The acronym is for my business friends who have learned over the last decade to become acronymiacs whose text messages are in such a mixture of Text (or SMS) code and acronyms that they have become perfectly secure from anyone outside their Company. I have held the suspense long enough – SPPS is short for Scene Per Post Serial. That is to be my next venture as I wait for the first revision of ‘Left Field’ to mature so that the clichés will appear like zits on a clear complexion and be more easily treated on the next run through.
The challenge of attempting to write a serial has become impossible to ignore. The idea grew from an assignment at Linda Clare’s writing class (Thanks Linda; see her Blog: http://www.godsonggrace.blogspot.com for lots of useful writing tips). I don’t expect to post every day, but I do hope to get to the end of the story before the Holidays!
Larry and the Bear
1
The Birthday
It was late afternoon on July 27 and the boy was playing by the living room couch. He had a worn teddy bear that was now grey rather than the golden color that it had been in its youth. Teddy bears are elderly at 4 years old, you know.
“I’m going to be five tomorrow,” the boy told the bear as he helped him walk along the arm of the couch, “my bestest friend Joanie will still only be 4, and my bestest, bestest friend Phillip won’t be 5 ‘till after Christmas!”
Bill Pritchard was sitting at the kitchen table, checking out the cruise tickets to Alaska that had arrived in today’s mail. He was pleased that he’d got in for the special offer just ahead of the closing date. He needed this break to get away from that routine, repetitive job at the lumber mill. He thought about the trip and then how he’d wanted to go to Alaska for, well, forever. Seeing and photographing grizzlies in the wild had been a dream since he was a kid. He was no longer a kid, but an overweight thirty one year old with a scruffy haircut and an idea of fashion that didn’t get beyond a plaid shirt, old, baggy jeans and sneakers.
“Hey, honey!” he tried to attract Moira’s attention. Dinner could wait; he wanted to talk about their cruise.
Moira was twenty-eight and no longer slim. She claimed it was because she’d had a child, and had nothing to do with diet that they were all eating. After all, her burgers were homemade and didn’t she change the oil in her fryer every month? Having babies made you fat and Bill was out of luck if he thought she was going to be doing much more of that! She needn’t have been too concerned though because with her mousey hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail and in her old jeans and tee, she made Bill think more of beer and dinner than babies.
“What is it? Can’t you see I’m trying to get dinner!”
“Leave that a minute, we need to plan this trip a bit more.”
With a loud sizzling noise, Moira eased the sliced potatoes into the hot fat of the fryer and said,
“I don’t see how we can go. You should call for a refund.”
Bill started to lose his temper and brought his fist down hard on the kitchen table.
The loud bang from the kitchen caught the boy’s attention and he hugged his bear close.
“You damn well know we agreed this weeks ago, I’ve got the tickets for the cruise, we’ve got to go,” Bill was shouted at Moira.
“But its his birthday tomorrow, how can we just dump him on the Johnson’s as soon as he’s had his Birthday Cake? Its not as though we were even leaving him with my sister.”
“You your sister’s remodeling their house and doesn’t want another damn kid getting under her feet.”
“He’s not just another kid, he’s our son. You never really wanted kids anyway did you?”
“No not really, I just wanted a dog, a black lab would have been a lot less bloody trouble!”
“Well get a bloody dog, why don’t ya!”
The boy had crawled behind the couch to get further away from the shouting and now was curled up on the floor, holding his bear tight to his chest,
“Snuggie, why is Mom so mad? I must have been bad, I meant to finish my breakfast, I did.”
“I will, I’ll get a bloody dog just as soon as we get back. I’ll get a black lab. But we’re damn well going to go to Seattle tomorrow night to catch that damn boat and we’re going to leave the boy at the Johnson’s. You got that?”
“Alright, dear,” the voice of his Mom sounded tired and resigned, “We’ll leave him at the Johnson’s and then we’ll go.”
The tears were running down the boy’s face as he told his bear
“They don’t want me any more, they are going to leave me and get a dog instead! And the Johnson’s! Ohh! Mrs. Johnson makes you eat broccoli!”
He crawled further into the shadows behind the couch. “I know Snuggie we’ll run away, we can go tonight. As soon as Mom and Dad are asleep, we can go and hide in the woods. I’ll take my school pack and put some brownies in it. There’s blackberries and nuts and we can come out at night, when everybody’s in bed and get some food from Mr. Mitchell’s garden. I’m five, Snuggie, I’ll look after you.”
TBC
waiting with baited breath! A classic tale develops. :)