Day 9

            Saw a picture that might be this girl I have a giant crush on in a figure drawing class.  Twice removed from reality, first of all it only sorts of looks like her, and secondly it's from an amateur artists interpretation.  No way he did that sublime figure justice.  Also, can't remember if she wears glasses.
She was right about me and her having nothing in common, though, not only did my drug addict figure drawing teacher hate everything I tried in earnest to create, but I think drawing people naked is a little too Bohemian for me.

        

            He jammed the metal contraption into the garbage disposal, reaching directly over it and trying to get some torque.  It looked like he was attempting to stir a tub of concrete.  “Whatever it is, it’s really jammed,”  He sighed, looking over his shoulder at the women standing cross eyed and forlorn over the kitchen table, eyeballing the birds out by the bird feeder.  It was a blue eyed finch, rare to see this time of year.  The type of bird which would scare other smaller avian species away with its brilliant coat and shrill, passive aggressive cry.

            Mrs. Johnson was sure he was just putting on a show, taking his time to get a few more dollars.  They were a middle class family, Mr. Johnson was always out on business calls, he generally did not disclose the nature of his work.  Mrs. Johnson knew he was just being over-dramatic, as far as she knew he was a computer programmer, but just as he willed himself not to criticize her need for jewelry and fashion.  He was liable to fly off the cuff and disappear for nights on end when she attempted to pry, so eventually she just stopped asking. He also refused to intervene in her schoolgirl obsession with Harrison Ford, which extended unapologetically past his heart throb years.

             There was a rustling going on upstairs, Mrs. Johnson was sure of it.  The youngest son Clifford, or Cliffy as Mrs. Johnson affectionately called him, had imitated a woofing cough he picked up from years of observing his father sleeping in the evening chair, which sounded “not good” and bought him the day off from school.  His unfinished science project sat next to the upstairs window, warping under the extended sunlight.  He dreamed of going outside, maybe climbing onto the roof of the garage and out into the next yard.  He knew it was no easy task to escape; the family yard was fenced off on each side which wasn’t blocked by the house on the opposite side. 

            She stood at the bottom of the stairs, paying close attention to the sound going on in the kitchen.  She was caught between two pretenders, she thought.  Toeing each stair careful not to alert the plumber to the fact he was alone in the first floor, suddenly the door rang.  Whoever it was played a fancy tune with repeated pushings, interspersing some whimsical knocking in between.

            “Evening, Madam!” A man wearing a tailed tuxedo and with hair pomaded straight back.  “Evening, morning, the same thing!”  He called out from the top of the stairs.  He flew in a flash around the corner like a photograph taken in the wrong aperture setting.

            More perplexed than alarmed, she called out to her son as she climbed the stairs.  “Cliffy?” She walked heel toe towards his door, which was ajar.  She passed the second floor bathroom, noticing a trail of dirt covering the marble floors.  “Cliffy, you’re going to have to clean this up later!”  She called out in a moment of anger.  “Who am I kidding, I’ll clean it” She muttered to herself under her breath.

            The plumber had forced a hard squishy object out of the drain and heard it fall and bounce under the sink.  “Lady!”  He called out.  “Found the problem!”

            Cliffy had vanished when she opened the door to his room.  His window was open, and his project was gone with him.   The rest of the room looked cleaner than usual, the bed was made, his clothes were put away.  “Well, guess he must have went to school after all!” She thought to herself.

            Clinging onto the banister, deep in thought, she heard the voices of two men coming from the kitchen.  Reentering the room, she saw the plumber and the tuxedoed gentleman struggling over an object, which was currently in the possession of the plumber.  He fought dirty, throwing rabbit punches, headbutting and thrashing wildly like an animal just released from a cage.

            “If you let me have it, I’ll give you anything I want!” The tuxedoed man had lost his composure, and his suit was becoming tangled and taut.  A large gash in his forehead coated his forehead with blood, which he did not acknowledge.

            “Here’s the lady!”  The plumber suggested.  The tuxedoed man, becoming noticeably fatigued, did not consciously react to the auditory suggestion.  With a violent jerk, he created space between himself and the traveling man, offering the object to Mrs. Johnson.

            “Drain should work now!”  He demonstrated, turning the faucets on.  There was no gurgle in the drain, it sounded like a clear channel.  “Dunno what that weird thing is.  Gotta get to my next appointment, though!”  He rushed out of the house through the open door.

            Mrs. Johnson sat at the kitchen table fingering the tiny device.  It was some sort of divit, as far as she knew.  Rounded on one side, with a reflective lense in one side.  The weight shifted unevenly as she turned it in her hands.  The tuxedoed man stood across the room staring over with his arms crossed, allowing his bloody skull to drip onto the floor.

            “Something I need to ask you,”  He broke the silence.  She knew he was there, but was hypnotized.

            Cliffy got a running start from the top of the garage, and using his arm as a grappling hook attempted to catch onto a nearby tree.  He didn’t remember climbing onto the roof, or for that matter leaving his room, and only once suspended in the air did he realize what he was doing.  The branch of the oak tree in his neighbors yard snapped as did his arm, and his momentum sent him sailing in a straight line down on the concrete in front of his driveway. 

            Lying there, with no feeling in his back or in his right arm, he saw his mother leaving arm and arm down the street with a faceless man.  Making a conscious effort not to experience the pain, he tried to pick himself off of the concrete like a seagull with one wing.  “Mommy!” He called out, drifting onto a plane between consciousness and darkness.

           Dunno what the deal with this one was.