Sit here and wait and don’t move. I’m tired of telling you. Good, now stop squirming. Good, and stop whimpering. I need a moment’s peace. Are those your feet on the furniture? What do we say about that? Good, there’s hope for you. Now use your brain. We’ll have a pleasant day if you can behave. We can make sandwiches and after dinner we’ll walk to the corner and meet Mommy’s bus and, if she’s alone, she might take us to the playground. It happens. Not so much now, but it used to, I’m telling you. Now listen. I was a little doll like you, you don’t believe it but I was. I didn’t listen either, I had stuffing for brains. See where it got me: all alone in the world with you to talk to. Drink that. It takes the edge off. Why do you look at me like that? Something’s going on in that head of yours but I don’t want to hear it. Nothing to say? Fine, I’ll do the talking, you sit there and judge me with those big plastic eyes that never close. Come on, now, bottoms up, this is a party. God, this is boring. Is there anybody in this whole town left to play with besides you and me or did you scare away everybody? I’m sure I used to have friends. I’m about to go out and invite in some strangers. See if I don’t. Sure, I’ll have another. You should too; we have a couple of hours to kill. Maybe Mommy will bring home someone nice. It happens. Sometimes they get off the bus and you just want to hug them, they seem so gentle and kind. That’s too much ice. You want to taste it right to the bottom.
Copyright © June 22, 2008 David Hodges