If you are the 5-year-old sister of a sometimes really, dopey 12-year-old brother and one very cold, “soon to be Christmas” day in Minnesota, he asks you to assist him in a “TOP SECRET MISSION“, you jump at the chance…because even dopey brothers can have really, cool ideas.
I was the sister…and I jumped.
Later…much later…I vaguely remember him warning me about possible dangers…
…but let’s face it…I had stopped listening at “TOP SECRET…”
I remember that day well…cue appropriate 1950’s music and allow the images in your brain to go all wavy…flashback…flashback…
…going back in time…going back in time…to the magical “Fifties”…when all things were wonderful and people ate bacon whenever they wanted…
“Look, Lottie,” said Durwood. “This year you’re the only one that can do this…I really need you…”
And by “this” he meant stealing one of the little red Christmas cookie tins that…year after year…held the much loved and supremely tasty cookies that our wonderful mother, Gee (as in Gee Whiz) Johnson, baked every Christmas and therefore were appropriately called “Gee’s Nut Balls”.
It was at this point that dopey older brother Durwood…in order to further emphasize his need of my help this year…held up both his arms so I could plainly see his two wrists…solidly encased in heavy, white plaster casts from his elbows down to and including the greater part of his fingers.
Absolutely Necessary Explanatory Note:
When movie goers saw “Tarzan” grabbing a vine and swinging over a creek that raged furiously 50 feet below him as he yelled a mighty warrior cry to impress “Jane, his lady-friend”…while trying to save her from certain death…
…it should be noted the vine Tarzan grabbed was in all probability a strong rope…or perhaps even a wire cable and…incidentally there was no creek…nor was there dangerous, rampaging water…
…to further burst the cinematic bubble…he was probably about 6 feet off the floor…which I am sure was suitably padded…
HOWEVER…for dopey Durwood…on a forbidden trek to Minnehaha Falls with four of his very best buddies, the vine he grabbed to do some “swinging” was very real…AND…it snapped midway over a shallow creek that ran from the falls to the Mississippi River…
Durwood fell about 40 feet…the whole time screaming in terror on his way to “two, really, badly, broken wrists”….the pain of which he had to endure in solitude as he slogged home alone since…
All four of his “forever loyal to the end” best friends had bolted in total panic…fearful that they would somehow be blamed for Durwood’s fall.
“I didn’t see a thing!! I don’t remember…” was the excuse they all settled on as they fled the scene…but not before…
…making sure that Durwood was not dead or in danger of dying any time soon.
They jumped on their bikes and hightailed it home…confident that they had done all that they could.
Later…every one of his friends agreed that they were very sure they would have stayed if Durwood had been…you know…dead.
It was during his lonely walk home, that Durwood forlornly pondered which was worse…the pain he was currently now suffering as he shuffled along or the unholy reaction he knew would be coming from his usually calm and easy-going mother…
“First the fire…and now this…” he muttered to himself. “She’s gonna kill me…”
He turned the corner on Longfellow Avenue and saw his mother raking leaves in the front yard…she appeared to be very happy since she was whistling.
It was only then that Durwood started to cry.
The intense pain apparently fogged his brain and prevented him from coming up with any believable or redeemable lie…so he was unfortunately left with telling his mother the simple yet profoundly stupid truth…”I saw it done on TV, ma…”
Mom had baked her “Nut Balls” yesterday morning and yesterday afternoon we had helped her roll these delicate little mouth-watering beauties ever-so-carefully in powdered sugar.
She had explained to us that the cookies needed to stay on the counter overnight…as she said… “to set”.
“But tomorrow I’ll be hiding them in a really good place!” she said.
She was laughing as she told us this and we laughed too. We also knew that tomorrow we would be getting up real, real early.
Next morning…thinking that we were still innocently asleep in our beds…and not secretly watching her every move from a “not-quite-closed” door that led from the kitchen to the living room…mom carefully began putting the cookies in two red cookie tins.
The tins were identically decorated with green Christmas trees and white snowflakes. I think they were about 50 years old, but they were only used at Christmas so they looked brand-new.
Then she got out a step-stool from the little closet in the kitchen, climbed up on it and put both the tins on the very top shelf of the kitchen cupboard.
She had chosen the cupboard that went all the way to the top of our kitchen’s 12-foot high ceiling.
Then she grabbed a wooden mixing spoon and pushed them both towards the back of the cupboard so they could not be seen when the cupboard door was open.
Mom worked quickly and quietly so as to not wake her two sleeping children…heh…heh.
“Gee’s Nut Balls” were famous…and were greatly anticipated by friends and family every Christmas. This year she had made a double recipe because she was sending some cookies home with everyone.
When she was done arranging the cookie tins, mom got down from the step-stool and started to walk to the closet to put the stool away.
She paused as if hearing something…but…as she turned…Durwood and I quickly and quietly tip-toed back to our bedrooms..
Mission…almost…accomplished!
After all the Rosettes had been made…we were given the “All Clear” and allowed back into the kitchen.
It was time for our morning snack and today it was 2 Rosettes each…but only after we had sugared the others.
Durwood and I sat down at the kitchen table…and began the delicate task of “Rosette sugaring: Gently placing the Rosette upside down on a plate filled with sugar and then twisting…twisting…twisting…”.
Mom sat down with us. “I’m beat.” She said as she lit another Lucky Strike.
She pulled my “Christmas Ash Tray” nearer to her and then gave me a big smile. (I was so proud…it was so pretty…)
“When I’m done cleaning up, I’m going to take a nap. After you guys are done with the Rosettes you can go outside and play if you want…it’s starting to snow. When I get up, we’ll have lunch.”
Durwood kicked me under the table and gave me a sly grin and a head nod…did he think I had forgotten that “mom taking a nap” was the key to a successful mission? Did he think I was an idiot?
“I still have a few Christmas cards to do…” Durwood said casually. “Lottie said she would help me.”
“Right, Lottie?” he said…glancing over at me and wiggling his sugar coated finger tips…the only things that actually worked on his cast-enclosed arms.
“Nope! I’m going outside.” I said ignoring him.
“I can’t wait to make a snowman!!” I really had no plans to go outside…I just wanted to see Durwood squirm a little…he shouldn’t have kicked me!
“But, Lottie…” Durwood wheedled. “Remember you promised you’d help me…?”
I finally looked over at him and he was moving his eyebrows up and down…apparently this was his way of sending me a “secret” message. Also apparently…he thought our mother was completely blind…since she was looking right at the both of us.
I gave Durwood a blank look as if I had no idea what he was talking about…but then after a few seconds I relented and said…
“Oh, yeah…that’s right. I forgot. Maybe the snowman can wait.”
Mom shook her head at our little drama and got up and walked over to the sink.
“Christmas secrets are so much fun, aren’t they?”
I didn’t look at Durwood. I just kept dipping Rosettes in the sugar and twisting.
I knew he was wondering if I could really pull this off. Well, don’t worry, Durwood…I could.
We both dawdled at the kitchen table…slowly eating our Rosettes…and “fake making Christmas cards” until mom had washed up all the dishes.
“Thank you, little elves. What would I do without you?” She kissed us both on the top of our heads and headed to the master bedroom which was just off the kitchen by the back porch.
We waited about a half hour. Durwood tip-toed over to the closed bedroom door…and put his ear next to it.
He turned, grinned and gave me a barely visible thumbs-up. “She’s snoring!” he mouthed silently.
Just like the plan we had discussed, Durwood quietly went to the closet and got the step-stool and placed it by the kitchen cupboard that contained the two cookie tins filled with “Gee’s Nut Balls”.
I walked over to him…ready for my part…the crucial part…the important part…
“I’m going to go over and stand by mom’s door,” Durwood whispered. If I hear anything I will say “red crayon, red crayon”. Got it?”
“Got it!! Red crayon…gee, I love being a secret agent.” I excitedly whispered back.
“Shhhhhhhhh,” Durwood said and put his grimy little finger tips over my mouth.
I disgustedly brushed them away…yuck!! But I said nothing…I was a good agent..
I waited until Durwood got over to the bedroom door and then I climbed up the step stool.
I grabbed the cupboard door and made the final step up to the countertop. It was kind of slippery.
I had put on my brand-new, patent leather Mary Jane shoes because they made me a little taller.
But the bottoms weren’t as grippy as my old sneakers.
“Wow…this is pretty high,” I whispered to myself…not really scared but also…kind of…
I opened the other cupboard door and hung on to it as I reached up to the top shelf where the cookie tins were tucked away.
I couldn’t quite get at them. I stood on my tip toes and stretched as far as I could…and was reaching in…
Finally!! I felt the cold metal of one cookie cannister. Yes!
I hooked my finger under the lid of one of the tins and started to slide it towards me…when suddenly…a horrific combination of events occurred at precisely the same time…
For decades to come…these events would be referred to by “close” friends and family…as “A cluster fuck of immense proportion…but really…nothing out of the ordinary for that crazy Johnson Family”.
Others…referred to it in a more graceful and refined way as “a confluence of unfortunate circumstances”…
Call it whatever you like…it began when…
…Durwood suddenly raced by me at warp speed…whispering and somehow quietly yelling at the same time…and bringing his hand across his throat in a slicing motion…
“ABORT!! ABORT!! Red Crayon…Red Crayon!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Horrified that I would be caught stealing these precious cookies yet…knowing also that I was now the solitary player in this drama of deception and thievery and its success depended solely on me…if only I could get a better grip on that cannister…
I knew I only had seconds…
I stretched even more…trying to slide the cookie tin closer toward me…
And then…
At last I had the cookie tin in one hand and was hanging onto the cupboard door for dear life with the other…when,,,
Mom walked out of the bedroom…eyes half closed and groggy from dreams that (later we were told) had involved Santa Claus, her husband Clive and a money-making scheme…”gone wrong”.
Apparently…our dear father had lost all of our Christmas presents and our beloved dog, Duke!
She wiped the sleep from her eyes, yawned and walked over to the kitchen table to grab her cigarettes and then…she looked up…
It was ALL her fault. She should not have SCREAMED so loudly. I mostly had everything under control…mostly.
Had she just calmly asked me what I was doing…I would have simply told her the truth…
“I was just stealing some of your wonderful cookies, mother dear”…and that would have been that…
She would have sent me and Durwood to our rooms and told us that Christmas was cancelled this year and that she was giving ALL of our presents to the kids next door…and that Santa Claus was…
BUT NO…SHE HAD TO SCREAM!!!!
And her SCREAM startled the living daylights out of me…plus I think the earth shifted or something…
One of my little patent leather Mary Jane shoes slipped off the countertop and I started to fall…
So…I dropped the cookie tin and grabbed the cupboard door with both hands and as the door started to break free of its hinges…it swung wide and propelled me across the kitchen and into the arms of my shocked yet still half-asleep mother…while at the same time…
…3 dozen “Gee’s Nut Balls” flew thru the air like giant snowflakes during a Minnesota December blizard as the cookie connister hit the edge of the counter and the lid flew off…
…and because “Gee’s Nut Balls” are the most tender and delicate cookies you could ever imagine…they crumbled into miniscule little pieces of flour, powdered sugar, butter and finely chopped nuts when they hit the hard linoleum floor.
It was true that I was safe in my mother’s arms…yet I had failed miserably in my breakout role as a Secret Agent.
I had NOT secured even one prized cookie…and I knew the much deserved “wrath of my mother” was soon to come…but…but…
Before she could speak…I uttered the only phrase that I hoped would bring me some mercy and possible forgiveness…
“Merry Christmas, Mommy!!”
The End
HERE’S THE DEAL…
I have done so much damn research on this I am almost blind…
But. I have double checked the results and I can report beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can eat one whole Hershey’s candy bar (no nuts) every day after dinner and it will be just fine.
I AM NOT KIDDING YOU. I WOULD NOT KID YOU!!!!!
Listen to me…I NEED that candy bar…now…more than ever!!
My daughter just informed me over ZOOM that I won’t be seeing her or my 2 AWESOME granddaughters and super son-in-law until…maybe…
NEXT THANKSGIVING!!!!!!!!!!!! AS IN 2021!!!!!!!!!!
IKR? WTF!!!!!!!!! 😦
Have a nice day…
The Paperback Edition…
PROLOGUE
THIS IS A TRUE STORY…KIND OF…
For as long as I can remember and that would be about 20 years…who really remembers the early years…I have always started my “sleep ritual” the same way…no matter how tired I was.
First I would lay on my right side for a couple of minutes, almost falling into the sweet bliss of sleep but…not quite…
Then I would slowly roll over on my left side, tuck my left arm under the pillow as I re-fluffed it a little more with my right hand and then lower my head and fall instantly asleep, waking only when my alarm buzzed in the morning.
Every. Single. Night.
Except…not THIS night.
THIS night…I did not fall instantly asleep. THIS night…for some inexplicable reason, I quickly flipped BACK over to my right side and in the oddity of bodily position change, my eyes flashed open and there it was in the corner of my bedroom…a 6-foot tall ribbon of blackness.
I knew right away it was not smoke. It was like a black, shimmering waterfall and it was about 3 feet wide. It was swaying from side to side but then it suddenly stopped.
I was afraid to blink or look away…so I just laid there…and stared wide-eyed, completely forgetting to breathe. The always reassuring night-light still beaming softly from my bathroom…
The Paperback Edition…
I had graduated from the University of Minnesota this past Spring with a degree in English.
Considering that I had no desire to teach, it wasn’t very practical or useful but I enjoyed every minute of those five years.
For some inexplicable reason…people were so impressed when they found out I was shooting for a degree in English.
“Wow! You’re an English major…Wow!” And many times the conversation died right there. Go figure.
I had lost contact with all school friends. We had gone our separate ways, mostly to different states and even though we had ever so sincerely promised to keep in touch…we had not.
I had no boyfriend and no prospects. sigh.
Both parents were dead. I had one sibling, sister Karlie, who was two years older than me.
She was delightfully married to George and very busy with a 1-year old toddler, Annie and a little mutt named Cantor.
I lived in a luxury (read that safe) apartment complex…in a luxury (also read safe) suburb…because even though it was very tragic and sad that my parents had both died ridiculously young…they had left a really sick amount of money to be shared equally between me and sister Karlie…but not until we BOTH turned 30.
However…in the meantime…we were given a “very nice” amount of money that very nice lawyers doled out to each of us every month…to see us through to the “big payoff”.
Don’t hate me.
The Paperback Edition…
“The Parents”‘ first attempt at ‘parenting’ was to volunteer at my 7th grade “Welcome Back to School” dance. This was, incidentally, was my first foray into “socializing” on a grander scale than play dates with neighborhood kids.
Two weeks before the dance, “The Parents” descended unannounced upon a clueless Principal Nelson…he was such a nice, normal man. I believe he took early retirement…
He had previously been informed when Karlie began 7th grade that the parents of Karlie and Tobey Carlson had been tragically killed on their third attempt to climb Mt. Everest.
“The Parents” had bravely tried to rescue their loyal Sherpa who had unfortunately fallen into a deep crevasse. As the story went…all three bodies were never recovered…so Karlie and younger sister Tobey were now being lovingly raised by a grandma named Sylvia…so you can just call her if anything came up.
This compellingly sad tale had been created by our highly imaginative grandma Sylvia after a couple of glasses…perhaps more…of Cabernet Sauvignon. Both Karlie and I thought it was a very sound plan and we all heartily agreed that there was no reason whatsoever to mention this to “The Parents”…ever.
But now…“The Parents” told the puzzled Mr. Nelson, that “Yes! Of course we’re Tobey’s parents! Who else would we be?”
And then they added for good measure, “We’re Karlie’s parents too!” They figured this further claim would seal the deal.
A hesitant and slightly confused Principal Nelson said he “would check and see if they would be needed.” He then rose to politely show them the door…vaguely remembering a sad tale involving a sherpa and Mt. Everest…and he pondered this as he walked toward the door with them.
However...”The Parents” were on a mission and ‘parenting magnificently’ had become their Holy Grail. They were not going to be turned away…
So they made sure of being ‘needed’ by donating $200,000 toward renovating the teachers’ lounge and also gifting the school library with another $200,000.
This generous gesture of goodwill insured that no more questions would be asked on whether or not they would be needed.
They were more than ‘needed’…they were now revered.
Imagine riding a roller coaster with no safety bar to hold you in place…that was my life for the next 6 years…
The Paperback Edition…
There is no easy way to say this…you know they die.
Three days after I had graduated from high school, “The Parents” crashed their brand-new, chili-pepper red Porsche into a large oak tree on Blake Road…four short blocks from home…
They had been at the ‘club’…perhaps celebrating or maybe even lamenting the end of this parenting phase of their life. It was said to have been “a spectacular crash”…the Porsche going well over 100 mph. No surprise there…I guess…spectacular did describe everything they did..
Karlie and I were completely heart-broken. Losing grandma Sylvia had been a devastating blow…to be sure… but she had been ‘older’. “The Parent”s were both only 50.
They had left strict instructions regarding any ‘death rituals or celebrations’. There would be no funeral, no memorial service…nothing.
Karlie and I picked up a large urn from Woodrow Funeral Home with both of their ashes inside. They wanted to be cremated together. Of course.
And then we all went home.
In less than two days, “The Parents” perched on the mantle over the fireplace in the living room. Together…forever.
Karlie and I spent over three weeks in that room, mostly crying but laughing sometimes too. ..because even though they had not wanted to actually participate in the ‘early parenting portion’ of our lives, they did want it documented…and they did so with their characteristic enthusiasm.
We ate there and we slept there and we watched every single home movie “The Parents” had ever taken…over and over and over again.
We had only had them as ‘Real Parents’ for six short years…we were not quite ready to let them go…not just yet.
The Paperback Edition…
Four years have passed since that tragic day and I am now tucked into my very own apartment that walks out to a courtyard with tall evergreen trees now beautifully covered with snow…watching the next to the last episode of “The Housewives of New York City”.
“The Parents” are sitting on a book shelf right next to my TV. They are surrounded by all my favorite books and favorite pictures of them as well as photos of Karlie, George, Annie and Cantor…and, of course, my best friend Emma.
I have a “Family on the Shelf” as opposed to an “Elf on the Shelf”.
I keep “The Parents” for a couple of months and then they journey over to Karlie and George’s house where they sit in an equally revered place. It seemed like a better idea than…you know…separating them…like eggs.
But now it was very late…scenes from next week’s episode were running. I clicked the remote off
I stood up, stretched and turned off the lamp beside my chair. I dropped the blinds but not before appreciating again how peaceful the falling snow looked.
I put the chain lock on my door even though I know in my heart of hearts that a chain is not going to stop a crazed man from entering my cozy little abode and stealing my super swell TV…or worse.
But nevertheless…I would hear him and be able to stealthily pull my always fully loaded Glock out from my bedside table and blow him to smithereens…HAH!! I have no gun.
But at least I would hear him…
I flipped the hall light on and walked down the hall. The full length mirror at the end was there for a purpose. I gave myself a B+…which considering the events of the day was pretty damn good…in my world anyway.
I fluffed my hair like I always do when finding myself in front of any mirror and then walked into my bedroom and paused…
I clapped my hands twice and my bedside light went on. Yes. I have “The Clapper”.
Don’t laugh at me…
The Paperback Edition…
My bedroom walls are covered with black & white blow-up posters of all the places I would like to visit but will probably not…Paris, London, Gloucestershire, anywhere in Scotland and Stockholm.
Did I mention that I am just a teeny bit claustrophobic? Oh. Well, now you know. Otherwise normal…very normal.
I also have huge posters of every animal I have ever owned…except for the 4 goldfish I once bought at Sam’s Club. They actually died before I could come up with exotic names for them…
“Hello, Emma,” I whispered to my sleeping cat…most beloved cat…
She looked up at me from her favorite resting spot…the top of my bed pillow…and smiled.
“Are you going to have your customary glass of red wine tonight, Tobey?” she asked.
Do you think it’s odd to talk for your pet? I mean…to give a voice for your pet?Or…perhaps even to have a conversation with your pet?
Well here’s the deal. If you ever move into an apartment building that has a lot of senior citizens who have pets, you will find that it is not odd at all. It’s normal…very, very normal.
And besides…if someone asks you a question, it would be rude not to answer…right?
I turned on my bathroom night-light and politely answered Emma’s question.
“Not tonight dearest, I am exhausted.”
I was only able to read for about ten minutes which really ticked me off since the book I was reading was so exciting.
But my eyes were starting to close so I put the book on my night stand, turned off the floor lamp by my bed and cursed because I had forgotten to turn off the hall light.
I dragged myself out of bed and padded down the hall, hit the switch off and cursed again since I was now in almost total darkness…having also forgotten to turn on my living room night-light. Using the light from the courtyard I went over and turned it on.
I literally staggered back down the hall to my bedroom.
As I sat on the edge of my bed, I apologized to God for being so tired as I said my nightly prayers.
“Dear God. I’m sorry. Thank you. Please help everyone. Amen.”
I put my head down on the pillow and rolled over on my right side…then I rolled over to my left side…almost unconscious at this point… but then…I rolled back over to my right side…AND THEN…
..here we go…
The Paperback Edition…
I slowly drew my hand away from the little head of my ‘apparently not dead’ cat.
“So,” I whimpered, “It’s just me…I’m dead alone.” My eyes started to burn.
But then, out of the corner of my now watery eye, I noticed the black ‘whatever it was’…starting to sway a little and change its shape.
It looked like it was extending a hand out to me.
“OH NO!! OMG!! IT’S THE HAND OF DEATH.” I shrieked.
As the hand appeared to move closer, I shrank back against my pillow. I felt like I should do something…like run somewhere to avoid this…death thing. Could I…? Should I…?
But, hey…I was not going to be the ‘classic dumb girl’ in those stupid horror movies.
You know the one I mean…the terrified girl who stupidly runs down the basement to hide…and then…to no one’s surprise…gets chopped into little pieces..
Does this building even have a basement?
“Noooo,” I whined loudly as the ‘hand’ moved even closer.
And then suddenly, Emma stood up, turned toward me and walked up my legs.
She put her two front paws on my shoulders. We were totally eyeball to eyeball.
“Relax, Tobey. It’s not death. It’s one of your guardian angels. It’s actually your main guardian angel.”
“And…by the way, the correct phrase is ‘the Hand of God’ not…’the hand of death.'”…said Jennifer Lawrence.
…since that is exactly who my cat Emma now sounded like…and…I noted…she had a slight Southern accent.
Emma then licked my nose, dropped her paws, turned around and walked back down my legs and again curled up at the foot of my bed…in ‘her’ Bradley Cooper tee-shirt.
“Not dead then…?” I asked in a trembly, squeaky voice.
“No,” said Emma…very firmly.
I exhaled loudly. “Okay good! Really good and great.”
“His name is Fred. Like in Rogers.” said Emma.
“Oh, Jesus.” I mumbled under my breath.
“No…Fred.”
The Paperback Edition…
Fred? What kind of weird-ass angel name is that, I thought to myself…when suddenly ‘Fred’ spoke.
“I know, right? I would have preferred Mikko or Sebastian…but I’m not the…you know…’person’ in charge.”
Fred’s voice was thin, high and reedy…kind of like the author Truman Capote…or…Phillip Seymour Hoffman…playing Truman Capote.
“And may I just point out, so that we are perfectly clear…that… it is absolutely, unequivocally not my fault that you saw me tonight,” he said.
“I have been watching over you ever since you were born…for every one of your 24 years, day and night, night and day, through thick and thin, through wind and rain and sleet and snow…through sickness and other people’s deaths…even that date with Carl…what a complete dumbbell he was …what were you thinking there?…” continued Fred in a prickly, slightly complaining voice.
He paused as if to take a breath but no…of course…that could not possibly be…and then he went on…
“And you have NEVER, rolled back on your right side after you have rolled over to your left side…EVER!” His voice was becoming a little edgy now.
Poor Fred. He seemed really anxious and upset. I was feeling kind of bad for him.
I, on the other hand, was actually becoming more and more relaxed.
Of course, realizing you are NOT dead after thinking you ARE dead can be extremely soothing…and apparently…it also made you hungry.
Hmmmm…I wonder if it’s not too late to order pizza from Pizza Pantry?…
Pretty, pretty good short fiction. 