Family Ties

The cookies came out of the oven a minute after the timer went off. Burnt. I was sure that I had timed it perfectly. Put them in the oven, go to the basement and take out a load of clothes. I didn't consider the time it would take to fold fourteen tee shirts, so I didn't receive the smell timer signal. I was too far away from the kitchen.

They slid off the cookie sheet onto a paper plate, my frown the evidence of my increasing bad mood. My son Eric came up the stairs, two at time with his newly folded shirts, smelling of passion fruit-- crumpled under his arm.

“Thanks, Mom. Cool! Homemade cookies,” he said, grabbing four of them before going upstairs.

I'm not sure which is more disappointing, the now rumpled shirts, or the blackened cookies. I made them because I was feeling a bit guilty about being gone so much lately. I had neglected my family and wanted to make it up to them. Work had kept me extremely busy, so dinners were late and housekeeping a lost cause. I glanced over at the kitchen table. A stack of paper plates from breakfast, two bags of groceries to put away and several shirts and jackets hung from two of the chair backs. A pile of shoes in the corner completed the homey scene.

Sucking in a deep breath I start to grab all the clothes and go for another run down to the basement. Just as I get halfway down the stairs, the house phone rings. I stop and wait. Nope, nobody is going to answer it. I start back up, then decide the clothes are dirty anyway, so I toss them over the rail. They land, piece by piece in a trail toward the washer; nowhere near it. I would have to pick them all up again. My mood is sinking lower minute by minute. I'm feeling put upon and taken for granted. Not to mention I'm getting nowhere fast in my endeavor to take care of things that needed attention. I wish I could morph myself into five or six people for a few hours. Then the house and the laundry would stand a fair chance of getting clean, or at least neater.

I stare at the clothes laying on the floor. The phone stops ringing. Two piles of whites and several baskets of colored items look back at me, as though laughing. It'll take me the rest of the day to get all of this laundry done. A sigh escapes. My son's voice interrupts my pity pool. Can I have no enjoyment on this one day off, just a bit of selfish pathos?

“Hey mom! I'm going down to the skate park to watch the guys. Be back for dinner.”

“Okay.” I call up to the sound of the front door slamming shut.

He doesn't walk anywhere these days. Every step is at a full run. When did that start? Why didn't I notice? I trudge up the stairs and pour a cup of coffee, deciding to allow myself a moment before I tackle another mess. As I walk past the kitchen island, my shirt catches the mail piled on the corner. Trying to balance my cup and attempt to catch the falling envelopes fails. They cascade to the floor, my coffee pouring over them as it sloshes from my cup.

A giggle rises from somewhere inside me. The sound of it startled me for a moment. It becomes a full blown laugh as I slide down the island to the floor. Puddles of the dark brown liquid bubble over the papers and smudge the print. Sitting Indian style on the floor, I begin to sort through a colorful paper mess. Bills, fliers inviting me to buy a new car and various charities offering me a new coffee cup if I contribute to their cause. One of the cardboard fliers catches my attention. Bright neon green stands out among the mostly while envelopes.

It's an ad for a new cleaning service. Looking down the hall with the flier in hand, dust greets me, seeming to wave at me with hidden pleasure. The scatter rugs are so filthy they are rolled up on each end, appearing old and dilapidated. The same way I feel today. My eyes go back to the brochure. The phone number is printed in unmistakable hot pink, calling to me. I throw the mail that laid in my lap back onto the pile in the floor and stand up with renewed energy and a bit of excitement.

A kind male voice answers my call, eager to help. By the time I had hung up I felt refreshed. As though I'd been for a swim. They would be here tomorrow morning before I leave for work. Hmm, that sounds wonderful, a swim in the pool. I haven't had time for it lately and I do love to swim or just float mindlessly on a raft. My mind goes blank whenever I hit the water and a soothing calm immerses me.

Opening the sliding door to the patio, suit on and towel in hand, I smile. The oblong pool glistened in the sun...calling to me...waiting for me to ripple the calm of it's placid surface. I lay the towel on a chair arm and walk to the deep end. My intention was to dive right in and swim to the shallow end. The smile on my face reflects the anticipation of pure pleasure. Until I look down at the bottom of the pool.

Leaves. Piles of leaves covered the normally aqua bottom. Dark and slimy looking, they seemed to take on a life of their own, swaying back and fourth, causing them to resemble aliens. Or hiding places for creatures I didn't trust or want to be touched by. Disappointed, I walk to the other end and take a look. Well, at least I could see the bottom, even though leaves were floating around there as well. I take the stairs into the water carefully, not wanting to disturb them. I might not swim, but I sure as heck was going to at least get wet. After all, I'd taken time to change and left all that wonderful housework all alone.

As soon as my foot landed on a cluster of leaves, I slipped and went under the water. I open my eyes and look around me beneath the water. I manage to rise to the top and wipe the water from my lids. Reaching out for the side to save my floundering body, my hand lands on a frog. It calls out a loud rib-bit. I jerk my hand back and my feet slip on another wad of slick leaves. Legs kicking and hands splashing, I try to regain my balance. Ever tried grabbing water...it doesn't work. I'm flailing under the water and suck in a large swallow of that putrid water. Yuk! I try to spit it away from me, but manage to drool down my chin instead.

Finally, I get back to the stairs and climb out. I reach for my towel through burning eyeballs. It's not there. Blinking to gain focus, I see my son drying his sweaty head and neck with my towel.

“Eric!”

“Hi mom. Sorry about the pool. I was going to clean it...I just forgot. Thanks for doing it for me. Can I have my allowance? We're going for pizza.”

He thinks I'm cleaning the pool, doing his job for him. A large drop of water lands on my eyelashes. My left eye starts to burn, while my wet skin begins a slight chill. I take a step toward my son. “You have to complete the job before you get an allowance, Eric. I suggest you do that right now. Forget the pizza and anything else until further notice. Clean the pool.” I stomp into the house without looking back to see what he's doing. I can feel a tongue on my back as I walk away.

“Mom. I'll do it later. I promise.”

“No more deals, honey. The pool is a mess. Those leaves will damage the filter if they stay in there. Besides, I'd like to be able to swim without fear of finding some creature below the surface that wants a bite of me.” My voice took on stern quality. I didn't know I had one.

He throws my towel on the stone patio and stomps off. Presumably to put his trunks on and vacuum the pool. Maybe not.

Several hours later I arrive back at the house with an array of totes, laundry bags and other storage paraphernalia. Each bedroom received a few of each. Then I started dinner. No laundry or other cleaning had gotten accomplished today, but I felt as though I had conquered the world. While dinner baked in the oven I made a list for each family member, noting what they would do with their new colorful containers. One for extra laundry, one for picking up items left downstairs and a sock bag. My family is big on socks, they must own a thousand of them. Finding a match is the trick, so I felt as though I had climbed the sock mountain with my idea of having a bag for them to live in.

My husband and both kids gathered to the table when I called them for dinner. Each had their list in hand, and questioning frowns on their faces. I hid my smile by placing the chicken casserole on the table. I sat down and looked up. They were all staring at me. I wanted to laugh, but checked the impulse, instead passing the rolls to my son.

He reached for them, taking two then shoving it over to his father. “What's up with the list thing, Mom?” Elbows on the table, he leaned toward me.

“It's a new way of cleaning. They tell me it takes all the work out of it and I get time to read or swim...anything I want. Isn't that wonderful?” I said sweetly.

Eric looked at his dad for help. Slowly my husband began to grin. I patted the corner of my mouth with a napkin to hide my grin.

Molly piped up. “I can't read mine.” Her pretty little face drawn into a pucker.

We all burst into laughter at her five year old truth. I had given her one so she would feel included, with real chores listed on it, to read to her later. I realized now that I had only accomplished leaving her out of the loop I hoped to create.

I laid my napkin down and looked at each of them one at a time. “I'm sorry that I have to work longer hours these days. I know it's a burden on all of you, because I'm tired and cranky, plus I don't have the energy to pick up after all of you. I made a decision today. I'm hiring a cleaning crew to come in once a week.” I had their attention.

Eric was the first to speak. “I don't want some stranger in my room. I'm putting a lock on my door.” He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as though he would refuse entrance to any strangers that dared to come near it. He meant business too. 

My husband shoved another fork full of casserole in his mouth. When he had swallowed, he said, “Honey, this is a great idea. Tell us how it works.” He sent me a conspiratorial wink.

“It's simple. I have instructed them to throw away any clothes, toys, dolls, socks, towels, shoes, sports equipment, papers, books, jackets and anything else that should have already have been put away. This way, the house will soon be neat and tidy by the time they get here each week, all that stuff will be gone in no time flat.”

Eric narrowed his eyes, toying with his peas. “You mean... for real? Just throw out all our stuff?”

I gave him a stare. Yo know, the one that comes with motherhood. “Honey, you all expect me to pick up anything you don't feel like putting away. Wherever you drop something, there it stays. I've allowed you to continue bad behaviors, but it has to change. I'm only one person and you all are three people. The rules apply to me too. If I leave a magazine on the sofa, it goes. Let me see... I don't leave clothes or socks laying around the den, so maybe I won't have as much to do as you. What do you think of my idea?”

My husband grinned. “It's great. I think it should go a step farther though. I'm quite capable of doing my own laundry. I'll pick a day and Eric can choose one too.” He looked at Eric for his reaction.

Eric sulked and slunk down in his chair. “I can't fold laundry the way mom does. Besides, I have to clean the pool. That should be enough.” He cut his eyes over to me. His bravado was fading fast as his own words landed somewhere within his teenage brain.

I took a bite and chewed slowly. This conversation was more than we had shared in months, I didn't want it to end quite yet, but I didn't want it to become hostile either. I continued anyway. “Well honey, if you think that we should wait on you hand and foot and give you and pay you for leaving your clothes all over the house, I'll have to re-think a few things. Like your cell phone. I could take that money and add it to the cleaning allowance. I think dad can clean the pool and then maybe you won't even need an allowance at all. After all, the definition of allowance is; payment for chores done.”

Poor thing. He didn't know how to respond to this. His cell phone was his life's blood, he could never give it up. He was beginning to see the big picture, but the battle wasn't won yet.

Three weeks later, I curled up on the sofa and the vista before me was a clean and tidy den. Not a loose sock in sight. One doll sat in the wing chair opposite me, leaving plenty of room for someone to sit beside her. On my way downstairs from putting Molly's clothes away, she's too short to even reach the washer, I peeked in Eric's room. The bed was almost made. His container had a few clothes hanging over the sides, but all in all, his room was clean and neat. A basket held the various sports items and the closet, though the door was ajar, was full of neatly hung tee-shirts. He hadn't mastered the art of folding, so he compromised by hanging them. I can so live with that!

Life is good. I laid my head back and closed my eyes. Work had ceased to pull me away for such long hours at a time, and my family had finally pitched in to help. Hiring the cleaning service has been the best money I ever spent. Not a single member of my family wanted a stranger to come in to a mess. Embarrassment mixed with a little fear is a wonderful motivator. I shall use this weapon sparingly though, just in case...

Beware Of The Shadows

 Callie and Molly needed to collect specimens of leaves for a science project at school. This was the very first project they'd ever been assigned and they were excited to complete it, dashing into the woods behind Molly's house to begin their quest. They'd never been there alone before.

Both of the seven year old girls carried grocery bags to hold their treasures. In their excitement they forgot they were afraid of the dark. The giant trees created tunnels of darkness as they entered. The branches hung down low, dancing like caverns of shadows.

Of course today was an overcast day to begin with, so the woods were even darker and more menacing that ever for the two girls. Only their quest to accomplish their task before any of the other kids in their class, propelled them forward. The fear inside them was within inches though of turning them back to the safety of the grass that led to the house.

Callie stepped onto the carpet of dried leaves and jumped back, a scream of terror came from Molly. The twigs breaking under her foot had scared her more than the dim vision beyond.

“Wait! Maybe we can find enough leaves around the edges, so we don't have to...go in there,” Molly said, holding onto her friends arm with both hands.

Callie frowned, “We can't use old dead leaves, that would be ugly! Come on, we have to go in a little farther.” She pulled her friend by the hand a few feet into the woods, then looked behind them. “See, the yard is right there, we'll be okay.”

Crouching low and stepping with great care, they crept farther into the shadowy woods, holding tightly to one another. Scraggly little trees, unable to grow tall among the larger ones, with scratchy branches reached out to touch them, giving them a fright. It felt like witches fingers caressing their skin, drawing them closer to her house of gingerbread.

The girls were fast losing their adventuresome spirit as the branches loomed over them, seeming to sway toward them in the shape of huge arms. Both were sure that one rather regal gum tree wanted to swoop them up into the nether land of the tree tops.

A light wind blew the leaves on the branches, fluttering them into lovely shades of gray and green. “Look Molly! Let's get some of those, they're so beautiful.” She reached up, almost touching the bough of green, but not quite. Undaunted, she told Molly to help her by letting her stand on her back.

Molly stuck out her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes. “I don't want to. It's yucky on the ground. You do it and I'll pull the leaves.” Her face lit up with such a wonderful idea.

Poor Molly, she was a bit younger than Callie and still had no idea what a difference a few months meant to the wily and more calculating, Callie.

“I'm the tallest, so I have to be the one to reach up. It's the rule.” Callie told her, hands on her hips with an authority in her voice. She wasted no time in shoving Molly to the ground, then attempted to climb on her back. She immediately fell right off, landing unceremoniously on the earthy smelling leaves with a disgusted look on her face. “Molly! You have to hold still!” she demanded.

“My knees are getting dirty!” Molly cried out.

“Oh Molly, you are such a baby.” Callie taunted, knowing that would make Molly behave. She was actually quite proud of herself, as Molly crumpled under the pressure and climbed back on all fours.

After some time and several more tries, Callie managed to collect a handful of leaves, although some were torn by the time she had pulled them from the firm grasp of the tree.

“I'm tired. I wanna go home now.” Molly pleaded, swinging her arms and smacking her plastic bag against her legs.

Callie wasn't about to give up on her quest for the very best project in their class. “Look Molly, over there.” A smaller tree with an abundance of low branches was adorned with red leaves with yellow blotches on them.

Molly was excited when she saw the vibrant colors against the vast green vegetation that was just beyond their reach. She ran ahead of Callie, forgetting to worry about how far they were going in her excitement, or how much deeper into the shadowy forest the red leaves drew them. The trees were thicker now and the ground was covered in a bed of leaves from years past, making it harder to travel. Callie followed closely, determined to have most of those red leaves for herself. She loved Molly, but she loved being the winner more.

While both girls stripped the tree of it's foliage,laughing and giggling at their fine, the day was getting shorter. Not really too close to dark, but the sun had moved lower, casting ghostly shadows around them.

Molly tripped over a root and fell over backwards. When she looked around her to see where her bag of treasures had flown, she realized she couldn't see the edge of the woods anymore. Sitting very still, she spied a lion coming towards them. She couldn't speak! Her eyes had widened and her mouth was paralyzed into an o. She pointed to the lion hiding behind a tree. Her little body shook with fear.

Callie turned to see what her friend was afraid of, but didn't see anything. “You're imagination is seeing things, Molly. Just stop looking that way, it makes your eyes do funny things.” Callie was much like her mother and she had little time for the frightened Molly now. She was on a quest and still needed more leaves.

Callie bent down to retrieve her bag and noticed a large paw next to the tree in front of her. She froze. Then ran to Molly and hugged her. Both girls held onto one another for dear life, as the shadows began to crawl closer to them. They were surrounded by very large animals that were hiding among the trees.

.

Callie whispered, “Which way do we go to get back home? I can't see the light anymore.”

Molly began to sniff, “Me either. I'm scared.” Her fingers dug into Callie's arm.

Both girls were on the verge of a total meltdown, when they noticed a pink light on the ground beside them. It was so pretty, Callie loosened her grip on Molly and turned around. Just beyond them, a rainbow glittered through the trees, yellow, pink and blue light arched through the trees, lighting the path to home.

Fascinated, Molly reached out to touch it. Before her fingers got close enough, Callie grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the path at a full run.

When they reached the edge, a light rain glistened on the ground and the outer portion of the woods. Droplets of water bounced on their heads as they emerged into the safety of the yard.

They had been sheltered and untouched from the rain by the blanket of green above them. The unexpected rainbow of colored light had shown them the way through the darkening forest of shadows—and lions and tigers and bears.

Mom's Duty

Janet threw her purse on the bench by the door, to avoid dropping the bags of take-out food on the floor. Managing to haul the slippery bags to the counter and toss them onto it, was no easy task today. She had sprained her ankle the day before and the pain was increasing with each step she took. The crutch under her arm banged into the door, almost tripping her. She hadn't mastered the technique of holding bags, purse, jacket and crutch all at the same time, while walking.

Her children, Ben and Mica, strolled in behind her still playing a game they had started on the ride home from practice, totally unaware that their help would be appreciated.

“Okay kids, put the Gameboy away for now and grab some paper plates,” she told them. Janet leaned against the counter and began to pull the hamburgers and fries out of the bags, while holding her foot in the air behind her. A throbbing pain was working it's way up to her calf now. “Come on guys, help me out here.”

“Wait, mom,” Mica said. “We're almost done.”

Normally, Janet would have snatched the game up and out of their reach. Today, the obstacle of making her way around the counter and keeping her balance on one good foot, was too much for her.

She sighed and said, “Fine, eat it cold.” Reaching into the cupboard above her, she pulled down one paper plate, not three, and placed her own food on it. She slid it across the counter before making her way around it, to sit on a bar stool.

Trying to hitch herself up on the stool with one foot and one hand proved to be too much. She gave up and hobbled into the family room, plopping into the recliner. As soon as she was comfortable, she realized her bladder was in need of release and her food was still on the counter. She stared down the hallway where the bathroom was located with dread. It might just as well be a mountain to climb at this moment.

“The next house I buy will have a bathroom right in the middle of the family room. Forget that big screen T.V., they'll just have to hang it on the ceiling and walk around the room in the room!” she said. As soon as she managed to inch her way out of the chair, her husband came in the door.

Relief spread over her like a down comforter, help had arrived. “I'm so glad you're home, hon,” she called out.

Her husband Ron came into the den with her plate of food, the hamburger almost completely eaten. “Hi, how'd practice go?” he asked, his mouth full.

Janet just stared at the plate. “I stayed in the car, so I don't have a clue how it went.” Her voice had a gritty quality to it now. Every movement made the bathroom seem farther away. She was almost to the hall, when Barney the dog woke up and barked, running into her crutch and knocking it away from her. Barney thought it was a new toy and immediately began to chase it and bark. He would run up to it, then scoot himself back with his constant and irritating bark raising a ruckus.

Now, how does a dog chase an inanimate object like a crutch, you ask. Barney is a curly-haired, black poodle, therefore he thinks anything larger than a banana is his own personal prey. He's quick to subdue the metal thing on the floor, by crunching his sharp little teeth firmly into the foam arm protector and shaking it until a rather large part of comes away in his mouth.

“No, Barney! No. Stop that, right now,” Janet cries. “Ron, do you think you could lend a hand here?”

Ron jumps up and picks up the dog, carrying him back to his spot on the sofa, never taking his eyes off the game on the T.V. He's totally unaware that his wife can't stand on one foot and pick up the crutch.

Janet is fed up at this point and refuses to ask for help, a woman thing. She bends at the waist, standing on her good leg and lands both hands on the floor next to the crutch, bad ankle hanging in the air. Too late, she realizes this is just the position her bladder doesn't need. Crawling one hand along the floor to reach the crutch, she grabs it and tries to straighten up while she leans on it, pulling it gradually to her side. Slowly she manages to stand and get the torn, and now uncomfortable and itchy arm piece under her arm.

Ron never even noticed his wife's antics, while he finished off the fries, ketchup drooling all over his chin. Well, after all, Janet didn't get him a napkin, did she?

Janet made her way into her bathroom to take care of business, breathless from the wait. Afterwards, she climbed onto the bed cross ways, unable to trudge back up the hall to the recliner. Grabbing Ron's pillows, she propped her ankle up on them, then laid her head back exhausted on her own softer ones. Her eyes closed in relief and she was just about to dose off...

“Mom!” Mica screamed, inches from her face.

Janet jerked her head up so fast, she bumped into Mica's.

“Owww, you hit me!” the seven year old wailed.

“Mommy's sorry, honey. But why did you yell like that?” Janet soothed.

Mica bit her lip, trying to remember what she'd needed. “Oh, where are the cookies, daddy needs to know.”

Janet laid back on the pillow and took a deep cleansing breath. Her loving, yet spoiled, husband didn't quite get it yet. She couldn't be at his beck and call today. Maybe tomorrow she'd fetch and limp for him, but not today. Her tongue rolled around her cheek, “Tell daddy we're out of cookies. If he wants cookies so bad, he can go buy them himself.” She relaxed as she heard her daughters footsteps padding down the hall. Peace at last.

Janet dozed off and on for a full fifteen minutes, until she heard a giant crashing noise coming from the other end of the house. She kept still and waited. Nothing. The roof didn't cave in though. Now she really couldn't stand it. Who had broken what and was it one of her prized vases on display in the dining room? She hobbled onto the one good foot and grabbed the crutch, making her way down the hall as fast as she could.

The rubber tip on the crutch made no noise at all. The other foot was bare, so she was completely undetected as she stepped into the family room. Her family, all three of them, were bending down on the floor, picking up the pieces of a broken picture frame. The one that hung behind the sofa.

“Shhh...don't wake up mommy,” Ron was saying.

“Too late,” she said.

Mica stood up, her brown curly hair flopped around her face. “I didn't do it!” she pointed to Ron with one hand, the other firmly planted on her little jutted out hip. Wonder where she got that from?

Janet didn't speak, she simply stood and stared at the mess. 

“Honey, I'll take it and get new glass put in. I'm sorry we woke you,” Ron said. “Here, let me help you to the chair.” Gently, he took her arm. “Honey, please open your eyes, I don't want you to fall again.”

Janet's eyes flew open, her lips drew into a tight line at the same time. “Recliner.” She allowed herself to be helped, Ron held her arm while she eased down into the chair, “Back.”

Ron jumped around and pulled the foot of the chair up into position. Fear was beginning to form now... 

Her family huddled together in front of her, waiting. Ron looked more scared than the kids, a little pale around the gills.

He started to speak, but she held her hand out and stopped him. “Would you mind bringing me my phone, it's in the pocket of my purse; on the side.” She smiled sweetly and crossed her hands.

A deer in the headlights look passed over Ron's face.“I'll do better, I promise. I'll cook and clean, anything you tell me to do...please don't call your mother,” Ron begged, like a child caught with his hand in the aquarium.

A slow smile spread across her face. “Phone.” Janet was able to relax and forget about everything except the dinner she would enjoy tonight once the phone was in her hand.

Ron, Mica and Ben sulked, shoulders hunched forward, as they made their way to the kitchen, to clean up the rest of the mess they'd made.

Within the hour, her mother the Colonel arrived, groceries in hand. “Attennnn-tion!”

A Pat On The Head

 

Donny Connors climbed up the rickety wooden steps to the old farmhouse. His arms were full and the box of groceries he carried, weighed almost as much as he did. Or, at least it felt that way. He wrinkled his nose for the fiftieth time, the stalk of celery sticking out of the top of the box kept tickling it with each step he took. He didn't understand why anyone would ever need that stuff anyway. He hated the taste of it as much as he did the leaves on his nose.

Leaning the box on the door frame and supporting it with one knee, he knocked on the door, then waited with dread for old man Riley to open it. It took longer for the old man to answer the rap on the door each time Donny made a delivery. He was pretty sure by now, the old coot did it on purpose.

Finally, the box began to slip. Donny had to sit it down on the porch or drop it. Immediately regretting the decision, he heard those familiar dragging footsteps like Frankenstein's, coming to the door.

The ancient, weather beaten, gray door flung open with such force, a whoosh of wind sucked Donny's hair around his face. He looked up at the gruff old man, a furrow in his young brow, as he dreaded what the old man would complain about today.

“Got your delivery, sir.” he said to the towering figure above him.

The grizzly old man leaned down to peer into the box. One gnarled and swollen finger poked among the boxes contents, “I don't see the coffee in there. That's the thing I needed the most. What'd you do, forget it again, boy?” He stood up straighter, then leaned against his cane in the other hand.

“Nope. I mean, no sir. It's right in here.” he said. The time for him to pick up the awkward box was getting nearer. Donny always feared he would drop it and spill the contents on the dirty porch. He had devised a way of using his feet and arms to prop it on his knees and this worked most of the time. But there was always that chance...

“Bring it on in then. Hurry up now, you're letting fly’s in.” the old man told him. He turned to shuffle to the kitchen.

Donny managed to stay far enough behind him that he didn't bump him with the box. He had made that mistake once and never intended for it to happen again. The old man had raged at him for five minutes about being disrespectful to his elders.

Sitting the box on a chair by the table, Donny knew that he was almost free. All he had to do was wait for Mr. Riley to pay him for the groceries and he could get out of that scary old place. His eyes ambled over to the sink, piled high with dishes and pans. Every inch of counter space was covered with something. The floor was so filthy he couldn't tell if it was tile or just plain dirt.

The old man slowly lowered himself into the chair on the other side of the table with a huge huff of air. Donny knew he would sit there, because the other two chairs were full of boxes and yellowed newspapers.

For some unknown reason, Donny leaned over on the stack of papers with his elbow. Within seconds the pile began to tumble over, taking Donny with it. He reached out for the table to break his fall, pulling a pile of plastic containers and more papers over on top of him. He wound up with his tummy across the seat of the chair and his face staring down at the mass of papers strewn over the floor.

Pure fear shivered over him, while he tried to find a handhold to get himself up with. Donny glanced over his shoulder at the old man, expecting his fury to lash a whooping on him. Instead, the old man peered over his glasses without saying a word.

“I'm sorry...I'll clean it up, sir. I didn't mean to...” he stammered.

“See that you do.” Mr. Riley replied calmly. “Unload this box, then you can use it for the papers.”

A new fear entered Donny's brain. Where could he put the stuff in the box? There was no room on the table or counters, or even the floor. There was barely any room left in the path that wound around the table. He reached in the box and lifted the precious coffee can out.

“Uh...sir, where do I put this?” he asked. He didn't want to be rude, his mother had taught him not to be nosy in other peoples homes. He just wasn't so sure this house qualified for that rule.

The old man laid his pen down on top of the check he was writing, ever so slowly. His head turned from side to side as he perused the room, “I don't rightly know myself. Oh, just put 'em in the chair there that you emptied.”

Donny surveyed the contents of the box and decided which items to take out first, placing them carefully on the chair in a pyramid fashion. One mistake and the whole thing would topple over.

“Uh, Mr. Riley? Would it be okay with you if I put the newspapers in a trash bag? That way I can use both chairs for the groceries.” he asked with the innocence of a twelve year old boy.

Mr. Riley closed the checkbook and looked at the pile of items the boy had stacked. “Under the sink.”

Donny supposed that meant he could get a bag from under the sink. He made his way over to it and opened the cabinet door. A multitude of bags, boxes and cleaning bottles fell onto the floor at his feet. He was losing hope of ever leaving this house today as he shoved them back in. The door wouldn't shut correctly though. With slouched shoulders he pondered this new problem, an idea took shape.

Quickly making his way to the box he had emptied, he took it carefully back over to the cabinet and put all of the items neatly into it. A sigh of relief left his skinny young body when the box fit perfectly under the sink, with a slight shove on one side of it, so it wouldn't push against the drain pipe.

With renewed energy, Donny stuffed all the newspapers into two large trash bags. The problem now was, he couldn't lift them. All he really wanted to do was run out of this house and never come back, but he knew the old man would never let him have the check before he got rid of those darn trash bags. Doggedly, he poured half of each bag into two more.

“Where should I put these?” he asked.

“Out back.” the old man said without even looking at Donny.

Donny took the bags one at a time out the back door and sat them beside the row of trash cans. When the last bag was set in place, he looked around the yard. It was amazing. Row after row of discarded items were lined up as neat as a pen. One item in particular caught his eye. It was a basket for a bike.

Donny walked over to it and inspected it for damage. It was in perfect condition, and much larger than the one attached to his bike now. It had belonged to his older brother. He picked the basket up off of the pile and turned it around. It would hold a box of groceries without tilting it over the handlebars.

“Like that do 'ya?”

The old mans voice startled him so that he dropped the basket on his foot. Limping on one foot he looked up at Mr. Riley, standing right behind him. How come he didn't hear that old shuffle sneaking up behind him?

“Sorry sir, I was just looking at it. I didn't hurt it.” Donny told him fearfully.

The old man smiled. Donny had never seen him smile, it was almost scary.

“Tell you what boy, you did such a nice thing for me, taking out those old papers, you take that with you.” Mr. Riley told him. “Afraid I can't manage getting in and out of the house too much these days, that was a big help young man. I just can't tell you how much I appreciate it too.”

The old man reached over to Donny and patted his head, “You're a fine young man.”

Donny left that day with his new basket firmly attached to his bike. He grinned to himself as he pedaled back to the store with the check for Mr. Greely, the owner. He had made a friend that day. One that he never in a million years expected to make. He didn't think of him as Frankenstein anymore either.

From that day forward, until Mr. Riley died some years later, Donny went once a week to take him his groceries and do chores for him. By the end of the first year after they became friends, Mr. Riley could see that his kitchen floor was actually yellow tile.