ache1
before she became ache1 makes her E.T. wave goodbye to the last of
the houses in the north-east pocket suburb from the backseat as her uncle’s car
quits the city, zoo-bound. Her mother the passenger upfront, her uncle with one
hand on the wheel, the other rooting around in the pocket of his plaid shirt.
cog:
You want some chewing gums?
His
sister frowns at this with a look that intimates he keep his voice down.
cog:
Hm?
She
shakes her head as he extricates the flat pack and holds it between his teeth
so as to pierce the foil and paper wrap with the nails of a thumb and
forefinger which then score the outline of the leading stick.
Catching
on, he asks her again with just his face.
Mother:
No! And would it be too much to ask at this point that you just watch
where you’re going?
ache1
before she became ache1 (suddenly aware of the conversation in the
front seats and making E.T. point a demonstrative finger, saying): “Watch where
you’re going. Watch where you’re going.”
cog:
Don’t tell me you’re still afraid it’ll “stick to your ribs”
and
this last in a tone that belonged to their mother, referencing a past
his sister gives no indication whatsoever of remembering.
Mother
(emphatically shaking her head): No. Put it away. Please?
cog:
What about
nodding
at the passenger in back.
Mother:
Would you please put it away?
ache1
before she became ache1 (with sudden interest): What’s he got Mum?
Is it candy? Is it Reese’s Pieces?
Mother:
See?
and
folds her arms while offering him a look to imply the contempt of his total and
absolute lack of understanding of the infant head.
He
responds with a smile and a poke.
Mother:
Aow! What
cog:
What is it with you and the chewing gums, eh? What, are you afraid we hit a
bump and she swallows it, or what? It’s not like it’s going to
his
words piling up and stopping at the look on her face.
She
checks the back and, only when she’s certain her daughter has tuned out their
talking and is again busy with her doll
Mother:
Don’t give her any gum, she’s got no... She
and
then in lieu of description simply opts for making a slack face, a sloppy wet
chawing noise.
ache1
before she became ache1’s eyebrows jump a little up, and her head
swivels slowly as if remote-controlled.
Mother
(smiling now): Believe me, you do not want to hear it. You do not.
Her
daughter and E.T. now both staring vacant at the passing grass, dried out brown
already with this being early May.
