aren’t I the funniest, happiest little chop in the world? I would
have made someone a very nice dinner. But now there’s nothing left for me but a
dreadful end in the dumpster.”
Mons bent down and lifted James from
the freezer case. “You silly little chop, I’m a butcher who knows his meat. I
always save the best for myself. It isn’t often that a fine chop like you sits
in my meat freezer you know. Now grab that guitar of yours and get ready. You
will be going home with me, my juicy little chop.”
In Mons’ car that evening a happy
music played. The music didn’t come from the radio though. It came from a brown
paper bag resting on the back seat. Inside the bag a very happy pork chop
played his guitar and sang:
I am so happy
I could just fry
I’m going to be dinner
For a marvelous guy.
When he cooks me
I’ll sing and play
My aroma will take
His breath away
And he will find
With each bite he takes
That I’m tastier even
Than cookies or cakes.
Tastier even
Than cookies or cakes
Venice is often called the city of
love. On a warm summer night when moonlight shines upon the canals, something
strange happens to peoples’ hearts. If a couple rides out in a gondola under a
starry Venice sky they will surely fall in love. Whether they marry or not all
depends upon the skill of the gondolier.
Frederick was the name of a proud
gondolier who had proven his skill many times. In fact, throughout Venice
people liked to say “go with Fred, you’re sure to wed.” More than a few happily
married couples owed their happiness to him. People said that the interesting
thing about Fred was that he didn’t so much persuade people as he enchanted
them with his wistful voice and passionate singing.
Fred was quite proud of his skill,
but alas, he could not find true love for himself. Perhaps it was because he
had never found quite the right woman, or perhaps it was because he was always
too busy helping others fall in love. It was hard to say just why. Whenever
Fred stopped to think about it he only became sad and lonely again and so he
tried not to think of it at all. Mostly he thought of his happy times on the
canals of Venice, helping others fall in love.
Fred’s life continued on happily
until one fateful evening when something very strange happened. It was
something that nearly ruined his reputation, not to mention his career. On this
night, as usual, he stood at the back of the gondola, maneuvering it along the
canal. A man and woman sat in front of him with their arms around each other,
staring deep into each others’ eyes. As Fredrick watched them he started
feeling wistful again and began singing of his own longing for true love. “
Love is like red roses on fire. You’ve got my heart burning bright with
desire…”
Frederick steered the gondola under
romantic bridges and past the shining castles. The couple grew entranced by the
song, the soft rocking movements of the gondola, and the exotic smells and
sights of Venice. Stars winked above them in a cobalt blue sky and when
Frederick sang, “Ooh my heart is burning in red fire, like a rose enflamed with
desire,” the man in the gondola felt as though Fred had reached into his heart
and snatched out the words to put in his song.
Now this was not unusual. Frederick
had seen this happen many times during his years as a gondolier. He knew that
next would come the marriage proposal, followed by a long and passionate kiss.
Everything was just as it should be. Frederick’s voice was quivering with
sensuality and the man was bending close to the woman to kiss her when
something very unusual startled the man, the lady and Frederick. The gondola
farted. Ptrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
“Ugh!” shouted the woman in disgust
as she pushed the man away. “You’re disgusting, farting like that. Don’t you
have any respect? If you think that’s a way to seal a marriage proposal to me,
you’ve got another thing coming! Let me off of this stinking boat!” “I didn’t
fart,” said the man. “And what about you, shoving me around like that? I
thought you loved me and the next thing I know you’re nearly shoving me off of
the boat!”
Clearly the romantic spell was
broken. The man who had been so madly in love while Frederick sang his songs
turned to him. His face was dark and red with fury. “Look what you’ve done, you
fool! How in all of Venice did we manage to wind up with a gondolier who had to
fart in our faces during the most important moment in our lives?”
“It wasn’t me,” replied Frederick.
“Well, if it wasn’t you and it wasn’t me or her, then just exactly who do you
think it was?” said the man. “I think…” said Frederick quietly, “I know you’ll
never believe it, but I think it must have been… the gondola.”
“Do you think I’m some kind of an
idiot?” shouted the man into Frederick’s face. “There’s no such thing as a
farting gondola! Not only are you incredibly rude,” he raged, pushing an
accusing finger into Frederick’s chest, You’re a liar too!” With that he gave a
final push at Frederick’s chest and poor Frederick toppled backwards into the
canal.
When Frederick regained his senses
he saw that the gondola was gone. He swam back to the piazza where the
gondoliers started out each morning and there he found his gondola. Frederick
climbed into the gondola and checked it thoroughly to see what might have
caused it to make such a terrible sound. He searched and searched and found
nothing at all. Finally he sat down to let the breeze dry his damp clothing. He
shook his head sorrowfully. “We have been friends for a long time now my sweet
gondola, but please don’t ever make that sound again,” he said. “Or I will have
to sell you.”
It wasn’t long after that another
young couple came strolling down the way. Ah, the woman smiled with a mouth red
as a cherry, “Let’s take a gondola.” She had heard of Frederick’s reputation
and slyly guided the gentleman to Frederick’s gondola. As soon as they were out
along the waters of the canal Frederick began to sing. “Love is like red roses
on fire, you’ve got my heart burning bright with desire.” Everything went fine
for a long while. The woman stared at the man with such longing and Frederick’s
song wove its same old magic. Frederick knew that the man was about to propose
and his chest was tight, waiting for the moment to pass. Just as it seemed that
everything was completely back to normal, he heard a high wet Ptrrrrrrrrr,
ptrrrrrrrr, ptrrrrrrr.
The woman jerked as if jolted by a
surge of electricity. She sprang from the seat and with a look of pure outrage
she pulled her arm back It swung forward in such a ferocious slap that the
sound of her hand hitting the man’s cheek echoed far across the canal. “You
beast! You horrible beast! You bit me!” she screamed. Tears rolled down her
face and she pressed her sleeve to her bleeding mouth. “You stupid fart!” raged
the man at Frederick. “You’re an idiot, that’s what you are, going around
ruining people’s lives like this!” With that he gave Frederick a mighty shove
and kersplash! Frederick landed flat on his back in the canal.
The first time Frederick landed in
the canal he was surprised, but this time he was mad. In fact, he was furious.
He didn’t even bother to swim back to the piazza. How could he put his health
and his livelihood at the risk of a stupid, thankless, farting gondola? It
would be better to chop up the thing and sell it for firewood! As his gondola
made its way back to the piazza, Frederick jogged along the cobblestones toward
home. At home Frederick grabbed his axe from the garden shed and made his way
back to the piazza.
Frederick stood next to his gondola
and heaved the axe over his shoulder. Moonlight glinted off the blade. Just as
Frederick moved to swing the axe a beautiful woman with the saddest face he had
ever seen came wandering down the piazza. She was so lost in her sorrow that
she did not see Frederick at all. She stumbled against the gondola and fell to
her knees. Frederick stepped back and dropped the axe to the ground. “Are you
okay miss?” Frederick asked as he bent to help her up.
“Yes, I’m okay, well, no, I guess
I’m not okay at all,” sighed the woman. “At least I’m not hurt anywhere. But I
have been sad for such a long while I don’t know if I can ever be happy again.
I have lost my ability to laugh and find joy in the world. Please take me out
for a ride in your gondola. Maybe it will take me away from this sadness for
awhile.”
“I would, but I’m sorry, I can’t.”
apologized Frederick. “The gondola’s worthless. I’m about to chop it up for
firewood. It’s the only money I’ll see from this stupid pile of boards.” The
woman looked at the gondola and then at Frederick. “The gondola doesn’t look
like a pile of boards to me, it looks just fine. I’ll pay you well for the
trip. “All right,” said Frederick. “I’ll make one last trip. I’m warning you
though, this gondola is worthless. I’m not responsible for anything it does.”
“It will be fine,” said the woman softly.
The woman sat down and Frederick
shoved the gondola out into the canal. Soft waves lapped up against the sides
of the gondola and the moonlight made a silvery path into the darkened waters
of the canal. A hush fell over them. Frederick licked his dry lips and began to
sing. All the while he watched the woman and with each passing moment she
seemed more sweet and beautiful to Frederick. “My heart is on fire,” sang
Frederick. This time he felt the words stir his own heart like never before. He
was stunned to realize that his heart actually did feel as though it was on
fire. “You are the red rose of my heart’s desire.” And so it was. Frederick
began to fall in love.
As Frederick looked upon the woman
with undisguised love in his eyes the woman began to cry. Tears rolled down her
cheeks her shoulders trembled and shook with sobs. Frederick felt his heart
breaking. Hadn’t he felt just as lonely and sad sometimes himself? He sat down
near the woman and rested his hand on her shoulder. Just as he opened his mouth
to comfort her the gondola farted.
Frederick’s face burned red with
embarrassment and he jumped up from his seat. “I’m so sorry,” he said to the
lady. “I was afraid this would happen. I’ve had it with this stupid gondola.
It’s made a fool out of me for the last time.” As the woman watched Frederick a
smile crept up her face. “You mean this happens every time you take the gondola
out?” asked the woman. “Every single time!” agreed Frederick. “Not only does it
fart, but it seems to pick the worst possible time to do it. I’ve gone into the
canal twice already this evening because of my stupid fart of a gondola.”
Slowly a snicker escaped from the
woman’s mouth. She lifted her hand to cover her smile but the amusement danced
in her eyes. She threw back her head and laughed loud and long into the still
darkness, “Ha, ha, ha, a farting gondola, ha, ha, ha! Imagine!” “I don’t have
to imagine,” said Frederick wryly. “I own the stupid thing.” A tickle of a
smile crept onto Frederick’s face and his mouth twitched for a moment. Then he
too laughed. Together Frederick and the woman laughed and laughed so that the
sound of it bounced together over the darkened canals. To people on the banks
of the canal it sounded like a joyous happy song.
It was to the song of their laughter
that Frederick and the woman found themselves falling in love. Frederick had
worked his magic again on the canals of Venice with no small help from his
gondola. Not long afterward Frederick and the woman were married and had many
happy children. Frederick never did get around to chopping up the old gondola.
That was a good thing too, because whenever their lives were touched with
sorrow they would take the gondola out on the canal and laugh until their
hearts were happy again.
If you should grow up and travel to
Venice one day, be sure to take along your sweetheart. On a gondola ride along
the moonlit canals of Venice, you might just be lucky and fall in love. You may
even find Frederick and end up marrying your sweetheart. Remember though, that
Frederick’s farting gondola is still floating along the canals of Venice. Don’t
be too surprised if, in the middle of a kiss, you hear the gondola farting.
Ryan’s father had come to pick him
up from school. A heavy rain was falling and gray rolled across the sky.
Children pushed out of the doors of the school and ran to waiting cars. Ryan
noticed his father’s blue van and rushed to climb in before the rain soaked him
completely. Inside the warm van Ryan snuggled into the seat. His father pulled
cautiously into the line of cars making their way out of the school parking
lot. The cars crept along until they came to the main road where they turned
and picked up speed. Ryan was happily chatting with his father about his day at
school when he saw a gray and red flash and felt a jerk as his father slammed
hard on the brakes.
The tires squealed and skidded over
the wet pavement. Ryan lurched forward in his seat but his seat belt held him
fast. His heart raced in his chest and for a moment he sat in his seat shocked
and bewildered. The slam of the van door jolted Ryan awake again. He peered out
the windshield to see his father bent down in front of the van, illuminated by
the yellow glow of the headlights. Ryan grabbed onto the door handle and jumped
out of the van. He ran to the front of the van where his father kneeled. On the
ground next to his father was a small limp body sprawled on the pavement. Next
to it lay a tattered red umbrella.
Ryan watched his father examine the
body carefully. Ryan could see it was a girl from the torn and muddy dress she
was wearing. If anyone could help this girl, Ryan knew his father could. His
father was a doctor who knew how to fix hurt little kids. Ryan was afraid for
this little girl though. She looked so hurt and small and she lay so still that
he couldn’t even be sure if she was still alive.
Then Ryan saw something that held
him transfixed in the very spot where he stood. Up from the still body of the
little girl he saw something very clearly stand and look about. It was almost
transparent, something like a shadow painted with misty colors. It looked like
the little girl but then, it couldn’t be, because he could see plainly that she
still lay on the ground in front of him. The shadow girl looked down at the
body on the ground and then turned to look at Ryan. Her eyes were big and
frightened and Ryan felt pity for her. He moved to her almost as if in a dream.
Smiling, he reached and touched her face. “I’m Ryan,” he said. “Come sit with
me in the van where it’s warm. My dad will take care of things. Everything will
be okay.”
The girl followed Ryan and climbed
onto the seat beside him. Her sad eyes looked intently at Ryan and she smiled.
In a voice so low it was almost a whisper the she introduced herself. “I’m
Emily.”
Ryan could hear the whining siren of
an ambulance coming closer and closer. In stunned silence, he and Emily watched
as the ambulance pulled up. Emily’s mouth was a round red circle as she watched
her body being placed on a stretcher and being loaded into the ambulance. Ryan
did not know what to think and sat staring after the ambulance with wide eyes.
Ryan’s father returned and slowly
sat down. He rested his trembling hands on the steering wheel. After a moment’s
pause he started his car and pulled into traffic behind the ambulance. The
silence in the car was heavy and Ryan thought he could almost hear his father’s
heart beat. Perhaps it was his own frantic heartbeat he felt, throbbing
anxiously inside his chest. “How is she?” Rupert said thinly, barely breaking
the silence. “Pretty bad,” said his father in a broken voice. “I’m not sure
she’s going to make it. We just have to pray Ryan.”
Ryan looked at Emily. She seemed so
sad and frightened that he wanted to hug her. But when he reached out to touch
her arm his fingers found only empty air. Her body was in the ambulance on the
way to the hospital. Yet he sensed that Emily was really beside him in the car.
The strangeness of it all frightened Ryan and he held himself stiff and silent,
not daring to speak until they reached the hospital.
When they reached the hospital
Ryan’s father left the van and followed the stretcher with Emily’s body on it
into the hospital. Without thinking, Ryan turned to the Emily sitting on the
seat beside him and whispered, “Don’t worry. My dad will do everything he can
to save your life. He is a very good doctor. Come with me. I’ll show you.” With
that he led Emily into the hospital and down the long corridor to the operating
room.
Standing before the door to the
operating room Ryan and Emily peered into the windows. They could see four
adults in long green coats bent over Emily’s body. A low but insistent entreaty
came from Robert’s father. “Come on little one, stay with us now. Don’t give
up. Stay here with us. Don’t let go!” Anxiously the doctors watched the
machinery monitoring Emily’s body. Finally one of the doctors sighed, “It’s not
working, I’m afraid she’s not going to make it...” “ I’m not giving up on this
one,” said Ryan’s father fiercely. It’s not over until it’s over! I owe it to
this little angel to give her everything I’ve got. If it’s in my power to bring
her back I will.”
“Be reasonable Ron,” said one of the
doctors gently. “You can’t bring her back if she doesn’t want to come back.”
Ryan turned to Emily in shock.
“Emily, do you know what that means? That means you will die. You don’t want to
die do you Emily? Please don’t die. Please, please, don’t let go. Emily, go
back to your body. If you don’t you’ll die.”
Emily looked at him with big shiny
eyes. “There’s so much pain in my body now,” she said weakly. “There is only
blood and broken bones lying there on that table. Would you want to enter that
body and feel all that pain? I can’t do it Ryan. I can’t!” “Yes you can Emily,
you can! You have to. It’s the only way back to life. If I knew it was the only
way for me to come back to life I would do it. I would go back no matter how
much pain there was! You can do it!” he said agitatedly. “You have to do it!
You have to, you have to, you have to!” his voice climbed into a shout.
Suddenly the operating doors flung
open on a red faced, shouting, crying Ryan. “Ryan, stop,” his father said
tiredly. “I know you’re upset. Call your mother. You need to go home. This has
all been too much for you.” Ryan shook his head and stamped his feet. Hot tears
spilled down his cheeks. “She has to go back, Dad! Tell her! Tell her she has
to go back!” “Tell who, Ryan, tell who? There’s no one here,” said his father
sadly. “Tell Emily! Tell her!” insisted Ryan. “Make her go back!”
Ryan’s father shrugged his shoulders
wearily and hugged Ryan to him. “I’m trying Ryan. I’m doing everything I can.
That’s all anyone can do.” Inside the operating room the doctors had begun
putting away their instruments. A white sheet had been pulled over Emily’s body
and face. Everything was still and sad. A feeling of such desolation spread
over the room that Ryan immediately knew Emily had died. He buried his face in
his father’s chest and wept.
Emily could not bear this sadness
and said very softly into Ryan’s ear, “It’s okay Ryan. I’ve made up my mind.
I’m going back. I can go back. I will go back. Stay with me and I can.” With
that Ryan let go of his father and pulled open the door to the operating room.
“Then do it Emily. Do it now. I’m right here.” Ryan’s father followed him
inside the operating room and looked beseechingly at the other doctors. “He
needs to see her. He needs to see for himself that she’s gone. Please let my
son say goodbye to his friend.”
As Ryan stood by the table looking
down at Emily’s body she slipped herself under the sheet and melted back into
her body.
“It’s all going to be okay now
Emily,” Robert smiled. The doctors will make you good as new again.” “She’s
dead, Robert, tell her goodbye. We can’t help her now,” said his father gently.
But then he heard a sound from the heart monitor and stared in disbelief as he
listened to it’s pip pip pip grow stronger and stronger. He jerked the sheet
off Emily’s body and bent low over her. “It’s a miracle! She’s breathing! I
think we have her back again!”
Indeed Emily was back. Ryan stayed
beside her the entire night and visited her daily in the hospital from then on
until she was well and strong again. Ryan’s father was never truly sure whom
Ryan had been talking to that awful afternoon and sometimes it seemed like only
a dream to Ryan himself. It was hard to remember the little ghost girl when
Emily was messing up his hair, chasing him across the schoolyard, or collapsing
in a fit of giggles beside him. She simply seemed very well, very real, and
very wonderful… and that was all that mattered to Ryan.
There once was a happy carefree boy
named Max. Most of his days were spent begging and bartering along the
cobblestone streets of the village. He was a poor boy, but he had always had
enough to eat, a mother who loved him dearly, and plenty of imagination and
drive. Often he used his imagination to dream of the princess who lived in the
castle high on a hill above the city. Although few people outside the castle
gates had ever actually seen the princess, it was said that she was more
beautiful than the queen’s prized roses and sweeter than the smile of a newborn
baby.
By royal decree, on the day of her
sixteenth birthday, the princess was to be driven through the streets of the
village in a golden carriage. Anyone who might wish for her hand in marriage
could follow the carriage up to the gates of the castle. However the king knew
competition would be fierce and had set up a series of conditions and
challenges. Anyone who felt he might meet these qualifications could follow the
carriage up to the castle and try their hand at winning the princess’s hand in
marriage.
Finally the princess’s birthday
arrived. The village streets were filled with throngs of excited people talking
and laughing, and vying for the best position to view the royal carriage. At
the first sound trumpets a hush fell over the crowd. Silently the people waited
as six white horses pranced down the cobblestone streets, drawing behind them a
magnificent golden carriage. Seated high up on a velvet cushion was the king
himself and beside him sat the princess, so dazzlingly beautiful that the crowd
could only gasp in awe and amazement. She smiled and waved to the people by the
roadside. Max waved back with his ragged cap – and then, for a split second,
the princess looked into his eyes.
From that moment on Max became
unhappy. The same afternoon he sat sadly and quietly at the dinner table
staring at his soup. “Max,” his mother said with concern. “What has happened to
you?” “I have seen the princess,” Max said with a sigh. “Has the princess done
you any harm?” his mother asked. Max nodded. “I think I’m in love with her,” he
said and started to cry. “If I can’t be with her, I think I will die.”
“Well, well,” his mother said. “If
that’s how your feel, you had better go to the palace and ask for her hand in
marriage. It’s as simple as that.” Max dropped his spoon in the soup. “Simple!
Don’t you understand anything?” He sighed dejectedly. “She is a princess!”
“Princess or not,” his mother urged, “If you are planning to die of love I
think you should ask for her first.” “She will never marry a beggar like me.”
“I don’t have any fine clothes, I have no money, no horses, nothing.” Max
complained. “There’s no way!”
This made Max’s mother angry. “She
handed him a bar of soap. “Don’t talk like that in my house,” she said. “There
is always a way! You are a good clever boy with imagination and drive. Just
wash yourself so you look presentable and everything will be all right.”
“That’s what you think,” Max said grumpily, frowning at the bar of soap. “She
probably has plenty of clean suitors already.” Max’s mother shook her head. “If
you don’t ask for what you wish, you will never have it. Be off now. The worst
that can happen is that she turns you down.”
Max washed himself carefully, making
sure to clean around his neck and behind his ears. He slipped the bar of soap
into his pocket and set off in the direction of the palace. When he arrived at
the palace gates he saw a long line of boys and men waiting to see the king.
One after another they went in to
ask for the princess’ hand in marriage. When they came out again they looked up
at the princess’ tower, shrugged their shoulders, shook their heads and went
away.
After several hours it was Max’s
turn to see the king. When Max approached the throne the king started to laugh.
“And how many horses do you have?” the king asked Max. “None.” Max answered.
“How much money do you have then?” “I have no money either,” Max said. “Why do
you come here without horses, money, or anything to offer in exchange for my
daughter’s hand in marriage?” “ I offer love my king, for I am in love with the
princess and will die if I cannot marry her.” “Yes, yes, you and a thousand
others,” said the king looking at him sternly. “If you really wish to marry my
daughter you must have something special to offer, something that the others
don’t have to give her.”
“I can tell you this your royal
highness,” Max said proudly, puffing out his chest. “ I may be poor, but I’m
clean and kind and I have more imagination and drive than any of the men who
came before me. I will have the princess for my bride. Tell me what I must do.”
At this the king laughed so hard and
long that his crown slid down to his nose. “Clean, with imagination and drive,
ha, ha, ha!” You have no idea how much imagination you will need to complete
the challenge I have for you.” The king became serious and pointed to the
princess’s tower. “They say that imagination has wings. I have a thousand
soldiers guarding the princess in her tower. If you can get to her alive, she
will be yours. Perhaps you can use your imagination to fly up and get her.” “I
don’t know about that,” said Max. “But I promise you, I will find a way.” “I’m
pleased to hear it.” said the king. “But seeing is believing. Come again when
you have met my challenge.” With that he straightened his crown properly again
and dismissed Max with a casual wave.
When Max came out of the palace he
turned and took a long look at the princess’ tower. It appeared even taller now
that it had when he had first seen it. “No wonder so many others turned away,”
Max thought to himself. “It appears to be impossible…. but nothing is
impossible with imagination. I’ll just have to think of something.”
Max watched a boy on tall stilts
walking to the tower. Before he even came near the tower a soldier pushed the
stilts out from under him and the boy fell to the ground. “Be gone! Go away
from this tower,” the soldier shouted. “You are not worthy of the princess!”
Max watched as boys with ladders and ropes approached the castle. All were
turned away. One man even tried to catapult himself into the tower window but
missed his aim and crashed into the tower. He was carried away by soldiers who
shook their heads in amusement at such a ridiculous stunt. “This is going to
take something more than imagination,” Max thought to himself. “There’s only
one way to reach the princess. I will have to get a hold of some flying
thread.” The thought of obtaining flying thread was so frightening that Max
nearly gave up. If it weren’t for the fact that at that very moment the
princess saw him and waved from her veranda, he would have been like all the
others who shook their heads and walked away.
But as I said, the princess waved,
and to Max it felt as if his heart were on fire. Fearlessly he set off to look
for the flying thread. Max knew that there was only one place to find flying
thread, the most frightening, dreadful, horrible place imaginable, the desert
of death!
After a long day’s walk he came to
the horrifying place. The ground was littered with bones. White skulls, thigh
bones, ribs, vertebrae and hip bones formed small hills. In the air above Max
huge vultures circled menacingly. An enormous cobweb stretched across the sky
above him. In the web Max could see a trapped vulture flapping its wings
furiously. A huge spider that was resting with a bone in his mouth got up and
lazily made its way over to the desperate vulture. The spider spit out the bone
and yawned loud and long. Then it gobbled up the vulture in one mouthful. It
swallowed, burped, removed some feathers from its mouth, and then went back to
rest.
Max shivered in fright as he came
closer to the web. It was much thicker than normal spiders’ webs, like yarn and
very sticky. With a pair of scissors in his hands, Max walked stealthily ahead.
He tried, with great care, to cut out a piece of the flying thread but the
thread was so sticky and his hands were shaking so badly that he soon became
tangled in the web.
The spider felt the tug at its
threads and opened one eye. “Who is it this time then?” the spider said lazily.
“It is only me, poor Max, who needs some flying thread to make a carpet,” said
Max as mildly and gently as possible. “That’s what they all say,” the spider
said as he stretched his hairy legs. “Why is it that nobody ever asks before
helping themselves?” It said as it walked toward Max. “Now I have to eat you as
well, even though I’m not a bit hungry.”
The spider stood in front of Max
eyeing him meanly and picking his teeth with a rib bone. “Are you absolutely
sure you have to eat me?” Max trembled. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” the spider said.
“Flying thread is awfully popular. If I were to set you free with a ball of my
flying thread, far too many people would come wanting some for themselves, many
more than I could ever hope to eat.”
“A great wonderful spider like
yourself out to be able to spin plenty of thread,” said Max. Just look at this
fine web you’ve woven here. If you wanted to, you could spin a web all the way
from here to the sun and back” “Ahhh,” said the spider. “I know what you are
trying to do. You are trying to fool me with flattery. You aren’t the first to
try. Just look at the bones around me if you’d like to see what happened to
others who have tried to win me over with their smooth talking.” With that the
spider moved closer and began to open his wide jaws. Max looked into the dark
throat and felt sick from the rotten smell coming from the spider’s stomach. He
could see the spider’s fangs glistening and he shook with fright.
Max was absolutely sure he would be
eaten. Suddenly the spider shut his mouth so that it became small and
thoughtful. The spider’s red eyes glared at Max. “Do you really think I could
spin a web to the sun and back?” the spider asked, laying his head to one side.
“Of course you could. I’m absolutely sure of it.” Max said with relief. “But it
will take a long time. If you’re going to do it, you’d better get started.”
The spider stroked his chin and
thought. “You’re right my boy!” exclaimed the spider, his eyes glowing eagerly.
This little old desert web of mine will look like a toy in comparison! Thanks
for the brilliant idea” With that the spider stretched out a leg and began to
spin. It fastened its flying thread to a cactus with care and spun out a few
yards. The spider lifted up in the air and Max heard it whistle a merry tune as
it spun itself toward the sun. “Wait a minute!” Max shouted after the spider.
“Tell me how I can get loose of your web!” “That’s easy,” the spider shouted
back in reply. “Just rub the thread with soap.”
Max took the bar of soap out of his
pocket with his free hand and started to rub all along the threads of the web.
Soon he was free and busy, collecting a huge ball of flying thread.
By the time Max had wound the entire
web into a ball the spider was just a speck in the sky. When the sun went down
over the distant hills Max made a loom by tying the flying thread between his
fingers and his toes. All night he sat weaving his carpet, and by dawn he was
finished. Wearily he lay down on the carpet and called out weakly, “Flying
thread fly, up into the air. Take me to the castle to see the princess there.”
When Max flew over the castle gate
the astonished king looked up with his mouth agape. The soldiers threw up their
arms in alarm. They shouted and screamed and shot flaming arrows into the sky,
but the arrows could not reach Max. Max simply flew higher until he reached the
veranda where the princess stood waiting. When Max stepped off the flying
carpet he bowed deeply before the princess. “ I have loved you from the moment
I laid eyes upon you fair princess,” Max explained. “It has taken all my
imagination and drive to reach you here. Will you do me the honor of marrying
me?”
“I will, said the princess. “I too
loved you from the moment our eyes met. You are brave and imaginative, you have
drive, and above all you are clean. How I hoped you would be the one to reach
me. “Yes I will marry you.” “Kiss me if you mean it,” said Max, and so the
princess did. That evening they married just as the sun set and they lived
happily ever after.
There is nothing more to tell except
that Max’s mother was very proud of him for marrying the princess, the king was
pleased to have a son-in-law with so much imagination and drive and the spider,
well, he is still spinning his web, on his way to the sun.
Early one morning before first light
Eric awoke to the sound of songbirds twittering excitedly on his windowsill.
Eric got up from his bed and pulled aside his curtains. “The sky has fallen
down, the sky has fallen down,” chirped the birds anxiously. “You have to
repair it or the sun cannot rise.”
Eric was shocked to realize that the
birds were right. The sky had fallen. In the dim starlight he could see that it
rested over the world like a thin blue veil. It rested on rooftops and trees.
It was draped over cars and shrubs, swing sets and streetlights. In some places
the sky even lay upon the ground. Right outside his house, lying in the middle
of his back yard, Eric could see a large piece of sky resting on his father’s
garden. Right in the middle of this rather large piece of sky he could clearly
see a hole.
Eric shook the last bits of sleep
from his head and sat still on his bed trying to think what he might do.
Suddenly an idea came to him and he ran to grab his mother’s sewing basket off
the shelf. He rummaged through it until he had found scissors, a needle, and a
spool of sky blue thread. He thrust these into his pocket and went outside to
the hole. Eric sat down and sewed as quickly as he was able. It seemed to take
hours. His fingers were clumsy and slow, not at all used to small needles and
threads and making delicate tidy stitches. Eric glanced up often as he sewed
but always the stars were still shining brightly. Finally Eric finished sewing.
He stepped back and looked at his handiwork.
Eric began clapping his hands and
calling to the birds, “I’m done with my sewing, now you can lift the sky back
into place. Please, please hurry! The stars are starting to fade and its only
ten minutes to sunrise.” The songbirds gathered together grabbed onto the sky
with their beaks. They flapped their wings and began lifting the sky slowly,
slowly, up from the apple trees, up from the flagpoles, and up from the
rooftops. “Higher, higher,” shouted Eric. “We can’t lift it any more,” the
birds replied. “We’re doing the best we can but the sky is just too heavy.
We’re going to need your help.”
Eric glanced at his wristwatch
anxiously. There were only a few more minutes before the sun would begin
rising. “Stay put,” he shouted as he raced to the flagpole. Eric shinnied up
the flagpole fast as he could. Higher and higher he climbed. Soon he had
reached the very top of the flagpole. “On the count of three I want you to
lift,” he shouted to the songbirds. “One… Two… Three… Lift! With that he
grasped the sky and lifted it high with his outstretched arms.
The birds flapped their wings and
strained to lift the sky higher but sadly they couldn’t anymore. One by one
they lost their strength and gave up to exhaustion. Eric felt the sky grow
heavier and heavier in his arms. He glanced down to the ground far below and
suddenly he felt terribly dizzy. His body started to sway. “Help!” he shouted.
“I’m falling!” As he began to fall, Eric made one last frantic grasp for the
sky. Holding fast to handfuls of sky he closed his eyes tightly, held his
breath, and began to pray.
Eric opened his eyes again when he
realized that he was still in the air, rather than lying flat on the pavement
below the flagpole. He let out his breath slowly and looked up in awe. The sky
had become an immense blue parachute and was transporting him gently back down
to the ground. It bellowed out in great puffs and swirled above him in the
early morning breezes. Eric’s toes touched to the ground softly and the sky
fell softly down over him.
With just a few minutes left before
the sunrise Eric was struck with inspiration. Pawing his way through the blue
folds of sky he raced toward his father’s garage. He pulled the bicycle pump
down from the garage wall with a strong jerk and raced back outside. Placing
the pump on the ground he looked up to see the sun slowly rising on the
horizon. Eric was galvanized into action and began working the pump furiously.
Push, pull, push, pull. With each pump the sky rose higher and higher. Over the
houses it rose, up over the flagpoles and then over the highest trees. Eric
continued to work the pump at a frantic pace. Sweat rolled down his forehead.
Blisters rose up beneath his fingers curled tightly around the handle of the
pump. All these things Eric did not notice until at last he threw his head back
and saw the sky floating high above him.
“You’ve done it, you’ve done it!”
chirped the birds with great joy. “Now scurry off to bed before somebody
catches you out in your pajamas.” Eric uncurled his fingers and let the pump
drop to the ground. He staggered into his bedroom and crawled up onto his bed.
Throwing himself atop the covers he looked out the window once again to see the
clouds dancing for joy. The sun rolled up onto the sky and threw out its
brilliant rays to the far ends of the heavens. Eric smiled, yawned and fell
into a deep slumber.
The sun was high in the sky when
Eric’s mother came into his bedroom. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” She said as
she stroked the hair from his brow. “You’ve slept away the better part of a
beautiful morning. Get up now and get dressed. Eric heard birds singing gaily
outside his window. He slowly lifted one eyelid, and then the other. “Mom, is
the sky up where it belongs now?” Eric asked sleepily. “Well, of course it is,”
said his mother. “Where else would it be?” “I had the strangest dream last
night Mom.” Said Eric. “ I dreamed I had to sew up the sky and put it back up
into the heavens. It seemed so real.” “Well, that was a strange dream. But now
you are awake and the day is waiting for you, with a bright sky for you to play
beneath.”
Later when the dream had faded in
the brightness of the day, Eric’s mother was surprised to find a needle,
thread, and a muddy carrot and onion among the twist of covers on Eric’s bed.
His father muttered a curse about small boys leaving their things lying about
when his hoe struck a bicycle pump lying under a row of lettuce in the garden.
Even Eric looked strangely at the odd bumps on the bottoms of his fingers,
which smarted when he rubbed them against the handlebars of his bicycle. Then
he laughed, kicked his feet off the pedals of his bicycle, and raced gleefully
down a hill underneath a high blue sky.
The hot August sun beat down on
Brenda Brown who was lying on the beach for the 42nd day in a row.
Thousands of brightly colored beach blankets and umbrellas dotted the beach. At
first it seemed impossible that so many people could fit on such a small strip
of sand. There was hardly even room to walk! So many people passed by. Brenda
had a new swimming suit, new sunglasses, and a stylish new haircut. At the beginning
of the summer she felt sure she would catch the eye of a handsome surfer and
ride the waves with him happily ever after.
On this 42nd day, Brenda
felt a little less sure that she would meet her famous surfer. The fancy pair
of sunglasses with the tortoise shell frames no longer sat so perkily on her
nose. Her new swimming suit was faded, and her nose was peeling and red from
the sun. Her hair was lank and messy, and her skin had turned a leathery brown.
She had watched for 41 days as
surfers strolled up and down the beach with their surfboards under their arms.
She watched as they walked up to pretty young ladies that were seated on the
beach. She listened as they talked to one another. She watched how they paddled
out on a single surfboard and rode the waves together back to shore. Each time
she sighed and wished it had been her, if only it had been her. Then she opened
another can of soda, ate another candy bar, or strolled to the ice cream stand
and bought another fudge bar.
But here, on this 42nd
day, Brenda still sat on her spot on the beach. By now there was quite a pile
of garbage all around the spot where Brenda rested. Cracker boxes, banana
peels, soda cans, and candy wrappers were scattered in a circle around her. It
might have occurred to Brenda that they weren’t helping her catch her surfer,
but by this time Brenda had become so disconsolate that she didn’t much care.
Now, Brenda might have stayed this
way long into winter if not for the arrival of the garbage surfer. On this 42nd
day of sunbathing, Brenda fell asleep on the beach. The sadness and
disappointment had simply worn her out. When she awoke late in the afternoon
she was astonished that she had slept so long. She looked around her and saw
that most of the other sunbathers were gone. A small breeze whispered along the
sand and scooped up bits of garbage as it made its way down the beach. Brenda
shivered.
Gradually a small whirlwind twisted
the candy wrappers and the soda cans, the fudge bar sticks and the chip bags
into a sort of shape. The strange shape hovered in the air for a moment and
then slowly settled on the blanket next to Brenda. When Brenda turned to look
she saw the amazing form of a surfer sitting next to her. True, he did look a
little bizarre with bottle caps as eyeballs and cans for arms and legs. His
chip bag head wore a torn smile and his banana peel hair flapped in the breeze.
With his fingers of fudge bar sticks
the garbage surfer shaded his eyes from the afternoon sun and said happily,
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Brenda replied, smiling at him. Brenda had
not taken off her sunglasses and it had gotten rather dark outside. To her the
garbage surfer looked very much like a handsome young man. “It is a lovely
evening.” “But you are even more lovely,” the garbage surfer said to her.
Brenda could hardly believe her ears. “Do you really think so?” she asked, her
heart beating fast. “No question about it!” the garbage surfer replied. “I’ve
been looking at you all summer. You must be the most beautiful girl on the
beach.”
Brenda sighed and her stomach felt
like it had turned to jelly. “How about coming to ride the waves with me?” said
the garbage surfer. There’s light enough for one more ride. Brenda nodded yes.
The garbage surfer’s voice was so deep and gentle she could not resist. “Yes,
thank you,” she replied as she removed her sunglasses to get a closer look at
him.
When she saw the garbage surfer she
jumped, holding her hand in front of her startled mouth. “But what are you?”
she screeched. “Around here I’m known as the garbage surfer,” he said. Brenda
looked out into the water where there were still several surfers paddling about
and riding waves to the shore. “I can’t go surfing with a surfer made out of
garbage,” said Brenda. “I just can’t.” “Why not?” asked the surfer. “Because,”
said Brenda. “People will think I’m insane.” “It’s better than sitting here on
the beach, isn’t it?” the garbage surfer asked. Brenda was forced to admit that
it was.
Brenda put her glasses back on and
nodded her head in agreement. “Okay, but only this once.” Thank heavens for
these sunglasses, she thought to herself. He doesn’t look too bad through these
and at least no one will recognize me. The garbage surfer gathered up his
surfboard, which was really just the lid of an old Styrofoam ice chest. He
reached out for Brenda’s hand and together they paddled out to the huge waves.
The garbage surfer caught the first
big wave and lifted Brenda onto the surfboard in front of him. She felt very
awkward, but as they rode the wave under the setting sun, the surfer started to
sing a surfing song. He had a wonderful singing voice that made chills run up
Brenda’s spine. As she listened to him sing, he became more and more handsome
to her, even though his skin was only plastic bags and his head was cardboard
stamped with the words ‘light and crispy’. Brenda was so seduced by his song
that she pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead and rested her head against
the garbage surfer’s shoulder.
The garbage surfer continued to
croon to Brenda, but as she looked about she saw that all the other surfers had
stopped surfing and were staring at her in astonishment. “Look at her, she’s
riding with the garbage surfer,” they said scornfully. “He’s a pile of
garbage!”
Luckily Brenda didn’t hear a thing
but the garbage surfer’s singing. She thought he was marvelous, and her love
had made her blind and deaf to what the others were saying. She let the surfer
stroke her hair with his pop sickle stick fingers and felt the soda can arms
wrap around her.
When Brenda and the garbage surfer
came to the beach again they sat down on the blanket to rest. The garbage
prince bent near her and kissed her waiting mouth. When his lips touched upon
hers, Brenda was startled out of her romantic dreams. Her eyes popped open wide
and she saw nothing but a pile of garbage before her. She felt certain that she
must not have wakened from her sleep after all, that only in her dream she had
gone out on the waves with the garbage surfer. Tears started to course down her
cheeks and she cried desperately until her eyes became red and puffy.
Everything seemed blurred and strange through her sorrowful wet eyes. When she
looked again at the pile of garbage she began to rub her eyes. She was sure she
could see the contours of a human person. I’ve been here too long, thought
Brenda. It’s time to go home.
Brenda began gathering her things
together. As she began walking away from her spot on the beach she heard a
faint voice calling to her from the pile of garbage. “Don’t leave me, beautiful
surfer. Stay here with me or the night winds will carry me away.” It only takes
a little belief on your part and I can stay here with you forever.
Brenda recognized the voice and said
softly over her shoulder, “If only you really were my dream surfer, if only you
could stay here with me forever…” “But I can, you just need to believe a
little,” replied the garbage surfer. Brenda glanced one last time over her
shoulder and her eyes flew open in amazement. Sitting there on the blanket was
the most handsome surfer imaginable. Brenda ran to him and threw her arms
around him.
“Your belief has broken a magic
spell,” said the surfer as he gently stroked her hair. I once thought of myself
as the most magnificent surfer on the waves. I was a horrible braggart and was
very cruel to women. I thought I was the only person that mattered and I
treated others like garbage. Then I met a girl who placed a magic spell on me
and turned me into real garbage. I could only become human again when I behaved
better than a pile of garbage and someone found me to be decent, kind, and
respectable. You my sweet Brenda have made things right again. I promise to be
worthy of your love forever.
Brenda placed her hand in his and
gave him a dazzling smile. “As long as you are worth of me I shall be worthy of
you.” Brenda and the surfer kept all of their promises to one another. Forever
after the surfer was kind and decent to other people. He stayed with Brenda
forever. Brenda continued to consider her surfer a dream come true and loved
him dearly always. She and her “garbage surfer” lived along the beach for the
rest of their days, and together they surfed many rolling waves of happiness.
James was sitting in the ice cream
parlor with his father. He had been eating an ice cream cone – a black
raspberry one, his very favorite. It was dripping. Ice cream cones have a bad
habit of doing that, dripping before you can devour their icy sweetness. Eating
them in the dead of summer is always a challenge. Before you can lick away the
top, the sun begins to melt the ice cream. Small rivers start rolling down over
your hands and then, before you know it, the drops are falling onto your
clothes.
When James was a baby he would
blissfully let the drips roll down his chin, and onto his sticky fingers. Then
he would wipe his sticky fingers on his shirt and down the legs of his pants.
In the end he would be covered in ice cream. That was fine for a baby, but now
that he was older he had learned to lean over and hold the cone away from his body.
Any wild drips would simply fall harmlessly to the ground. It was certainly
tidier and it pleased his father, who had little patience for messiness.
But this day, before he could
prevent it, one drip fell onto his pants. James looked at it in dismay and
tried to rub it away with a wet finger. It was no use. The spot was there to
stay. But it was only a tiny spot, barely noticeable. James hitched up his
pants and rubbed at the spot trying to make it inconspicuous. “ There, you can
hardly see it”, he thought to himself. He scooted himself further under the
table and continued to eat his ice cream.
When he stood up to leave he looked
down at his pants again and gasped. The spot had grown! It was getting darker
and covered the entire knee of his pants. His father looked at him pointedly
and said in disgust “Honestly, James, I don’t know how you can manage to get so
messy eating a simple ice cream cone. You’re worse than a two year old. When
will you learn to use a napkin instead of wiping your hands on your pants?”
“But Dad, I swear I didn’t.” said
James. “Well go in the bathroom and see if you can clean yourself up a little,”
said his dad. In the bathroom James cranked out a section of paper towel and
ripped it off. He held it under the faucet until it was soggy and wet, and then
he squeezed some watery pink hand soap out of the dispenser for good measure.
He scrubbed hard at the knee of his pants with the wet towel.
“What in God’s name are you doing in
there? I haven’t got all day!” hollered James’ father from the other side of
the bathroom door. James stepped out of the bathroom and sheepishly glanced
down at his shoes. “I did the best I could Dad. It’s just not working.” “Not
working is right! yelled James’ father. “Its worse than ever! Somehow you’ve
managed to spread it clear up to your neck!”
James looked and saw that his father
was right. Somehow the spot had managed to spread. His pants were now
completely covered and the spot had spread up to his collar. Purple streaks
were beginning to curl down the sleeves of his shirt and onto his arms. “Dad,
something is wrong! The spot is starting to swallow me up.” shrieked James in
alarm. James father glared at his son in annoyance. He gulped and swallowed,
realizing that James was right. Something very strange was going on. Even
James’ face had begun to take on a purplish tinge.
Together James and his father raced
to the parking lot. “Quick James, take off your clothes and get in the car”,
said his father. “But Dad, I’ll be naked” James started to protest. “Don’t
argue with me, just do as I say!” shouted his father in a near panic. He pulled
James to him and began to tear off his clothing. Shoes, socks, pants and shirt
flew into the air. James father rolled them hastily into a ball and tossed them
into the trunk of the car. James jumped into passenger seat and sat shaking in
his underwear, feeling frightened and embarrassed.
Inside the trunk of the car the spot
continued to grow. By the time they reached home it had almost covered the car.
James and his father rushed into the house, and locked the door. James headed
for the bedroom to get some clothes and his father collapsed, exhausted and
bewildered, into his recliner. He was just beginning to catch his breath when
he noticed a puddle of purple oozing its way under the front door. The spot was
following them and spreading at high speed. In a flash it covered the floors,
the carpet and the furniture. James father jumped from his recliner in shock,
grabbed James by the arm and propelled them out of the back door.
“What are we going to do?” cried
James in alarm. “Soap” gasped James father. It’s the only thing! Soap, and lots
of it! Get the soap James. We’ve got to get all the soap we can find and wash
this spot out!” James father bolted back up the porch and grabbed the doorknob,
pulling furiously. But the door was stuck. The house was beginning to shake.
Suddenly the kitchen window broke and the spot came splashing out.
“Run James, Run! It’s after us,”
screamed James’ father. He snatched James up into his arms and ran clumsily. A
taxi was passing by and James father dropped him. He began flagging his arms
furiously. If the driver of the taxi thought it strange to see this unusual
sight he didn’t show it. He slowed the taxi and opened the door. James and his
father scrambled in. “We did it, we made it!” breathed James father in relief.
“Just in time too, look!” Out the window they could see the spot flowing over
the roads, cars, houses and everything in its path.
“What the hey?!” hollered the
startled taxi driver as he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m out of here!” The
driver stomped on the accelerator and roared down the road. The spot continued
to grow almost as fast as the taxi could go. “Faster, faster!” screamed James
and his father in unison. Get us to the airport. It’s our only hope!”
At the airport James and his father
rushed to the counter and bought tickets for the first airplane available,
which happened to be a cargo plane. They ran to the gate, down the aisle and
buckled themselves into their seats. As the plane accelerated for take off they
could see the spot rushing up the tarmac after them. Just as the plane was
taking off the spot caught onto the landing gear. The horrified pilot gave full
throttle and the spot was jarred loose.
From the air they could see the spot
covering most of the country and heading for the sea. “If the spot doesn’t stop
we won’t be able to land.” The pilot said. “We don’t have fuel to stay airborne
for ever.” James was afraid and looked at his father. “Dad, what are we going
to do? I’m scared.”
“The only thing that will help now
James is soap, strong soap. But that isn’t much help to us here.” “Did you say
soap?” Why didn’t you say so sooner?” asked the captain. This plane is full of
Miracle Zap soap! Somebody has to deliver all this crazy stuff the
telemarketers promise. I’ve got a whole cargo full of Miracle Zap, guaranteed
to take out even the most stubborn spots and stains. Feel free to help
yourself.”
A look of tremendous excitement came
over James’ face. “Dad, you’ve seen that Miracle Zap commercial on T.V.! That
stuff will clean anything. It has to work on this! It just has to! It’s
guaranteed or your money back! Tell the pilot to fly in a circle around the
spot and we’ll throw the soap on it!”
“I don’t know James, said his father
skeptically. The spot has gotten too big by now. I don’t know if anything can
stop it, not even Miracle Zap” “Its worth a try Dad, we have to at least try!”
cried James hysterically. The pilot was an adventurous type, and to tell the
truth, this was his biggest opportunity for adventure yet. Flying cargo planes
is not a very exciting job and he was not about to let such a thrilling chance
pass him by. He opened a hatch in the bottom of the plane and James and his
father frantically tore open the soap cartons and threw the Miracle Zap out of
the plane.
Amazingly, as the Miracle Zap came
in contact with the spot, it began to shrink immediately. The airplane began
flying in smaller and smaller circles until at last it was centered directly
over James’ house. James sprinkled the last bit of Miracle Zap over his house
and car until there was no trace of the horrible purple spot left.
“We have to land now!” The captain
urged. “There’s no more fuel”.
“That’s all right.” James replied.
“We did it! We did it! The spot is gone!
When the plane landed, James, his
father and the pilot were greeted by the press
and the mayor. Everyone had seen the
marvelous rescue. James, his father and the pilot were begged to tell again and
again how they managed to save the town from the horrible spot. They were
recognized as heroes and their story made the front page of the newspaper the
following day.
People from The Miracle Zap Company
had been watching too and declared the entire episode ingenious. They all knew
that never in their wildest imaginations could they come up with a better
advertisement than the story of the amazing rescue. They pleaded with James,
his father, and the pilot to star in all of their commercials and promised to
pay them an outrageous sum of money.
For months afterward you could
hardly turn on the television without seeing James, his father, and the
airplane pilot proudly praising the cleaning power of Miracle Zap! James would
be smiling and holding a box of Miracle Zap as his dad told the glorious story
of how they had saved the day. The pilot flew overhead with a Miracle Zap
banner trailing off the end of his plane. Sales of Miracle Zap skyrocketed and
James became a very rich boy.
One thing James and his father never
mentioned on the commercials, and certainly never breathed a word about to
anyone, was the fact that it was James’ own carelessness that had caused the
trouble in the first place. James and his father proudly declared that they
washed their clothing with Miracle Zap every day and demonstrated its amazing
ability to clean all types of spots, including ice cream.
James continued to enjoy eating ice
cream and his father even grew patient with him when he was just a bit messy.
After all, they had a lifetime supply of Miracle Zap sitting in their basement.
Just to be on the safe side though, James never again ordered the flavor black
raspberry.
The dollhouse sat in a quiet corner
of the bedroom. It was a magnificent Victorian creation with tall gables,
gingerbread trim, and a wrap around porch. Inside the dollhouse every room was
outfitted in minute detail. All the furniture had been carved to scale and
polished by loving hands. Marvelous working roller blinds hung in the windows
and little lamps that put out a real glow rested on the end tables. There were
tiny comforters on the bed and plump pillows stuffed with a pinch of cotton in
the bedroom. Balls of yarn the size of a pea rested in a thimble sized sewing
basket near a rocker in the living room. The dining room table had been set
with miniature china dishes and diminutive sparkling crystal. A dainty napkin
sat on the lap of the lovely Miss Winifred who lived in the house with the rest
of her doll family.
Miss Winifred was a very proper Victorian
young lady. In her bedroom hung a roller shade named Elizabeth. It was
Elizabeth’s job to protect the privacy and sensibilities of sweet Miss
Winifred. Elizabeth would roll herself down when Miss Winifred changed her
clothes and groomed her hair. Elizabeth also kept a careful eye on what was
happening outside the dollhouse. When the children who lived in the world
outside the dollhouse would come scampering into the bedroom naked, fresh from
their baths, Elizabeth would hastily roll herself down. Once a gentleman had
visited the family and come into the bedroom to change into his bathing suit.
Elizabeth was shocked, but managed to prevent Miss Winifred from severe
distress by rolling herself down in the nick of time.
Even in the early hours of the evening
Elizabeth kept her vigil. At about eight o’clock each evening the mother and
father who lived outside the dollhouse would come in the bedroom to kiss their
little girl goodnight. This was a critical time because often after they had
kissed their little girl, the man and woman would embrace and kiss each other.
Elizabeth would anticipate this kiss and roll herself down before Ms. Winifred
could be scandalized. Above all things, proper Miss Winifred could not endure
the sight of a lady and gentleman kissing.
On morning as Elizabeth was rolling
herself up to greet the morning sun she felt the dollhouse being lifted. Two
long tan arms carried the dollhouse outside and placed in the back of a pick up
truck loaded with furniture. Elizabeth rolled herself down again to protect Ms.
Winifred but the truck started moving and bumped around so much on the road
that Elizabeth could not hold on to the window frame. She bounced out of the
dollhouse and onto the ground. When she came to her senses, she saw the truck disappearing
over the hilltop in a cloud of exhaust. Carefully she rolled herself across the
road and up against a curb.
On the sidewalk people were busy
rushing to and fro. Grown ups were scurrying off to work and children to
school. At the corner near where Elizabeth lay, a beautiful lady who looked
very much like Ms. Winifred in modern clothing waited at the bus stop. A self
assured man stood next to the woman making silly compliments to her. “My, don’t
you look lovely as a banana today, all dressed in yellow” and “you remind me of
a dandelion, fresh from my mother’s front yard.” The man tried to grasp the
lady’s hand and kiss it but the she pulled her hand away. Blushing furiously
she looked down at the tips of her shoes.
Elizabeth had been watching the
lady’s distress intently and now she rolled herself over next to the elegant
yellow shoes. “Hi there,” she shouted. “Shall I help you? I can roll myself
down in front of that man so you won’t need to be shy and embarrassed.” The
lady looked at the little roller blind curiously and picked it up. “Look,” she
said to the man. “I’ve found a little roller blind.” “Really?” the man replied
unenthusiastically. “Let me have a closer look.” As he bent toward the woman he
puckered up his lips and tried to kiss her. But just at the point of kissing
her, Elizabeth had rolled herself down. The man was shocked to feel the vinyl
of the roller blind against his mouth, rather than the soft lips of the lady.
The man was first bewildered, and
then he was irritated. “If you are so shy that I can’t even give you a little
kiss without you rolling out a shade between us then I won’t even bother trying
to kiss you again,” he complained sullenly as he moved away from the woman. The
lady was only too happy to be rid of him. She smiled at the little roller
blind, rolled up again and resting on her open palm. “Thanks for saving me,
little roller blind,” she said. “Don’t mention it,” Elizabeth said proudly. “ I
enjoy protecting delicate young ladies against forward young men. I can protect
you from all sorts of awkward situations if you’ll only attach me to your
forehead.”
The lady thought about this and then
pinned Elizabeth firmly to the bangs of her hair. The bus pulled up and the
lady and Elizabeth climbed on. When the bus stopped in front of the movie
theater the lady and Elizabeth climbed off again. Into the theater they went,
and the lady stood behind the ticket counter ready to sell tickets to the
evening movies. After the tickets had been sold the woman went in to watch the movie.
Here the lady found good use for the roller blind. During a scene where two
scantily clad young lovers ran across a beach Elizabeth rolled herself down.
Later, when the young lovers were kissing passionately Elizabeth rolled herself
down again. Up and down she went during the entire movie. At the end of the
movie the woman thanked Elizabeth profusely. “You really are a useful little
roller blind,” the woman said. “How lucky I was to find you.” “I’m very glad to
help,” said Elizabeth. “I will roll down for you any time you’re too shy to
watch.”
All day long Elizabeth looked after
the lady. She rolled herself up and down many times because the lady really was
terribly shy. Even the man on the pedestrian stoplight embarrassed the lady who
thought the man was naked. As the lady strolled from the bus stop to her home
Elizabeth had to work particularly hard. The lady really was quite beautiful
and the men in he cars honked, flashed their lights, and waved and whistled to
her as she walked by.
As the lady began making her way
across a busy intersection it all became too much for Elizabeth to manage. Down
she rolled for the man on the traffic light, then up again. Down when someone
whistled and up and down and up again. The next time Elizabeth rolled down she became
stuck. The lady, blinded by the roller shade, staggered into the middle of the
street. Cars honked and swerved around her. Brakes squealed and people shouted.
In the confusion the lady began running. Having no sense of direction, she ran
directly into the side a yellow taxicab. She struck the side of the cab with
such force that the roller blind loosened, spun up with a snap, and tangled
wildly in her hair.
The cab driver threw open the door
of his cab and in horror he raced around to the side where the woman lay
unconscious. “What in the world were you doing?” he yelled angrily. “You can’t
go walking around in the road with a roller blind in front of your eyes. You’ll
get yourself killed!” When he looked into the woman’s beautiful face he
realized she had fainted and could not hear him. He was relieved to discover
that she was breathing and had no serious injuries. His anger and fear began to
dissolve and he gently lifted her in his arms and placed her on the back seat
of his cab.
He drove to the hospital as fast as
he was able and waited patiently as the doctors and nurses cleaned and bandaged
the woman’s cuts and scrapes. When she opened her eyes she saw the cab driver
looking down at her kindly. “Hello,” he said. “My name is John. “I own the cab
that got in your way this afternoon. I’m sorry we’re meeting under such unhappy
circumstances.” “Don’t blame yourself,” said the lady. “It was my fault
entirely. I couldn’t see anything because of the blind in front of my face.”
John noticed the roller blind, still
tangled up in the front of the lady’s hair. Elizabeth had pulled and rolled and
worked herself this way and that, but instead of getting loose, she had only
tangled herself more hopelessly in the lady’s hair. The lady smiled at Joe as
she fingered the roller blind. “It’s silly really, it’s just that I’m so
terribly shy I thought wearing the roller blind was a good idea. It protects me
from the things I don’t want to see. “That’s some interesting protection,” John
laughed. “Are you shy now?” “I am,” said the lady, “but the roller blind
appears to be stuck just now. I’ll have to have this conversation with you
without its protection.”
“Do you mind much?” asked the man.
“Not really,” the lady said, flushing a bright pink. “I’m surprised at myself.
I haven’t had a conversation with a man like this ever before without being
embarrassed down to my toes. Its just that you’re so nice and kind and… I feel
like I’ve known you forever. I feel so completely comfortable with you.”
“Maybe, just maybe I should try to kiss you,” said John. “The blind will try to
roll itself down then and I can pull it loose.” He bent over and brushed her
soft lips with his own. Elizabeth stretched and stretched. John’s fingers
separated the strands of hair twisted around the blind. With a tug he pulled
Elizabeth free. “Ouch,” squealed the lady. “Did my kiss hurt you?” asked John.
“No, in fact, I think you made me better. Thank you for kissing me,” answered
the lady. “Are you completely recovered?” asked John. “No, I think you might want
to kiss me again,” said the lady as she leaned toward his outstretched arms.
Elizabeth realized that her shy
young lady suddenly wasn’t so shy any more. Since no one here seemed to have a
use for her she decided to make a quiet exit. Off John’s knee she rolled. On
her way out the door the lady caught sight of her. “Stop!” she cried. “Get her
please John, don’t let her go!” John ran after the roller blind and scooped it
up in his wide hands. “Thanks to you my dear roller blind,” said the lady with
tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, “I have found love.”
Indeed, the lady had found love. Her
love for John continued to grow as the months passed. John loved her so much
that she never felt shy again. The lady kept the roller blind to remind her how
she and John had been brought together. When John and the lady married on a
fine day that June they asked Elizabeth the roller blind to be the maid of
honor. Elizabeth missed the dollhouse and Miss Winifred some days, but she
loved John and the lady. On the day of the wedding she felt she could never be
happier.
But as the years passed, each was
happier than the one before. One winter day John held Elizabeth and danced for
joy. The lady had given birth to a precious baby girl. When the girl grew older
John and the lady gave her a wonderful dollhouse they had discovered at an
auction. It was a magnificent Victorian creation with tall gables, gingerbread
trim, and a wrap around porch. Elizabeth was moved from the lady’s jewelry box
into the bedroom window on the second floor of the dollhouse, strangely enough
it was the only room without a roller blind.
In the dollhouse lived a very proper
Victorian young lady named Miss Winifred. Sometimes at about eight o’clock each
evening John and the lady who lived outside the dollhouse would come in the
bedroom to kiss their sweet little girl goodnight. Often after they had kissed
their little girl, he and the lady would embrace and kiss each other. To
Elizabeth it was the most beautiful sight in the world, but she would anticipate
this kiss and roll herself down hurriedly before Miss Winifred could be
scandalized. For above all things, Miss Winifred could not endure the sight of
a lady and gentleman kissing.
Winston smelled smoke. He was sure
of it. Stop, drop, and roll he thought to himself as he poked his big toe out
from under his tangled blankets. Stop, drop, and roll. At first Winston thought
he was having a dream of firemen or burning buildings. He sniffed the air again
and was jolted awake! He definitely smelled smoke, no doubt about it, and it
was real! Aaaggghhh! Fire! He yelled as he jumped from his bed and began
rolling around on the floor. "Got to get out, got to get out," he
thought to himself. Winston crouched cautiously on all fours and dizzily made
his way to the bedroom door. All the while he screamed at the top of his lungs
"Fire, fire, everybody get out!"
The bedroom door flew open and hit
Winston on the forehead with a resounding hunk. Winston saw stars and collapsed
in a heap. "Oh great, thought Winston. The house is on fire and now I'm
going to die. Winston's sister Jessica peered carefully into the room and then
turned her disgusted expression upon him. What do you mean fire, Booger Nose? I
don't see any fire. You are the stupidest dumb brother ever. Fire! The only
thing that is on fire around here is your brain and it's fried. Mom says stop
all you’re yelling and come down for breakfast or you'll be late to school. And
don't be picking your nose!"
Winston warily got to his feet and rubbed
at the end of his nose with one finger. He looked angrily at his sister.
"I smelled smoke Jessica. I know I did. I'm not stupid. And I do not pick
my nose! Tell Mom I'm coming." Winston stood for a moment watching as
Jessica bounces down the steps.
The truth was Winston did pick his
nose. As soon as Jessica flounced out of sight and Winston heard the front door
slam, he stuck a finger right up his nose. It was a habit that Winston had
always had and could not seem to break. When Winston was younger he didn't
really care if anyone saw him picking his nose but now that he was older he
tried to do it secretly. Winston had actually become something of an expert at
picking his nose. He had started out using one finger then as his nostrils
began to grow two, and finally three fingers at a time. The funny thing was, as
the nostrils grew so did the boogers. Winston had pulled some amazing boogers
out of his nose. Some were as big as a golf ball. If only he could have shown
others some of his incredible boogers. But one day in second grade an ugly oaf
of a boy named Gerald had thrust his face into Winston's right before lunch and
stared at him with menacing eyes. "If you don't quit picking your nose I
am going to throw up on you, Booger Nose." The other children squealed and
screamed and scrambled away from Winston. At that moment a red faced Winston
understood something. His nose picking talent would have to be a secret if he
wanted any friends. And so he had kept it somewhat of a secret, although
Jessica the snoop always knew everybody's business… somehow.
As Winston walked to the bathroom he
pushed his finger further up his nostril to fish out any boogers that had
formed during the night. A jolt of pain shot down through his finger and down
to his feet! Winston jerked his throbbing finger out of his nose and stared at
it incredulously. Instead of finding a big fat booger on the end of his finger
he saw ashes and a badly scorched finger. His fingernail had turned completely
black! Screaming, Winston ran to the bathroom sink and stuck his finger under
cold water. He looked into the mirror and stared in shock and disbelief at his
reflection. There was smoke coming out of his nose!
This scared Winston! Carefully he
wet his finger and tried to peel the booger out of his nose. A flame shot out
his nose and singed the hair on his wrist. Winston howled in pain. He stuck the
plug into the sink and held his arm under the cool water. He bent over and
thrust his steaming face into the water to put out the fire in his nose. Water
splashed over the side of the sink and spilled onto the floor but Winston
didn't care. The water inside his nose was boiling furiously and for a moment
Winston thought his nose would explode from the pain. But then suddenly and
rather quietly the water stopped boiling and his nose stopped hurting.
Cautiously Winston dried his dripping hair and wiped his nose with a towel.
Winston decided it was best if he
left his nose completely alone. He ate his cereal, packed his lunch, and went
to school. Everything seemed back to normal until math class. He was just in
the middle of figuring out how many eights are in seventy-two when he began to
smell smoke again. He cautiously reached up to feel the tip of his nose. Zap!
Flames shot out of the end of his nose and leapt onto his math worksheet. The
worksheet burst into flames. Winston jumped from his seat and began beating at
the burning worksheet with his binder. Children sitting nearby screamed and ran
to the far side of the classroom. When the teacher looked up to see what all
the screaming was about she saw Winston madly pounding on a small pile of ashes
with his binder.
"Quiet everyone!" yelled
the teacher. "Get back in your seats!" The teacher marched over to
where Winston was standing and looked down at him furiously. "What is
going on Winston? Are you out of your mind? You're going to the principal! Fire
is absolutely not permitted in school! You could burn the place down!" As
the teacher leaned over Winston he sniffed sadly and another flame leapt out of
his nose. This one landed on the teacher's blouse and she jumped back in horror
and began slapping at it frantically. Winston Jennings, get out! Get out of my
classroom!"
Winston walked out into the hallway
but was unsure what to do or where to go. The right thing seemed to go to the
principal because he had done something terrible. He had caught his teacher on
fire. Even though Winston did not particularly like his teacher he didn't want
to burn her up. As Winston walked down the hallway he passed the nurses office.
He had gone two steps past when he slowly turned around and pushed open the
door marked "Emergency Entrance". It just seemed like the right place
to go. Number one, Winston was feeling pretty sick and number two, a smoking
nose could definitely be considered a "health emergency".
When Winston explained his problem
to the nurse she smiled at him and said sympathetically, "Let me see you
poor thing. You don't look well at all. First we'd better take your
temperature." Winston tried to hold the thermometer completely still under
his tongue but he felt it jumping about in his mouth. When the nurse pulled it
from his mouth Winston could see the red had risen clear to the top of the
thermometer. She looked at in disbelief, shook her head, and looked at it
again. "I've never seen anything like this,” she said. I'd better have a
closer look. She gently tilted Winston's head back and took a look up his nose.
She was startled to see something that looked very much like a burning ember
glowing deep inside his nose. "Now that is really strange." She
murmured to herself. "Let me see what I can do about this."
While Winston lay back on the
examining table the nurse probed around inside of his nose with a pair of long
tweezers. The tweezers grew hot in her hand. When at last she felt she had
managed to get a hold of the enormous booger she gave a gentle tug. Great
clouds of smoke billowed out from Winston's nose and the nurse looked at the
end of the tweezers in astonishment. The ends of the tweezers were twisted and
glowing red. The tips were melted together. "What in the world?"
remarked the astounded nurse? This is more than I can handle. It's best if you
go straight to the hospital."
Later that evening Winston lay in the hospital room. All day long
the doctors had tried several different methods to dislodge the booger from his
nose. In the end all their fancy equipment had been melted into a pile of
mangled metal. As a last resort the chief doctor decided that if they could not
dislodge the booger the best thing to do would be to put out the fire. Icy jets
of water were sprayed up Winston's nose until nothing could be seen inside his
nose except a dark black lump. When Winston's nose had stopped steaming the
doctors decided they had done all they could do for one night. It was best in
their opinion to let Winston get a good night's rest. In the morning they would
operate and surgically remove the enormous booger.
Winston lay crying alone inside the
dark hospital room in a strange bed. Since breakfast he'd had nothing to eat or
drink. Every time he got anything near his nose the booger burned it to
cinders. Winston was so exhausted that he could hardly keep his eyes open, but
his nose hurt terribly and the icy water had given him a ferocious headache. Suddenly
he heard a voice saying, “Well now, where the heck is the shining knights with
swinging swords ready to rescue a princess? What's this place and where's the
treasure?
Winston's eyes sprang open and he
peered around the room, but there was nobody there. "Who's speaking?"
he whispered into the darkness.
"It's me, of course, the dragon booger,” said a rasping
voice.
"Dragon Booger? What do you
mean?" Winston asked in alarm. "What is a dragon booger?"
"What do you think a dragon
booger is?" roared the dragon irritably. It's a booger meant for a dragon,
and you are just about the laziest dragon I've ever seen! Why aren't you curled
up in front of a castle? Where's the treasure you should be protecting? I
suppose by now someone unworthy knight has carted off the princess. I can't
believe you have the nerve to consider yourself a dragon!"
"But I don't consider myself a
dragon," said Winston in a very small voice.
"Nonsense!" roared the
dragon booger sending a shower of soot out of Winston's nose and down over the
sheets " Of course you're a dragon. You're just a lazy one."
"But I'm not a dragon."
said Winston insistently. "I'm just a normal boy."
The dragon booger throbbed angrily inside Winston's nose,
"Give me a break! No normal boy has nostrils as large as yours. You are a
dragon whether you like it or not."
"You're wrong. I'm not a
dragon," said Winston angrily. "My nostrils are just big because I
pick them. Just because I have big nostrils that doesn't make me a
dragon."
"Oh for crying out loud!"
said the dragon booger. "I've been fooled again. Well, it's an honest
mistake. You see, we dragon boogers have to travel by night to find noses to
live in. Small boogers always go looking for little children's noses. The
bigger boogers find noses belonging to grown-ups. They have it easy. We dragon
boogers are the ones that have the most trouble. We have to find dragon
noses."
"I see how that could be a
problem. It probably isn't very easy finding dragons," said Winston
sympathetically.
"Easy! It's almost
impossible!" It's so dark at night. We boogers have to feel our way. When
I felt your huge nostrils I was so happy. I was sure that after months of
searching I had finally found the nostrils of a real dragon."
"I'm sorry, dragon booger. I
didn't mean to trick you," said Winston.
"Well, from now do me and all
us dragon boogers a favor and leave your nose alone. It's hard enough as it is
for us without being tricked by kids who pick their noses. Besides, picking
your nose is a nasty habit!"
From that day on Winston did leave
his nose alone. In the morning the doctors were stunned to find a small boy who
looked very much like Winston sleeping soundly in room 12B. In fact, the boy
looked exactly like Winston except for the nose. This boy had a nose with
nostrils that were a little larger than usual, but normal in all other
respects. When the doctors looked inside Winston's nose they saw nothing at
all. The bewildered doctors shook their heads in confusion and discharged the
boy to Winston's parents who were absolutely certain he was their own dear boy.
Jessica was not quite as sure about
this boy. He looked like Winston, and he talked like Winston, but he did not
pick his nose like Winston. This boy politely blew into a tissue and never
picked his nose. Jessica watched very carefully but never again did she see
Winston pick his nose.
And what became of the dragon
booger? That same night he left Winston and went out in search of a real
dragon. Dragons are very rare you know, so the dragon booger may very well
still be looking. If you pick your boogers, be aware. Keep those fingers out of
your nose. There is a dragon booger out there looking, and if your nostrils are
stretched even the slightest bit from nose picking, your nose could be the next
one he stumbles upon in the middle of a deep dark night.
© 2001 Martin Nygaard and Julie
Maine