It was her birthday today. Little Rachel, now ten years old, was up and bouncing on her bed at five AM in the morning. Her little brother Jo groggily threw a pillow at her. Rachel however, would not be deterred by a pillow. She wasn't even deterred that she only slept for three hours. Today was the day her dad promised not to work and finally be there for her birthday.
The bed-jumping continued for another two hours, and Jo had finally gotten tired of having to pick up his pillow every time he threw it at Rachel. As soon as the alarm went off, Rachel sprinted down the steps like a tornado, sending papers flying in her wake. She leaped down the last three steps and went into the kitchen, knowing her dad would be there cooking breakfast.
He was there, but he was all dressed for work. Rachel's heart sank. Her dad seemed to sense it the moment she arrived. Without the courage to look her in the eye, he said, "Sorry dear. Boss called. Important meeting. Got to go-" His mouth was stuffed with toast. He picked up Rachel and kissed his suitcase, eyes transfixed on his phone. "See you later, sweetie!"
Rachel shuffled to the kitchen doorframe, where she saw her dad hopping into his car (and knocking over a trashcan while he was at it) and zooming away. Rachel thought it couldn't get much worse. She was wrong. As the door inches from closing, it was stopped by a dirty old boot wedging itself in. Rachel's heart didn't just sink. Someone tied an anchor to it and let it fall.
The door was opening tantalizingly slowly. The shriveled old man behind it was their neighbor, Old Mr. Thump, or as Jo called him, Grumpylump. He was short, squat and was covered in bushes of hair everywhere except his dome, which shone brightly. Perched on his cliff-like nose were a pair of circular glasses, curtaining two beady eyes. Mr. Thump smelled of cabbages and laundry all the time, and this time was no different. Jo must have smelled it, because Rachel heard him immediately lock the bedroom door.
Rachel and Jo hated when Mr. Thump came over. Their dad always made him babysit, and it was an entire day and night of screaming and hollering from both sides. The first of the fighting always started with Jo, playing with his breakfast. Mr. Thump would go on a long rant about having to eat rations, sometimes marching without eating for days, or something like that. Rachel and Jo never really listened. Thump blabbered on and on, complaining about today's youth. The two were bored out of their wits, and it was eight in the morning.
The first actual combat came when they had to do chores, and all hell broke loose as Mr. Thump patrolled the house while Jo and Rachel swept the floors and washed dishes. Dad was always busy, so he hired a maid to clean. She was almost never around when Mr. Thump was there. (He always cancelled.) He wanted them to develop good habits and be hardworkers. Thump even had Rachel do gardening once. When she complained about how hard it was to dig a hole for the seeds, he mumbled something about digging bigger holes. Rachel wondered what kind of big seeds there were.
After that there was a temporary cease-fire when Thump took his midday nap. He looked like someone dumped a hairy rock on the sofa. His loud snores could be heard all through the house, gurgling and coughing all the way. Rachel and Jo used this time to draw rude shapes on Mr. Thump with marker, or pretend to be fishing in his open mouth with a toothpick and some string. (And one time a worm from the garden, when Rachel had to weed it.)
The worst fight was during dinner. It started with Jo lobbing a pea at Rachel, and her throwing mashed potatoes. It escalated quickly from there. Thump was busy in the kitchen, probably making more celery sticks for them to eat. (Thump had a thing for vegetables, unfortunately for the kids.) Dad usually just let them have anything. Jo, a five year old, knew how to use the microwave. Whatever gross salad Thump was making must have been taking all of his attention, because not even Jo jumping on the table distracted him.
It was time for bed. Thump held Jo by the scruff of his neck. Rachel was fighting back tears. Where was Dad? It was already eleven at night. (They would have slept earlier if Thump could catch Jo easily.) Defeated, she began her ascent to her bedroom. When she got to the upstairs bathroom, she saw a half-asleep Jo and Thump holding his hands, roughly making him brush his teeth. He looked like a puppeteer. An old smelly puppeteer. Rachel was old enough (and awake enough) to brush her own teeth.
"All grown up, Rachel?" Thump croaked. "Have fun in the double-digits."
When Jo and Rachel were all tucked in, Mr. Thump made his way downstairs to go home across the street. Then she heard the car. She'd recognize the screech of tires on pavement anywhere. Rachel bolted downstairs. She couldn't find him. He was probably still in the garage, but the lights in the kitchen were on. There, on the table, was a pink birthday cake with a candles shaped number 10 on them. Dad remembered! Dad bought her a cake! (She didn't know what bakery though, since most bakeries don't smell like cabbage.)
She heard the door close behind her. "Oh, hey! Happy birthday, Rachel! Where'd you get that cake?"
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Topic: ___/The Writer's Apprenticeship\___ (Read 296168 times)