Paying Up at the Library

Peter, Sally, Mort and I were on our way to the library.

Okay, it was wasn’t our first choice.

The afternoon had started out with a peaceful game of croquet in our back yard.

But with one thing and another—okay, I admit it. Sally and Mort really don’t know how to play croquet properly. “Decimate thine opponent” really isn’t an approved rule. Or an option.

But it is their favourite move, consisting, as it does of one person hitting their ball close to their opponent’s ball and then calling “FORE!” and smacking that unfortunate sucker into orbit.

Between the four of us, we saw a lot of orbits in that game.

And we didn’t even get to finish.

Because one of Sally’s more spectacular shots put Peter’s shiny blue ball right through the kitchen window.

You know, the window that Sally took out whilst trying to flip an omelet on the fateful day that Peter and I met?

Yeah.

That window.

Anyways, as fate would have it, Mom and Baby Ivy were in said kitchen when said window exploded.

Oops.

Thus our expulsion, not only from the game, but from the immediate vicinity.

Don’t underestimate the power of a ticked-off Mama.

And, because I had a library fine to pay that I had been avoiding all week, we decided that the time had come to do it. I was actually pleased to have the company. There is safety in numbers. Supposedly.

During the walk, I was reciting what I would say to the girlbehindthedesk when we got there. “Hi! I’m Gwen Hart. I need to pay a fine.” Or “Hi, I’m Gwen Hart. I need to pay a fee.”

I had discussed, in depth, which covered it and sounded more cultured and sophisticated, ‘fine’ or ‘fee’.

But my wretched non-helpers were divided.

Thus my continuing vacillation.

“I need to pay a fine.” Or “I need to pay a fee.”

And yes, this went on all the way to the library.

Ahem…

When we got there, I took a deep breath, pulled open the imposing and rather intimidating front door and, my steps lagging, made my way to the front desk.

I don’t know why this sort of thing bugs me. I mean, isn’t paying a fine for having returned a book late just the price of the whole library experience?

Let’s simply agree it does and move on, shall we?

The girlbehindthedesk watched me as I approached. No smile.

Ugh. This was going to be just as difficult as I had imagined.

I moved up to the counter and took another deep, sustaining breath.

I looked her in the eye and said (I am not making this up), “I have to pee.”

Both of us stared at each other for a heartbeat or two.

Then, I just laid a dollar on the counter and the four of us left.

Even Sally couldn’t have topped that.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post with the understanding that all words be used at least once. All the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

Today, I’m using: price ~ approve ~ call ~ cover ~ fine

They were supplied by my patient and wonderful friend, Karen at Baking in a Tornado! Thank you!!!

Now see what my friends have created for this challenge with their words!

Baking In A Tornado

Climaxed

Try, Try Again

 Dad took Mom fly fishing. Someplace watery and peaceful.

He seems to be ‘taking her away’ a lot. Between you and me, I think he’s trying to preserve her mental health.
Sometimes, I wish he’d take me and Peter away as well.

Especially today.

First little background…

We live in Sally’s house. She bought it with her first paycheck from her first movie. (I guess it’ll come as no surprise when I tell you she is well-paid.) It is the largest in the neighbourhood and looks—from the outside—fairly grand.

On with my story:

The day started as days do—tranquil. Quiet.

With a couple of my windows open, I could hear the birds singing madly in the backyard. It was such a … peaceful sound.

I could faintly hear Sally and Mort downstairs laughing and banging pots and pans. Probably stirring up breakfast in their kitchen. The four of us (them, Peter, and I) had stayed up quite late watching old horror movies. Then, when discussion of the ridiculous and very unlikely rescue of the heroine by an overly-agile leading man had grown heated, Sally had taken it upon herself to prove to the rest of us that it could be done.

Peter hadn’t even gone out the door till after 1.

I stretched and reveled in being able to spend a few more peaceful minutes in bed.

And that’s when said peace was shattered.

I told you Sally earns quite a bit of money.

Well, she does.

And that’s my theory for what happened…happening.

The garden door to my room burst open. Now, normally, when something like this happens, Sally is the figure entering.

What came in was—definitely not Sally.

Nope. Three large figures, dressed head to toe in camo, toting weapons and sporting the very latest in total-head-coverings.

Not what usually steps in from the garden.

Did you know hearts can stop from sheer surprise?

Well, I’m pretty sure mine did.

I didn’t even get a chance to react. One of them—I’m assuming the ringleader—pointed to me and one of the other guys scooped me up. The third fastened my hands together with a zap strap and then ‘scooper guy’ threw me over his shoulder.

The force with which I hit that hard shoulder drove the breath from my lungs. But, still, I managed a fairly credible scream.

The ringleader spun around and motioned to my mouth.

The third guy applied a gag (emphasis on ‘gag’) and the three of them--and me--continued forward.

All of this took place in near silence. I mean, these guys were big and still they hardly made a sound!

We left my room and made our way up the hallway to the kitchen.

My scream must have alerted Mort. He had just reached the top stair. “SALLY! CODE RED!” he shouted as the leader pounced.

Man, that guy could move!

The man thumped Mort on the head and my gangly brother-in-law went down in an unconscious heap.

The other two looked at their leader and he motioned toward Mort’s hands and face.

Another zap strap and gag were applied. Though what they thought Mort would do when he was unconscious, I’ll never know. He struggles when he's awake.

We left Mort and started down the stairs. Me, still draped like an old carpet over second guy’s shoulder.

In my summer Pj’s which had been entirely adequate for sleeping—in the summer—but which were totally inadequate for a kidnapping.

Sigh.

We stepped out of the curve of the stairs.

At this point, most of the downstairs apartment is open to view. I guess that’s what ‘open concept' means.

Sally was nowhere in sight.

I blinked—the only part of me I could still move.

“Sally!” the ringleader said in a warning tone. “We’ve got your sister!”

I felt suddenly chilled, wishing I was the aforementioned old carpet.

And that an army platoon or two would appear out of nowhere.

The men spread out.

I don’t know where she came from, but suddenly Sally was there, swinging a heavy frying pan.

It connected solidly with the noggin of the third man and, like Mort before him, he dropped like a stone.

Still carrying the pan, Sally leaped over him and darted up the stairs.

The ringleader charged up after her.

So much for ‘We’ve got your sister…’

I didn’t see what happened, but I heard it. There was a heavy thud and boss guy slid down several steps and into our view, bleeding profusely from a crease in the side of his head.

Second guy let out a bellow, dropped me without even a by-your-leave, and he, too, started up the stairs.

Now, call me stupid, but something told me I needed to see what happened next, so I crept up the stairs behind him.

Just in time to see Sally swing down from the top of the stairs on the rope she had attached to the chandelier to prove her point the night before.

The point being someone could swing from a rope and accomplish an almighty rescue.

I’ll never question again.

Remember when I said these guys were packing heat?

Well, up till this time, their guns had remained holstered. I guess they thought Sally would be easy pickings.

Wrong. Remember the kidnapping attempt when she was filming in Brazil? Yeah. That.

Sally swung down in an arc and hit the guy just as he was pulling his gun.

Right in the chest.

The guy, not the gun.

He performed a spectacular back flip, right into the front door, which burst open, spilling him, unconscious, into the glorious morning light.

The light caressed his black hood and pristine camos like warm honey.

When Mom and Dad got back that evening, Sally was giving me a manicure at the kitchen table. Peter was hovering close by. Something about 'not wanting to let me out of his sight ever again'.

Mort had gone to bed early, claiming a headache.

Once more, it was peaceful.

Serene, even.

Mom hung her purse from a hook in the front hall closet and turned to us. “Hello, my sweethearts!” she said brightly. “We had a glorious day! How was yours?” 

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post—all words to be used at least once. All the posts are unique as each writer has received their own set of words. And here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now. 

My words: fly fishing ~ manicure ~ tranquil ~ ringleader were sent to me, via Karen, from my good friend, Rena! Thank you, Sweet Girl!

See what my friends have done with their words!

 BakingIn ATornado     

TheDiary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver 

Climaxed  

Part-timeWorking HockeyMom 

Socked

Okay, in hindsight, ‘going to the park’ was probably a good idea.

Being cooped up in lockdown with Sally AND Mort can sometimes resemble being in lockup with Psycho Sophia and her henchman Brainless Bobby.

That’s a lot of ups and downs.

Ahem…

I know for a fact that Mom had had enough.

It was her suggestion, after all, that the three of us could, in her words, ‘use some fresh air’.

Admittedly, she had a reason for her less-than-patient, overly clinical attitude.

Sally, in an effort to show Mort how to flip a pancake, had actually flipped the pan.

Right through the window over the kitchen sink.

Which would have been bad enough. But following the whole pillow-fight-until-someone-puts-a-foot-through-the-TV-screen debacle as it did.

And this preceded by…

Never mind. Let’s just say Mom was justified and leave it at that.

So we found ourselves at the park, tails humbly and firmly tucked. 

I'm Socially Distanced from anyone who counts (ie. everyone NOT Sally and Mort.) watching the pair of them play their version of soccer.

It was a bright, warm, glorious afternoon. Perfect for visiting the park.

That is if you’re a normal person.

Doing normal ‘park’ things…

Our visit had already resulted in profuse apologies to one family for mowing down their four-year-old when he managed to insinuate himself somewhere into the action. And an offer to pay another family for cleaning when Mort missed one of Sally’s field-clearing kicks and it ended with her rainbow-coloured soccer ball landing squarely (and with some force) in the center of their gi-normous bowl of potato salad.

I looked at my watch.

We’d been here a grand total of 17 minutes.

Sigh.

Off to my left, I saw Sally wind up for another of her ‘field goal’ kicks.

Mort was ready.

Which is to say he was standing some little ways away.

With a huge, red ‘X’ painted on his head.

Okay, I’m exaggerating. There was no actual X.

Just an imaginary one that seems real.

I covered my own head, just in case…

Sally belted the ball.

It flew, straight and perfect toward Mort.

For the first time, ever, Mort managed to get beneath it and bunt it with his enormous noggin.

I was so surprised that I forgot, for the moment, to keep my hands in their usual protective posture.

You have to know that Mort’s aim sadly lacks the…finesse…of Sally’s.

But what it loses in acuity, it makes up for in speed.

By the time I realized it was coming toward me, giving credible homage to the velocity of light, I could do little else but make a half-hearted and feeble gesture toward my soon-to-be belted cranium.

I told myself death was acceptable because I had fought the good fight and briefly (because that’s all the time I had) considered closing my eyes.

Hmmm…death visible or invisible…

And then, just as I took in the short sharp breath that would quite possibly be my last, a long, muscular arm shot out of nowhere and snatched the author of my demise before it could become.

And I was suddenly looking up into the warmest, most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen.

I admit it. I stared.

Below the eyes, a pair of firm, perfect, masculine lips curled into an equally gorgeous smile.

“Hello,” a smooth, deep voice said. “I’m Peter.”

 

 

Use Your Words is a challenge issued by the Great Karen from her lofty throne at Baking in a Tonado. And we, her loyal subjects hasten to comply...

Each month, we volunteer words, which Karen then shuffles and re-distributes. We don't know who will get our words. Or what they will do with them.

Until now!

My words this month? clinical ~ fought ~ insinuate ~ perfect ~ tail

There were supplied by my wonderful friend, Rena at: Wandering Web Designer 

Rena, I (and Sally and Gwen) thank you. You are amazing!

Here are the other participants. Read them, I guarantee it'll be a treat!

Baking In A Tornado                  

Wandering Web Designer

Climaxed 

Part-time Working Hockey Mom

What TF Sarah

Elevated

“Well, I can’t believe you’d just recycle it without at least letting me know it had come!”

“Come on, Sal, it was just a stupid letter from the bank. One of those ‘We can make you glowingly rich if you give us all your money’ offers.”

“Addressed to me!”

“Or ‘Occupant’.”

“Well, it was my first one and I would like to have been able to at least read it.”

Mort spoke up for the first time. “Isn’t it still there?”

We both looked at him.

“Isn’t it still there? I mean trash day isn’t until tomorrow. So doesn’t that mean the letter will still be in the bin at home?”

“Huh.” Sally suddenly grinned. “Yeah! Clever boy, Mort!” She and Mort shared a high five.

“Come on, you two.” Mom waved a hand. “The elevator’s here.”

“I love these old elevators,” Sally said as she and Mort followed Mom and me inside. “The ones with the old accordion gates. It’s like stepping back into time!”

“Yeah.” Mort’s freckled face was dimpled with smiles. “Cool!”

He and Sally carefully pulled the door shut.

I shook my head. “Well they make me nervous.” It’s true. They do.

Mom looked at me. “Don’t worry, Dear. They inspect these things all the time. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe!” She pushed the button for ‘six’.

I snorted. Of course, we were going to the sixth floor. Why couldn’t the eye doctor take up residence closer to the ground? Like sensible people?

The elevator groaned and started to rise. Slowly. I rolled my eyes and leaned against the brass rail that ran around the inside wall.

Mort and Sally were watching the floor indicator above the door as it passed the two. The three. The four.

And that’s where it stopped.

Along with elevator. With a galvanic jerk that nearly sent us all to our knees.

I gripped the rail. Perfect.

“There’s no box,” Mom said.

“What?” I looked at her. She was indicating the wall beside the controls. “No box.”

“No phone?”

She shook her head.

“Better and better.” I pulled out my phone. “Well I, for one, am not about to…” I held the phone up. Then lifted it above my head. Then walked around the prison…erm…elevator. Then shoved the useless thing back into my pocket.

“No reception?” Mom asked.

“Of course not,” I told her. “We’ve actually stepped back in time.”

“Oooh!” Sally clapped her hands excitedly. “An adventure!”

“Cool!” Mort added.

“Are you kidding me?” Okay, I wasn’t in the best of moods to start with. Because…letter. And maybe a bit of animosity. And now this?

Sally bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

I put out a hand. “Please stop that.”

She did, but her wide grin went on. And on.

 “Well, we’ll just have to wait until we’re discovered,” Mom said.

I stared at her. “In this centuries-old box? Hanging from a geriatric string hundreds of feet in the air?”

“Honey, I’m sure it’s been inspected…”

“Then why didn’t they install a call-box?”

Mom was silenced.

We slid to the floor, well, Mom and I did. Sally and Mort were making fun new discoveries.

“Look, Mort. Behind this little door is some of the old wiring!’

“Cooool.”

“And this little light. I don’t ever think I’ve seen a bulb like that.”

“Nice.”

“Wow. Think how old this elevator must be! Probably the oldest one in the whole city!”

Or the oldest one…ever. I tried not to listen.

“I think they just painted over the old wallpaper. Look. It’s flocked. I’ll bet it’s as old as the elevator itself!” The two of them went on.

I put my earbuds in and turned on some music.

Eight songs later, Sally, who had finally been convinced to sit down by the entreaties of a tearful Mom, got to her feet. “Well, I’m not going to sit around here and wait. Come on, Mort.”

I pulled my earbuds out. “What?”

“We’ll be right back.” Sally climbed on Mort’s shoulders.

“Can you reach it?” he asked.

“Yep!”

I stood up as well. “What are you…?”

Sally was pushing up on a little hatch in the ceiling.

“It’s a door,” she said. “Probably for the people who inspect this elevator.”

“Sally, it’s never been inspected in its entire existence.”

Sally grabbed the upper edge. Then she pulled herself up. “Hey! Lookit this!” A moment later, a rope ladder tumbled down from the hatch. “Come on Mort!”

Mort tested it with a foot. Then with his weight. “Looks good.” He started to climb.

Mom stood and put out a hand. “Mort, honey, I’m not sure if this is wise.”

I rolled my eyes. Sally and/or Mort and ‘wise’ in the same sentence?

“It’ll be fine, Mom. We’ll be right back!” He disappeared.

Mom and I stared up at the little hatch, listening to the sounds of the two of them finding their way out.

“Yay!” we heard them say, faintly. Obviously, they had been successful.

Mom and I sat down once more. And waited.

I kept expecting to hear the sounds of men and equipment. Maybe a siren or two.

Nothing.

Then…

“We’re back!”

Mom and I looked up to see Mort’s smiling face in the hatch opening. “Here. Take these!”

He handed down a little tray with four ice cream cones in it.

Mom and I got up and reached for them. “Erm…”

“We’re coming down!”

First Mort, then Sally descended the ladder and were once again standing with us in our little box.

Mom and I stared at them.

“Sally,” Mom began. “Did you…?”

“Better start eating them,” Sally said. “You don’t want them to melt.”

Instinctively, I reached for one of the cones and started licking. It did taste good.

Mom did the same.

Sally and Mort happily sat down, enjoying the treat.

Just then, we heard the sounds of knocking. Someone…outside. “Anyone in there?!”

“Yes!” Mom and I jumped to our feet. “Yes! We’re in here!”
“Stand away from the doors. We’ll get you out!”

The doors opened a crack and we could see the tip of a large pry bar. Then, as the doors were forced further apart, we could see faces. And emergency gear.

Hallelujah.

Finally, the doors were forced fully back. A man in a fireman’s hat was looking up at us.

“You folks been in here long?”

“Oh, an hour or so,” Mom said.

He looked at the ice cream cones melting in our hands. “An hour?”

“It was so cool!” Sally said, jumping to her feet. “This is the most awesome place! Have you seen the old wiring and lightbulbs?”

“Uh…yeah, we have.”

The four of us were helped down to the floor by some very confused-looking emergency workers. 

We thanked them and headed for the nearest stairway. 

Finally, standing, once more, in the foyer on the good old ‘safe’ ground level, I couldn’t wait any longer. “Sally, when you left, didn’t you go to get help?”

She looked at me. “Are you kidding? And miss all the fun?” 

 

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words this month were: animosity ~ elevator ~ letter ~ recycle.  And given to me by my sweet friend, Rena at : https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Come and see what my other friends have created! 

BakingIn ATornado                   

WanderingWebDesigner             

Part-timeWorking Hockey Mom    

Climaxed                                      

TheCrazy MamaLlama                            

 

Learning Manners

“Well I’m so glad to be able to have this chance to get to know you, Mrs. Townsend!” Mom took a sip of tea and smiled at the red-headed woman sitting opposite her in our living room.

“Likewise, Emma!” the woman winked. “And it’s ‘Mary’, please.”

Mom nodded.

Mary went on. “Of course I needed a behind-the-scenes glimpse of how your family survives when I realized that you, too were the mother of . . . one of ‘those’ kids. Whose mere existence is a life-changing-event.”

Mom nodded sagely and took another sip of tea. “Of course I’ve had mine a bit longer than you’ve had yours.”

“How old is Sally?” Mary asked.

Mom sighed.

I broke in. “I’m quite sure she’s been with us for—oh—a thousand years or more, right Mom?”

She smiled. “At times, it seems so.” She looked at Mary. “Sally is eighteen.”

Mary pushed the fingers of one hand through her fiery hair. “Eighteen. And Gary is eleven.”

Mom smiled sympathetically. “You have lots to look forward to.”

Now it was Mary’s turn to sigh.

“By the way, how did your family end up here?”

Mary took a bite of a cookie and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a strange story, actually.”

Mom smiled and settled back in her chair. “I like strange stories.”

“Well, my husband, Emmett, had been out of work since the pandemic started. He’s an auto mechanic. A really good one. But with no one using their cars, his boss simply laid everyone off.”

Mom nodded sympathetically.

“Anyway, he sent his resume to a company here and apparently they liked his profile and it didn’t take much convincing for them to invite him here for an interview.”

“That’s pretty exciting!” Mom said, offering Mary another cookie.

“Well, when you’ve been out of work for as long as he has, with COVID and everything, it sure is!” She smiled. “He got all his ducks-in-a-row and came. Sadly, he didn’t get that job. And to top things off, his car literally laid down and died just after his interview. Transmission.”

Mom winced. “So what did he do?”

Mary smiled. “The tow truck took him to a nearby repair place and Emmett got to talking with the guys there, and, before he knew it, he had a job offer.”

“Well, I’m glad you ended up here. And even more glad you chose our neighbourhood!”

“We like it. And now with our Gary finding a kindred spirit in your Sally . . .” She frowned. “By the way, where did they go?”

Both women looked at me.

I shrugged. “They said something about teaching Old Man Smith’s dog, Tanner, some manners . . .”

Mom snorted. “Gwen! You rhymed.”

I shrugged. “Don’t worry it won’t go to my . . .” Something moved on the front lawn. I leaned closer to the great front windows.

“What is it, hun?” Mom asked.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would guess it’s Old Man Smith’s dog, Tanner. Running for all he’s worth. And crying . . .”

“And learning some manners?” I could hear the smile in Mom’s voice.

“Well, learning something. He’s got clothes on.”

“Clothes?”

“Yeah. He’s . . .”

Just then a small, flesh-coloured streak zipped across the yard behind the dog. “Taaaaner! Taaaaaner!” a boyish voice screamed. “Come back here. Bring me my paaaaants!”

Just then another, larger streak appeared. “It’s okay, Gaaaary! You can have miiiiine!”

Then the much slower figure of Mort, carrying something in a bundle. “Saaaally! Don’t give away your paaaants! Use mine! Use miiiine!”

I glanced back at the two women seated together in the front room. "Ummm . . . there are three people outside, none of whom are wearing any pants."

Mary’s hands were on the arms of the chair as though she was about to get up.

Mom reached for her tea and took a sip. "So, a normal day, then."

Mary settled back and took a bite from another cookie.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers submit 4–6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them. 

My words this month? behind the scene ~ transmission ~ life-changing event ~ profile ~ convincing ~ ducks in a row

They were submitted by my good friend, Tamara at: Part-time Working Hockey Mom

Thanks so much, Tamara!      

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado

Wandering Web Designer

Part-time Working Hockey Mom

Climaxed

The Crazy Mama Llama

SallyBall

It was a normal day in the Hart household.

Let me qualify . . . In a house where there is a ‘new normal’ each and every day, it was a normal day in the Hart household.

Better.

At least it started out that way.

Don’t they all?

But I digress . . .

It was a beautiful day. Sunny. Warm.

Especially wonderful because it followed three days of pounding ‘stuck-in-the-house-with-Sally’ rain.

Sally and Mort decided they would go over to the park and play some one-on-one at one of the basketball courts.

After the surprise wore off (Who knew either of them had even heard of the game of basketball?), I decided to follow.

There were others playing when we got there, but enough courts to go around so that social distancing wasn’t a problem.

I took a seat on the tarmac beside their area and prepared to scoff/belittle/pretend to snore.

Hey, it’s an important job!

Their game of ‘horse’ began.

Now Sally, for all her faults, is surprisingly athletic. Even though I know for a fact she has never even held a basketball before, she did really well. It took about 3 seconds for her to figure out how to dribble and move. Quite effectively.

Even her shooting was pretty much amazing.

Huh. Who knew?

Now Mort, on the other hand, is all long arms and legs.

None of which is in communication with the others.

The only way he could even attempt to dribble was with both hands.

And forget moving while he did so.

After his third flat-on-his-face attempt, he gave up trying.

And simply dribbled. And shot.

From wherever he might happen to be.

There were numerous shots taken from in and around the key.

All dismal—though fairly spectacular—failures.

Surprisingly, shots taken from the ‘3-point’ area seemed to get closer. With one actually dropping through the basket.

Something that stopped play on all the courts around us.

Even engendered a smattering of applause.

Needless to say, Sally was the uncontested (and getting louder) winner of every game.

Now things had been going along for some time in this manner.

I was enjoying my task of cat-calling and verbal derision.

Sally was sailing about, looking more and more like . . . someone-famous-who-plays-basketball.

My ignorance is woeful…

Mort was dribbling. And/or shooting.

He had actually sunk a second shot and was standing there, grinning widely as Sally went for the ball.

And that’s when things . . . changed.

Sally stopped. Staring.

I turned to see what she was gazing at so intently.

A couple had sat down on a nearby bench. Totally absorbed in each other, they were oblivious to any of us in the vicinity.

Which is probably why what happened . . . happened.

It took me a moment to recognize what had only taken Sally a split-second.

The boy in the couple was our best friend Mary’s boyfriend, Troy.

The girl . . . wasn’t Mary.

Before I had barely taken in what was happening, Sally flipped that basketball at the speed of light.

With deadly aim.

It smacked Mr. Amorous on the side of the head just as he was moving in for a lip lock, knocking him right over that bench.

It may not have been just but it certainly was justice.

In a blink, Troy was sitting on the ground, looking around dazedly.

The girl in the duo came to her feet and spied Sally heading in her direction. Abruptly abandoning whatever may have been developing in her and Troy’s relationship, she lit out for the nearest far-away (Sally-less) place.

Needless to say, the kiss never happened.
Sally scooped up the ball, gave Troy a silent glare, and sauntered back to her game.

Still looking rather confused, Troy got to his feet and headed out of the park.

Sally and Mort went back to playing.

I left. I mean, how could you top that?

P.S. I should have stayed.

An hour or so later, Sally and Mort showed up at home.

They paused just inside the front door, breathing heavily.

Sally looked at us. “If anyone comes to ask you about the basketball pole that somehow got sort of . . . broken, plead ignorance, K, Mom?”

Each month, Karen from Baking in a Tornado and her followers play word games. It's our go-to for fun. Each of us uses words we've supplied which are then shuffled and re-distributed by our intrepid leader.

No one knows where our words have gone or what will be done with them.

See? Fun!

My words this month came from Karen herself.

just ~ justice ~ basketball ~ snore ~ louder

What could I do but write another 'Sally' episode?!  

See what my friends have done with their challenge!  

Baking In A Tornado

Wandering Web Designer

The Crazy Mama Llama

Climaxed

Part-time Working Hockey Mom

Truth, Forgiveness...and Chocolate

For those of you following Sally’s stories with me . . .

The story you are about to read is true.

Somewhat.

The days, weeks and months of Kindergarten were peaceful. Understandably so because . . . Sally.

And it was really nothing she did . . . well, other than knock a would-be bully onto his can the first day in class. I’m not sure, but I like to think she changed the whole course of his life. And everyone else who witnessed and/or heard.

Who’s with me?

Anyway, the peaceful days continued through the fall and winter and into the spring.

Continued until what is written in the annals of Briercombe Elementary School as ‘The Day of the Doll’.

Here we go . . .

A new girl moved into the area.

A very pretty girl with long, flowing, dark hair by the name of Rachel.

Whose name became . . . Betty.

It shall all be understood . . .

It was soon very clear to the rest of us at ol’ BES that Betty was determined to vie for the position of ‘Top Girl’.

A position held—to date—by no one.

Because it’s elementary school. Geeze.

Before long, Betty (see above) was terrorizing the smaller children. Taking their toys and roughing them up.

Sally and I, engaged with our friends in a cut-throat game of Jacks, heard the scuffles. And indignant outcries.

And the tears.

Sally’s radar went off.

And so did she.

Apparently (because few of us actually saw it from start to finish) Betty had snatched little Miriam’s precious Ava—her doll/constant companion/don’t-anyone-touch-her-or-I-may-faint-and-quite-possibly-die.

With predictable results.

Sweet, golden-haired Ava held high over her head, Betty was dancing around the playground, taunting the much smaller, now copiously-weeping Miriam who was in arm-outstretched pursuit.

Suddenly, the rest of the playground fell silent and parted for the newly-arrived-on-the-scene Sally.

Betty stopped and stared at the red-faced little demon headed rapidly in her direction.

I think she managed to figure out that the tide had turned.

And it wasn’t in her favour.

Clutching the now-forgotten doll, Betty spun about and made a bee-line for the school.

And the principal’s office.

An interesting side note: It was the first (and only) time in the history of BES that a student ran ‘to’ the principal’s office.

But I digress . . .

Sally was right behind her.

With the still-weeping little Miriam, a faint and distant third.

I watched as Betty skidded around the last corner and disappeared into the school.

Now I didn’t actually witness what happened thereafter.

But there were enough reports from students who did that I’ve been able to stitch together a fairly accurate account.

Betty wasted no time asking for directions (it was a small school—finding the principal’s office was really a no-brainer), but simply charged up the hall until she happened upon her feverishly-sought goal.

She dashed in.

And took cover behind the principal’s desk.

And the principal.

Sally simply marched in and stood there, hands on her hips.

The principal looked from one girl to the other. “Erm . . . can I help you girls?”

She was a very polite principal.

Sally just raised an eyebrow in Betty’s direction.

Betty silently held out the doll.

By this time, Miriam had arrived. Still crying.

Sally snatched Ava from Betty and restored her to her rightful owner, who, clutching the doll to her small self, turned and disappeared.

Then Sally turned once more and glared at Betty.

Remember, Sally at this point was still only in kindergarten. So . . . on the shady side of five.

Betty hovered somewhere around the ‘twice-Sally’s-size’ grade three level.

One of them was obviously in charge.

And it wasn’t Betty.

For a moment, the two of them regarded each other. Then, as large tears started welling up in the bigger girl's eyes, Sally grabbed Betty’s hand and pulled her back into the hall. “Hi, Betty. I’m Sally!” she said brightly.

Betty looked at her. “Umm . . . my name’s not . . .”

“Welcome to our school, Betty. You’ll like it here! Have some chocolate.”

I have it on good authority that the principal merely shrugged and went back to what she had been doing.

I expect you’re wondering what happened to Betty?

Well, maybe this will clarify . . .

Earlier this afternoon, a delivery arrived for Sally. A fairly large package that smells deliciously of chocolate.

In the upper ‘sender’s’ corner were the words ‘Rachel. Aka Betty’.

And the addressee?

“To My Very Best Friend EVER”.

Yep. Truth. Forgiveness. And chocolate.

In the same perfect package.

Tuesday, July 7th is Global Forgiveness Day, Tell the Truth Day AND World Chocolate Day. I'm celebrating all of them with my friend!

Karen of Baking In A Tornado: Truth, Forgiveness, and Chocolate
Jenn from Sparkly Poetic Weirdo: Truth, Forgiveness and Chocolate