“Promises, promises; the lies we tell ourselves about being the last time or never again” mumbled Abigale finally empting the dustpan full of shattered crystal into the rubbish bin. “Empty promises feigning redemption. It’s all just part of living in denial.”
Never again; it was a pledge she knew only too well. How many times had she uttered the same words only to over indulge in times when moderation was so important? Like the previous night when she had gone to dinner with the Mulligans; her long-time friends and neighbours.
Abigale had promised herself she’d be home by ten at the latest but one glass of wine begat the next and she had ended up stumbling through the door in the wee hours of the morning and woke-up hungover. She had been vexed most of the day with a splitting headache and sickening sensation and mixed with the lack of sleep. Was there any wonder she had yelled at Fenton so intensely when she saw him standing there beside the shattered ornament? 1 comment
Despite his trying antics she loved spending quality time with Fenton. His imagination seemed to know no bounds and he thrived on mythology, fables and urban legends. It was quite possible that he may have broken the vase and refused to own up just to motivate her to invent some sort of legendary creature to modify his behaviour.
She filled his imagination with such fictitious ideas as Gobbling Goblins that took children that gobbled down their food to a deep dark forest, Boo-boo Bunnies living in Band aids that sowed the skin together and the Base Drum competitions in the sky to ease his trepidation during thunderstorms (she would get him to rate each thunderclap from one to five). 1 comment
During meals she would sometimes deepen her tone of voice and pretend to be a huge hungry giant stomping through the forest, eating trees (aka broccoli or Cauliflower) and chewing rocks (Brussel-Spouts). Eager to also be part of the game he would endeavour do the same without fuss. They also had competitions to see who could pull the ickiest face whilst eating pumpkin.
There were of course occasions when he overstepped certain boundaries and fantasy gave way to discipline. Mostly she assigned timeouts or gave him extra chores to do around her house but every now and then she resorted to giving him a swat with the wooden spoon. She called it her Magic Wand alleging it cast a special behavioural spell that turned naughty children back into good little boys and girls again (emphasising how she thought him as a good person that had uncharacteristically erred, other than some brat that was getting his comeuppance). 6 comments
Often the mere threat of the spoon/wand or just taking it out of the draw was enough to scare him straight. She never hit him hard, or left the type of scarlet marks that Fenton’s stepmother did but he nonetheless feared receiving such reprimands. She suspected he reasoned that it was more to do with the resentment it motivated in him towards her. Resentment begat rifts in friendships and hers seemed something he really treasured.
“What really puzzles me is what you were doing in the Livingroom in the first place,” said Abigale, absently fixing the crumpled back collar of Fenton’s Pixar Pyjama top. “I specifically forbade you not to go in there because the carpet was only steam cleaned yesterday and is still a bit damp.” 2 comments
“My feet were clean,” argued Fenton, tentatively sipping of a yoghurt fruit smoothie. She had alleged that it contained a special painkilling additive that would save him from any agony should the Batterflies start swatting him.
“Be that as it may you shouldn’t have disobeyed me…but there is no use dwelling on the past. What has happened has happened. Just promise me you will obey my instructions in the future.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Good boy. So what do you think of the potion?”
“Icky…tastes like strawberry cat puke.”
“Hot or cold?”
“Hot or cold what?”
“Puke. Personally I prefer mine lukewarm. Heat it in the microwave for about twenty seconds on low then sprinkle it with dry earwax. Sort of an acquired taste but goes well on wholemeal toast.”
“That’s just silly.”
“The Sultan and Sultana of Sillybillyton both like it.”
“A Sultana is the wife of a Sultan aye Aunt Abs.”
“Clever boy,”
“They get married and start raisin Figgets.”
“Figgets?”
“My friend Stanley reckons baby Figs are Figgets. You know like how baby donkeys are assets.”
“I think we might be drifting off point a bit here. Let’s try concentrate on the Batterflies.” 1 comment
“Are the Batterflies related to Madam Batterfly who sang some song about a sunny day when her boyfriend Jojo Singsong was meant to comeback from trip or something or
whatever?”
“That’s an Opera by Puccini called Madam Butterfly. It’s about an American naval officer who falls in love with a Japanese Geisha named Cho-Cho-San but cannot get consent from whe girl's parents to marry her because he forbids them from visiting. He ends up sailing away from Japan, but she believes that one fine day he will return to her, and the baby which he is unaware that he is the father to. She names the baby “Trouble”." 3 comments
“My stepmom reckons my middle name is “Trouble”.”
“I can imagine…oh I see you’ve finished your drink. Good boy. Okay now to see if it
actually works.”
“Do we really have to?”
“It’s for your own good. We can’t leave something like this to chance. If they attack you’re going to have to have some sort of protection.”
“You won’t let them get me though, will you Aunty Abs?”
“I can only be in so many places at once. They are cunning creatures and hard to fend off…now come on sweetheart, let’s get this over with.”
Abigale drew a heavy sigh as Fenton reluctantly turned round and placed his hands on his knees. She picked up the wooden-spoon, took aim, then whisked it through the air but stopped just short and gently tapped his bottom.
“Did that hurt?” she asked.
“No; but you didn’t really hit me all that hard anyways,” he retorted suspiciously.
“That’s because of the potion. It dulls all pain.”
“Does the pain go away for good or will I start hurting when it wears off.”
“The pain disappears for good and you never have to worry about it again.”
“Where does it go to?”
“I’ll tell you when you get older. Now next step is for you to go to your room and get under the blankets.”
“I’m not tired. I don’t want to go to bed yet.”
“You don’t have to go to sleep, but the blankets will help shield you from the Batterflies. With the blankets shielding you and potion dulling all pain you will be as safe as houses from them.”
“And you protecting me from them too aye Aunt Abs.”
“Of course. Now let’s get you to your room.”
-Continues-
