It’s summer again, and that means I’ll be writing a series of short fiction pieces based on inspiration from some of my 8th graders. I asked them for the first line and last line of a fictional story, and I’ll fill in the rest. I’ve been doing this for a number of years now, and it’s a great chance to have some fun and take a break from pontificating. This week’s lines come from JP (the P is a mystery) Lynne.
I ate a Burger King Whopper. Some of you might be disgusted by the idea of that greasy fast food monstrosity. However, I think it is delightful. Plus, they make it my way! And my way is with every possible condiment and accessory on top.
Mom was shaking her head in the car seat next to me. “I don’t know how you can eat that thing,” she said, looking at me askance.
“Mom, I’ve told you before about the deliciousness and greatness of the Whopper,” I replied, going into more detail than she likely wanted.
We were on our way to a family gathering before the annual Fourth of July parade. There would be food there, but Mom knew I would need more than the chips and cookies that were scattered around her niece’s garage on parade day. As I finished off the Whopper, we pulled into a parking spot on the street about a block from the festivities.
I loved the Fourth of July. There was food and fireworks, and the parade was always amazing, filled with clowns, cars, and candy. Plus, the holiday celebrated our nation’s independence, and that was nothing to sneeze at.
My dad was in the parade this year, hoofing it with the local senator for whom he worked. I had to go and set up the water hose so we could douse him as he walked by. The temperature was pushing 90 degrees already, and it was only 11:30.
After making sure the hose was ready, I hung out with my cousins and other people I didn’t know well but saw once a year at the parade. A couple of them went to the same school as me, but most of them were from surrounding area schools. I was headed to my freshman year, and I was excited to be in high school at last, but I didn’t want to geek out over that in front of the others.
Really, what did I care what they thought of me? It’s not as if they’d remember something dumb I said the next time I saw them in a year. Still, I maintained my mostly mute demeanor and smiled and laughed at the appropriate times. I was feeling quite chirk, but was waiting to expend my energy to fend off small children for my share of candy.
Once the parade began, I stationed myself behind a group of adorable young children. There was a method to my madness. Cute kids get candy thrown at them, and some of that candy will sail over their heads. And there I would be to scoop it up! I settled in on a camp chair, popped a cold soda, and prepared myself for the festivities.
The parade began, as it always does, with the flag and assorted solemn processions. After we sat back down and I put my hat back on, I moved my empty plastic bag near my feet.
My mom was flitting around, talking to people and taking pictures with her phone, pictures which were doomed to be out of frame or cut off someone’s head. Seriously, how do you screw up taking photos with your phone?
Dad’s group was coming down the street, so I readied the hose. Mom hopped out to the curb to be able to say hello and to embarrass him through terrible photography.
As she ran up to hug him and take a selfie, I aimed and nailed both of them with a stream of water. As they laughed, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that one of the Shriners’ cars behind Dad’s group, had lost control.
The Shriners are that group with funny hats who help kids in hospitals. They have tiny race cars that they drive in parades and do cool routines with. But now something had gone terribly wrong and one of the cars was headed right for my parents.
Mom moved to get off the street, but the water I had sprayed had gathered in a puddle and she slipped. The Shriner car zoomed by her and ran over her foot. Screaming in pain, she fell to the street until my dad could scoop her up and bring her over by us.
An EMT arrived quickly and examined Mom. My favorite day of the year had turned sour in a hurry. Because of being run over, my mom had broken her left foot’s toes.
Word of the Week: This week’s word is chirk, which means lively and cheerful, as in, “The young child was always very chirk on Christmas morning, waiting to open presents.” Impress your friends and confuse your enemies!