My classes are providing me with all sorts of writing opportunities
Mom, Dreidel and Me
“Now, where has he gone now?” Penny
grimaced and opened the door of her son's dungeon. She ignored the
skull and crossbones he'd affixed to his door. Despite the sea of
clothing on the floor and the rumpled bed, the cold and damp room was
completely devoid of nine-year-olds. She flicked a switch and two
sconces on the wall provided dim illumination in the darkness. She
avoided the cobwebs she woven and the dust in the corners of the
room. Atop the pile of jeans and t-shirts was Ethan's prized
bathrobe, the one she'd painstakingly embroidered with moons and
six-pointed stars. He usually wouldn't go anywhere without it.
Ethan probably expected her to believe he'd
disappeared, passed into another dimension or something. But he still
wasn't over the flu. Penny frowned. Who'd take care of him if she
wasn't there?
She carried the bowl of Jewish penicillin up
the flight of stairs to her galley and stashed it in the
refrigerator. He'd re-apperate. It was an ongoing battle he was
determined to win, magical son vs. mundane mother, but one she fought
bravely and usually with a twinkle in her eyes. She returned to his
room to collect his clothes and put them away. On second thought, she
sniffed them and tossed many into the laundry hamper. As she folded
and hung the cleaner items, she wondered where he really disappeared
to this time. She opened the book on his ledge, full of magic spells
and tricks. But there was no way to know which one he'd tried last.
She tried the lower basement and backyard. No
Ethan. He wasn't under the bed in the guest room. Those were the
places she'd found him before when he was frightened of something.
Penny finally unearthed Ethan in the linen
closet. It was a tight squeeze, but she joined him. “What are you
doing here?”
“They're after me.” He shrank in further.
“They'll kill us.”
“Did I raise my son to be a crybaby wizard?”
She placed her palm on his forehead, brushing away his sand-colored
hair. “You're burning up. Let me tuck you in and bring you a nice
elixir.”
“Maaaa,” he whined, mixing back his tears.
“I'm not a baby.”
“Well you're acting like one. C'mon. There's
no one here but the two of us.” She dragged him out and forced him
downstairs, keeping one hand on his back.
He surveyed the room. “What happened to my
robe?” He panicked. “How can I fight them without my wizard's
robe?”
She took it from his closet and brought it to
him. “I'll get you an aspirin and some soup.”
He grabbed for her arm. “Don't go.” A
frantic whisper. “D'you hear that?”
She
listened. Nothing. “Hear what?” But
then she heard it too.
“It’s
only the washing machine.” But she hadn’t put the clothing in
yet. “I’ll go check.”
He looked at her through fear-filled eyes.
She sighed. “Ethan, your dragon will get
them, whoever they are.”
In a small voice he said, “I don’t REALLY
have a dragon.”
She smiled. “Well, I do.”
A
roar filled the cavernous room. The dust motes in one corner seemed
to coalesce into a long, serpentine body. Gray
scales covered every inch, and a trickle of smoke came from it’s
mouth.
Penny
smiled. “It’s
time you met Dreidel,
He protected me when I was your age. Now he can protect you.” She
put an arm around his narrow shoulders. “So, now you have a
dragon.
What more can you want?”
Ethan had a ready answer. “A wand.”
His mother’s smile broadened as she pulled a
thin, pointed stick out of thinner air and handed it to him. “Now
nothing can hurt you.”
“But who’ll protect you?” Ethan asked.
“I will, sweetheart. And when you’re well
again, I’ll teach you some real magic.” She planted a kiss on his
forehead. “Nothing can hurt either of us now.”
Just then, the noise they’d heard earlier
repeated louder, over and over, this time definitely coming from
above.
“That’s not the washer.” Penny glanced at
Dreidel as she decided what to do. “Stay here,” she told her son,
taking four steps closer to the stairs.
“Mom!” Ethan reached for her hand.
“You’ll be safe here with Dreidel.” The
dragon snorted like he agreed. “I’ll be back soon.”
Leaving her son in his dungeon, she climbed the
stairs slowly, unsure what she’d find.
It had to be something solid to cause that much
clanging, insistent like an unbalanced dryer. But just as she hadn’t
used the washer, she was certain she hadn’t turn on the other
machine.
Penny stuck her head through the doorway from
the dungeon stairs and swiveled it to take in the entire hall.
Nothing there. She took the remaining steps up and closed the door
behind her.
Cautiously she crept toward the laundry room.
The sounds seemed to emanate from there. But the room contained only
the machines, sink, and folding table. She unlocked the door to the
backyard from the room and opened it. The scent of the apple tree
just outside and the sight of an empty swing set convinced her no one
was there.
But the banging grew thunderous behind her. She
tried to follow the sound back through the house to the kitchen. What
she saw made her heart thump even louder than the noise. She took a
deep breath, catching the scent of the beast, and as calm as a
breeze, wrinkled her brow. “Now, where did you come from?” She
didn’t expect an answer.
The enormous ball of brown wool tilted it’s
head, or what seemed to be its head, since that’s where its three
eyes were. It stared intently at her through all of those eyes.
Penny guessed it didn’t have one in the back
of its head like she did, the invisible eye that saw all things. She
stared back.
The ball unraveled two legs and four arms as it
rushed her. She stood her ground, all the while surveying the room
for a weapon. And smiled. “I know just the thing.”
Her knitting bag sat next to the dishwasher.
She reached into it and pulled out a long, number 8 needle. “I
should turn you into a sweater for my son.” She pulled at one of
the arms and began casting on.
