Wide Open

It’s First Line Friday at the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie blog! The first line is…“One for sorrow, two for mirth,”


“One for sorrow, two for mirth,”

“Mirth? What’s mirth?” Randy asked.

“It’s another word for joy,” Connie replied.

“Then why don’t they just say joy?”

Connie regarded Randy with annoyance and tossed the book aside. “Let’s read something else.”

“Noooo….” Randy whined. “I wanna see what happens!”

“Nothing happens. It’s just a poem,” Connie explained.

“What’s a pome?”

“Oh my God! A poem is, um… well it’s sorta like between a song and speech.”

“Huh?” Randy tilted his head.

“Forget it, okay?” Connie stood up. “Your mom’s gonna be home soon. Let’s just watch TV until she gets here.”

“I don’t wanna watch TV,” Randy folded his arms across his small chest in defiance.

Never again. I am never babysitting this whiney brat again!

“Okay,” Connie smiled sweetly. “What would you like to do then?”

“Nothin.’”

“Good,” Connie sat down and fished a book out of her backpack. “I’m gonna read while you do nothing.”

“You’re no fun!”

“Neither are you.” Connie didn’t look up from her book.

“You suck!”

Connie calmly bookmarked the page, put her book down and looked Randy straight in the eye. “What did you say?”

He met her gaze. “I said you suck!” Randy stuck his tongue out.

“That’s what I thought you said.” With cat-like movement so sudden and precise, Connie backhanded him across the face.

She hit him a little harder than she intended, knocking him a good four feet across the room and into the corner of an antique end table.

After several minutes, when Randy didn’t cry or get up, Connie wandered over to see what the problem was.

Randy’s eyes were wide open, as if he had been surprised. He laid on his side, bleeding from his temple.

“Ooopsie!” Connie put her palms to her cheeks’ feigning concern. “I hate when that happens.”

With that, she quickly gathered up her things and left, as there was no one left to babysit.

Later that evening as she crossed the Maine-Canada border, Connie smiled and sing-songed to herself: seven for a secret, never to be told.

 

SusanWritesPrecise, Susan Marie Shuman

famlii.com

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