| |
Finger
Lickin’ Good
by Elizabeth Bussey
Sowdal | |
It
must be awfully hard to be the youngest child. I have been missing my brother
who moved recently to Arizona, and that has made me remember all kinds of things
about growing up with him. I was seven when he was born and after he got over
the wrinkly, red, delicate stage I thought that my mother had provided me with
the best doll in the whole world. I adored him!
As he grew into his toddlerhood
and began to show more personality he became a little annoying sometimes. But
if he got too annoying my sister and I would tell him we were playing zoo and
he was the lion. We would have him crawl under the crib and then we would drop
the side rail all the way down. Voile! Lion cage! He could be counted upon to
crawl restlessly back and forth under his crib growling fiercely for as long as
thirty minutes at a time before curling up and taking a king of the jungle nap.
Once we lost him. Where was Eric? My sister and I, more frightened that we would
get in trouble than that something had happened to our only little brother, searched
high and low. No luck. Finally and at last, we knew we couldn’t delay any longer.
We told my mom and dad. They didn’t give a thought to us, but began searching
everywhere for little Eric. He was found at last curled up and sleeping sweetly
in a kitchen cabinet behind the pans. How they ever thought to look there, I will
never know. The happiest part about it was that my parents were so amused by this
baby cuteness and the relief of finding him that they never wondered how we lost
him in the first place.
Eric, the platinum blonde, blue eyed dolly baby
kept on growing. Pretty soon he wasn’t a sweet baby anymore, but was a strong
chunky six year old and a stone around our necks. We were out in the country one
summer, out in the mountains in New Mexico, hiking around. We weren’t trying to
lose Eric, we were a little smarter than that, but we weren’t making any concessions
to his shorter legs. "Look at these cow patties Liz. Mama Mia, Papa Pia, those
old cows had diarrhea!" My sister, for once in her life, was right. Those dry
cow patties were thin and crispy looking. "Hey Mary, they kind of look like those
crunchy cinnamon things Dad brings home sometimes."
I looked at Mary. Mary
looked at me. We enjoyed a moment of complete telepathic agreement. We were on
exactly the same wavelength. "Hey Eric! Come here and look what we have for you!"
No! You gasp. No you didn’t! Well we almost did. We stopped him, with
difficulty, before he actually got it in his mouth. After talking fast and hard
to convince him that it really was a pastry, we had to talk twice as fast to convince
him that it wasn’t. And we each got a slug for our effort, which we took with
good grace. It was worth it.
I don’t know if it was later that afternoon,
or another day, but eventually we were back at camp messing with the campfire.
I threw a gourd into the flames and we watched with interest as it began to brown
and sizzle. It almost looked delicious. I looked at Mary. Mary looked at me. We
shared another moment. "Hey Eric! Look what we’ve got!"
"No, Liz! Don’t
give him any! Never mind Eric, go play." My sister Mary was an evil genius. "But
Mary," said I, so sweetly, "it’s so delicious! Let him have just a little taste.
I’ll tell Mom if you don’t."
Good Cop/Bad Cop. The Sisters Malevolent.
I generously handed Eric a piece of deliciously toasted gourd. He bit into it.
"Mmmm," he said, "Not bad. Are we having these for supper?" And then he ambled
off, back to whatever boy thing he had been doing. My sister and I looked at each
other, surprised. Well, that backfired. But we were evidently genius cooks. We
each took a big hunk of gourd and bit into it.
And spat. It was the most
bitter, most horrible, most poison tasting thing I had ever had in my mouth in
my life. It was so bitter that it burned! Guess we were paid back. With interest.
We had a whole new respect for pretty little Eric, Evil Genius and Master of Deadpan
in his own right. We swore to get him back, but he had gained a little glamour
in our eyes and we had a new respect for him. | |
|
