When historians of our time look back at the events of the the twenty-first century, there are, as one might expect from such a crowd, specific incidents that come up again and again. Historians are, after all, supposed to compile lists of this sort, and although the government keeps a tight leash on each to prevent exactly that occurrence, they would be apt to make them even if they weren’t being paid for the privilege.
In any case, the big list as the media has dubbed this collection hits all the high and low points of the century to be sure. The wars are all there, of course. Although it seems a forgone conclusion today, few prognosticators at the beginning of the century would have guessed that the truculent French people, so tranquil in the previous century, would suddenly take such a turn. There were, in all, more than three dozen French wars. The war between the French and the Antarcticans, the war between the French and the Chinese, the war between the French and the other Chinese, the war between the French and the Moon People (or as we call them today, the Moon French), and of course, the war between the French and the French impersonators. But, as any historian worth his government issued historian identifier card will point out, not all wars are quite as conventional, not to mention fashionable, as those involving the French. According to one controversial theory from a group of greeting card historians at the Hallmark institute, many wars at the beginning of the century didn’t involve the French at all. And furthermore, that the term ‘war’ itself did, in past archaic meaning, refer to any armed conflict, not just those of the gallic persuasion.
The twenty-first century is also known for what was once called the ‘technological revolution’. Based on a primitive religion known as ‘science’, people of the age sought to transform the world around them, endowing every day objects with mathematical abilities far surpassing their own. Through these means, it is believed by our modern historians, the people of the world created a race of superior yet inferior slaves in which they found no end of fun, forcing the objects to use their analytical abilities to perform menial and degrading tasks. This trend continued, feeding twenty-first century man and woman’s thrust for dominance until the great toaster revolt and subsequent reign of the toaster overlords. Thankfully, this experience, and the hard lessons learned in the years of subservience and patient resistance, taught mankind a begrudging respect and deep seated distrust for any creature with wits enough to sum number to number, and then of course repeat this operation through a pattern of successive recursive calculations resulting in a meaningful result that is both provable and reproducible. But I digress.
Though marred by occasional prolonged and intractable conflict, the twenty-first century is also noted for its contributions to the arts. Although many noted artists continued the traditions of their forbearers, working in paint, stone, ink, and even data, the century’s most memorable artifacts of the so called art-scene were those produced by the artist and polymer-terrorist Lexhold Greburough and his artistic progeny. Lexhold, or ‘brother plastic’ as he was called by his followers…
A man is standing in a completely empty void except for a single light post and a bench. The man is leaning against the light post. The man is standing as if waiting for something, and occupies his time by glancing around, adjusting his jacket, riffling through his pockets, etc.
After a few seconds, another man walks backwards into the frame. This man is carrying a red helium balloon. He is laughing, and shouts to someone off frame.
YEAH, SEE YOU LATER. NO YOU, SEE YOU LATER. WELL NOT IF I SEE YOU FIRST. (laughs)
The first man is very surpassed to see the other man. He looks off into the direction from whence he came, but can see no one he might be talking to, or where the man came from. The second man turns around, still chuckling to himself, waves at the first man, and begins walking off. The First man tries to stop him.
HEY. HEY BUDDY.
YEAH?
WHERE DID YOU COME FROM JUST NOW?
HUH?
JUST NOW, WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? SOME CAR OR SOMETHING?
NA, I WAS JUST OVER THERE?
WHERE?
IN THAT APARTMENT BUILDING. MY GIRL’S FLAT IS ON THE 3RD FLOOR.
The first man looks again, but sees only the void.
WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THERES NOTHING.
NOTHING?
THERES NOTHING THERE. IT’S NOTHING. WHERE’S THE APARTMENT?
OH. (long pause) GUESS YOUR RIGHT. HEH, WHA’DO YOU KNOW.
SO WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?
WELL NOWHERE I GUESS.
YOU CAN’T COME FROM NOWHERE. YOU HAVE TO COME FROM SOMEWHERE.
Both men stare at eachother for a few seconds of silence, then both start speaking at the same time. Both stop, and the second man speaks.
DO YOU WANT TO HEAR A JOKE?
NO. I WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU CAME FROM. I’VE BEEN HERE FOR HOURS AND I HAVENT SEEN ANYONE OR ANYTHING ELSE SINCE I GOT HERE.
ITS A GOOD JOKE.
I’M SURE IT IS. DOESN’T IT EVEN WORRY YOU A LITTLE THAT THERES NOTHING AROUND?
WHY? SHOULD IT?
WELL I WOULD THINK SO. I DO THINK SO. I’M WORRIED. HOW DO WE GET OUT OF HERE?
SAME WAY WE GOT IN?
HOWS THAT?
WELL I DON’T KNOW. HOW DID YOU GET HERE?
The first man thinks for a moment.
I DON’T REMEMBER.
WELL WHATS THE LAST THING YOU DO REMEMBER?
TUNA FISH.
TUNA FISH? YOU SOME KIND OF FISHERMAN?
NO. I’M AN ACCOUNTANT.
YOU LIKE TUNA FISH?
NOT REALLY. IT’S OK I GUESS.
OH…YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR A JOKE?
(sighs) FINE, WHATS YOUR JOKE.
OK, SO THERES THIS DUCK RIGHT, AND HE’S HIT HIS THUMB WITH A HAMMER AND SO…
DUCKS DON’T HAVE THUMBS.
WHAT’S THAT?
I SAY, DUCKS. THEY DON’T HAVE THUMBS. THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE HANDS REALLY.
WELL YEAH, IN REAL LIFE, BUT THIS IS A JOKE. IT DOESN’T HAVE TO MAKE SENSE.
RIGHT, BUT I’M JUST SAYING, IT HAS TO MAKE SOME SENSE. I MEAN AT LEAST A LITTLE.
WELL FINE, HE HIT HIS WING HAMMERING OK.
NO, NO, THE THUMB IS FINE.
FINE. HE HIT HIS THUMB HAMMERING. SO ANYWAY, HIS THUMB IS IN A LOT OF PAIN AND HE’S JUMPING UP AND DOWN AND QUACKING AND SAYING ALL THESE CURSE WORDS AND STUFF. SO THEN HE GETS IN HIS CAR AND GOES TO THE HOSPITAL, BUT THE NURSE THERE WON’T SIGN HIM IN BECAUSE HE’S A DUCK RIGHT?
WHY?
WELL IT’S A HOSPITAL, SO THEY ONLY TREAT PEOPLE, NOT DUCKS.
OH, SO THE NURSE IS A HUMAN?
NO, SHE’S A DUCK TOO.
BUT SHE WORKS AT A HUMAN HOSPITAL?
YEAH. SO ANYWAY. HE DEMANDS TO SEE THE MANAGER OF THE HOSPITAL, AND SO THE NURSE CALLS UP TO THE MANAGERS OFFICE, AND THE MANAGER COMES DOWN AND THEY GET IN AN ARGUMENT AND THE MANAGER SAYS TO THE DUCK ‘
Archer was instantly awake. He sat up in a start, and promptly smashed his head against something very hard and very cold. Recoiling back to the ground, he clutched his head at the defining ring that filled his ears. “Bloody hell. Rutting lamp! That was a jolly good one you idiot.” He thought and he curled into a ball, clutching blindly for his blanket or pillow to escape into. “I suppose this is what I get for reading in bed like a school boy.” For several seconds the vibrations seemed to permeate his whole body, which struck Archer as rather odd. What’s more, Archer’s groping found no pillow, no blanket, only a hard unforgiving surface. As the din finally began to subside, he carefully opened his eyes, and reached out above him to see what it was he had struck.
What his outstretched hand found was no lamp. Archer slowly realized it was a bell, and a big one. He crawled out from under the its skirt and staggered to his feet, still clutching his forehead and moaning softly to himself. He hugged the dome of the bell trying both to steady himself, and to stop the vibrations that still faintly resonated through it. As his vision cleared Archer slowly but surely assessed his situation. He was clinging to one of the large bells of the church tower in the middle of town, several stories up, barely dressed, fairly cold, with a splitting head ache. “Well, at least I won the bet.” Archer smiled, slunk down against the curve of the bell and watched the sun rise.
It had taken Archer several hours to finally get down off of the bell tower. Despite his apparent aptitude in somehow making his way up the tower while sleeping, in a waking state Archer found those particular skills lacking, and had spent a rather frustrating hour trying to pry open the access panel which had no handle from the outside, but concealed a ladder down the inside of the structure. Despite the difficulty, he did gain something of a grudging respect for the architect, who had such forethought in prevent the entry of burglars and trespassers that even such a seemingly inaccessible entrance was well fortified. Archer muttered as he worked away at the hinges with a discarded roofing nail, “I shall have to mention this to the parson. I bet he stays up nights fretting over all the ninjas with sights on the collection plate.”
Consider the following situation:
You are an official of the court of His Royal Majesty King Archibald. Twelve days ago, you were ordered by the King’s proxy to journey from the capitol North to the neighboring kingdom of Æsects. There you will deliver to the King of the Æsects a message which King Archibald wrote in secret code, and has hidden in one of three items you were given to deliver.
The first item is a book, which the King has had printed on his newest acquisition, a printing press. The book has no cover, and consists of approximately 500 pages, each cut carefully to size, and stab-bound together at the spine. Each page of the book is printed with a single solid block of ‘a’ characters, one after the other. Each printed page is exactly the same, save the page numbers, which are written as expected, in the bottom center of each page. The numbers start at 1 and proceed to 500 without any omissions. Although the pages are printed alike, a number of the pages contain hand written ink markings. The markings are quick circles and ovals which seem to be circling some of the ‘a’ characters. The circles only include characters in a single line, never on multiple lines. Also, no page contains more than three circles, and fully 85% of the pages have no markings whatsoever. The placement of the marks on pages, and the pages containing marks are at seemingly random intervals.
The second item is a string of beads. The string is strait, and does not join into a ring, bracelet, or necklace. The string itself is made of a leather cord, and is approximately one and one-half feet long. At either end of the string is a brass grommet which serves to hold the beads on the string, and provides a tasteful decretive flourish. Strung onto the string are two kinds of beads, a small bead of about a centimeter in diameter made of turquoise, a rare and highly valued mineral in the kingdom, and a large translucent glass bead approximately half an inch in diameter with a smoky sepia color. There are an equal number of each type of bead, in an amount that leaves about an inch of slack cord, allowing the beads space to slide around. The hole drilled in each bead is large enough for the bead to slide freely on the cord, but not substantially larger than the diameter of the leather cord. The beads are arranged in a seemingly random order on the string, some alternating, some in groups.
The final item is actually a pair of items. The first being a small stuffed doll of a white rabbit. The doll is obviously hand constructed. It’s skin is made from a fine velvet which is completely white apart from a coffee colored patch on the back of the rabbit’s left ear. The doll is no larger than an actual baby rabbit would be, and is anatomically proportioned, but is posed to appear as if it is walking like a human being. The doll is loosely stuffed with some sort of batting, and a quantity of small round objects such as beans, beads, or river gravel. This stuffing gives the doll a limp and pliant consistency. The doll’s eyes are two polished black buttons, and its mouth and nose are stitched patterns in black thread. This black thread was also used to stitch the number ‘27’ on the bottom of the rabbit doll’s right foot. The numerals for ‘2’ and ‘7’ are reversed, as if seen in a mirror. The second item of the set is a matching costume which you have been obliged to wear. The costume is also of a white rabbit with a brown patch on the back of its left ear. The costume is constructed from the same material, and includes a hood with two ears which are stuffed with quill feathers to keep them standing. There is no face to the hood, and no feet to the costume, however, it does include a large drawstring bag in which you have placed the other items along with your supplies for the journey, and slung over your shoulder. The bottom of the bag is a circular patch to which the walls are stitched. On the seat of this circular patch is stitched the same backwards numerals ‘2’ and ‘7’, though much larger, basically inscribed within the circle which is about a foot in diameter.
Our word of the day is “inchoate” – In an initial stage, incipient. Imperfectly formed or developed. Of or relating to a crime committed in preparation for a subsequent crime of greater complexity or severity.
Arthur followed the man in the suit as he was lead through a long series of confusing corridors and interconnecting rooms. The decorum was spartan and functional, like one would expect to see in a military base or government laboratory. The only furnishings were desks and rather uncomfortable looking plastic and metal chairs reminiscent of a high school play. Not even a simple coat of paint covered the bear concrete walls, only terse signs which labeled each room, warned of hazardous conditions, or pointed the way to conveniently located emergency exits. Although they were on the 8th floor of the building, no windows were visible, and the only sources of light were florescent fixtures set in metal frameworks at regular intervals along the ceilings of each room and hallway.
Several steps behind, Arthur and the man in the suit came through a small work room stuffed with equipment and, passing through a small door at the far end, emerged into a long hallway. This hall was unlike the portion of the building Arthur had seen so far, and he was a little relieved. The hall was lined to either side with a series of doors, each with a small brass nameplate and to the side of each door was a tall leafy plant. The two proceeded down the hallway, and as they passed door after door, Arthur spotted a small drinking fountain inset in an alcove coming up on the left.
“About damned time” muttered Arthur. He reached into his coat pocket for his flask and made a bee-line for the fountain, picking up pace and passing the man in the suit. As he passed, Arthur heard a quick zip of fabric and a sudden pressure on his right shoulder. The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back staring up into a the face of the man in the suit, silhouetted against a fluorescent light in the celling. “What the devil was that for you lummox?”
“Sir, I’ll have to ask you not to drink from the fountains, they’re not safe.”
Arthur’s ears were ringing. “Not safe?”
“Yes sir, it’s for your own safety.”
“It’s a water fountain. You seem to be the only thing around here posing a threat to my safety. And don’t call me sir. I’m not in your damned little private army.”
“My apologizes sir…”
Arthur glared.
“Detective. Are you injured?”
Arthur shook his head.
“The pipes are filled with benzene. Everyone in the facility is on strict orders to prevent any of it from escaping into the drainage system. Let me help you up.”
Arthur wrested his arm away from the man in the suit, and staggered to his feet, pawing at the smooth hallway wall looking for a suitable handhold but finding none. “Benzene?”
“It’s an industrial solvent.”
“I know what it is, what’s it doing in the pipes, other than giving you an excuse to polish the floors with your visitor’s backsides?”
“As I said detective, I’m very sorry. We think that whom ever infiltrated the building put the benzene into the water supply so that they could clear the building by setting off the fire sprinklers making the air…”
“Never mind, never mind. Look, take me to the officer in charge. I’m sick of this follow the leader rubbish. I’ve got better things to do than follow some oaf around like his trained puppy. Your lucky I…”
The man in the suit slammed Arthur against the wall, jamming his elbow deep into his ribs and knocking his feet out from under him with a single swift motion so that the man’s force against the wall was the only thing holding Arthur up. The man drew his face just inches from Arthur’s. He spoke with the same professional politeness he had been using all along, as if nothing about this conversation set it apart from any other he had had that day. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience sir. We’ve arrived at the director office. If there’s anything else I can help you with today, please don’t hesitate to ask for me. My name is Agent Goren.”
“The man in the suit deftly stepped back from the wall and Arthur fell to his knees. The man straitened his suit, opened the nearby office door and swung it gently back against the wall, and then turned and walked off down the hallway.
Spots was born on October 11th in the middle of the night. No one quite remembers her mother coming into the hospital that night. After all it was quite some time ago. Most of the doctors were medical students and have since left the hospital for others, and the nurses all say they see too many pregnant mothers to remember just one so long ago. In any case, though few can recall her mother, everyone remembers Spots. One can scarcely forget a child like that one.
Spots wasn’t her real name of course. Her mother named her Molly, she said after a ship she had once seen in the harbor in New York. One of the nurses there at the time, Nurse Franklin, was something of an artist and wrote the name out in beautiful block letters with an old style calligraphy pen on the birth papers. It was Molly on her papers, and her charts, and a small card on her bassinet that was printed up by the hospital, and even on a tiny plastic bracelet they gave her. But to all of the staff, at least when not in her mothers presence, she was Spots, and for obvious reasons.
They started on the top of each foot, no larger than the dot at the base of a question mark, but as they moved up, they got bigger. The larger ones were nearly the size of Molly’s thumb nail, which being only hours old was admittedly small, but certainly larger than your average freckle or beauty mark. Each a sort of creamy coffee color. On her right foot there were only two, but the left had three in a sort of oblong triangle. One of the doctors called it isosceles but he was always saying things like that. Such a technical term didn’t seem fitting.
Once several of the nurses tried to match up the pattern. One though it looked like a cat, but the others all agreed it was far to disorganized. Another mentioned a dappled horse she had seen as a child, while still others found better models in nautilus shells or strange asian goats with funny sounding names, but none of the pictures ever seemed to fit quite right. As the spots grew up her legs and across her back and arms, each larger spot took on a character of its own, some more of a ring shape with a light patch in the center, others like drops of paint that had been spinning when they struck a surface. As if some fish swimming in coffee had skipped up the placid river of her skin, leaving dappled rippling patterns as it dove into the surface at acrobatic angles.
When the nurses gave Molly a bath, or took her weight, the name seemed to placate her, and it quickly spread through the ranks until even the doctors were using it. Finally, one of the new nurses, unaware of the unspoken rules, used the name in her mothers room while changing Molly’s diaper. She could tell from the shock on the faces of the doctor and other nurses in the room she had made a serious mistake, and began to cry. Molly’s mother just chuckled. “Oh Nurse West, you gave away my secret pet name for Molly to all your friends.” She gave the nurse a quick wink, and the whole room burst out in the giggles they had been holding in for days. From then on, even to her mother Molly was Spots. On the day Molly and her mother left the hospital, one of the nurses brought in the department camera to take their picture for the big wall in the corridor where they put each new baby’s photo. So many doctors, nurses, and staff wanted in the picture that the nurses had to take thirty in all. So many that Spots got her own section on the wall.
Jessica glanced up from her romance novel and gasped. The beautiful pine forest that had been passing by the windows of the car just a few minutes earlier was missing, replaced by a desolate landscape of skeletal tree trunks and scorched hillsides.
”It’s not as bad as it looks.” said John, noticing her reaction.
”Not as bad? It’s like a … I don’t know what! My god John, it’s a wasteland.”
”The trees will grow back. In fact, the fire makes the seeds germinate, they can’t make new trees without it.”
”And how long will that take John? And until they do, every time you look out the window all you’ll see are these burned out trees.”
”I get to watch the forrest grow back! That’s the best part. And since all the houses around here burned out with the forest, I don’t even have to share it with a bunch of yuppie neighbors. You should think about coming out here too. The real-estate agent said every property on the mountain is up for grabs, and for barely a tenth of what they were worth 6 months ago. These people can’t get out fast enough.”
”Of course they are, all their houses burned down!”
”Right, so now it’s safe.”
”Safe? It’s just going to burn down again!”
”Eventually yes, but that won’t happen for years. The likelihood of another fire in the next few years striking the same place are astronomical.”
”Those are just statistics. It could all burn down again tomorrow.”
”With what Jess’? The ghosts of the trees? It’s all ashes now, there’s nothing left to burn.”
Jessica rolled her eyes.
Come on, it could be fun. We’d have the whole west side of the mountain to ourselves. There are two or three old stone buildings like mine that survived the fire just fine. Just need a coat of paint and some new carpet.”
Jessica reached for her book and pretended to begin reading again. “Yeah, and garbage bags for the burned out corpses.”
John smiled. “Na, the wild life got most of them.”
Jessica cringed and shivered. “Ugh, don’t put those kinds of pictures in my head.”
John chuckled.
Jeremy strained against his seat belt, pressing his face and hands against the car window. “Is it one of these?”
”No honey, sit back.” replied Jeremy’s mother.
”Good,” sneered Ben, “these are all ugly. They have those ugly brick things around all the windows like at school.”
”Soo,” said Jeremy, his face still pressed against the glass.
”So, they’re ugly. Our house had better not have them. And there had better be some trees, all these dumb new houses don’t have any trees.”
”Let’s all calm down, were almost there.”
”Yeah!” said Jeremy.
Ben sneered. Jeremy shot back, sticking out his tongue and screwing up his face. Ben, although only 13 for a few weeks now gave his well practiced teenaged roll of the eyes and slumped back into his seat.
”Jeremy, sit back. This is all the new development. Our house is much older, it’s on the edge of all of this new stuff. The real-estate agent said back when it was built, it was in the middle of the wilderness. Now the road goes right up to it, but its still surrounded by woods. Plus there a small creek in the backyard.”
”A creek?” asked Jeremy.
”It’s like a baby river honey. Like the one on your grandfather’s farm.”
As the rental car continued, the houses passing by began to transform, almost as if time were moving backwards. At first the trees and bushes seemed to shrink away, while the coats of paint on the window shutters and siding grew more vivid. Soon the gardens lost their decorations and the driveways their chalk drawings and unattended bicycles, replaced by realty signs.
”Look mommy, that house doesn’t have skin yet.” Jeremy shouted as they passed.
”It’s called siding stupid. Houses don’t have skin.”
”Ben,” scolded his mother, “that’s quite enough. It is kind of like skin isn’t it Jeremy. That house is still under construction. See, look at this one, you can still see the frame. It’s like a skeleton that holds the house up.”
”They could leave it like that for Halloween. Then the whole house would be a costume.”
”Who’s going to live in a house thats just a frame.” Ben said under his breath.
”Maybe skeletons would want to live there.” said his mother.
As they continued, more houses passed in various stages of development. Then all of a sudden the houses stopped and the road turned into a thick wood. Despite the bright sun out, the car grew dark and a little chilly in the shadows. To either side of the road stood tall, dense evergreens, some growing almost horizontally out of the sides of the hills that sloped up from the road. The trees came up so suddenly, it was almost as if the forest had swallowed the car, closing in even from both sides leaving only the bright swath of sky down the center, too high for sunlight to reach the road below. Jeremy peered into the trees trying to see what lay beyond them. Along the road shorter trees, small bushes and vines obscured the forrest behind them, but every once in a while Jeremy could see a void in the wall of vegetation to the trees in back. The forest floor looked remarkably clear apart from the bear trunks of the trees and an occasional fern. Jeremy though it looked like an empty wear-house he had once seen, a giant room with large concrete and steel pillars every few feet. Certainly not like the forests back home. Between the tree trunks, brilliant shafts of light struck the bear forrest floor, giving everything a dull orange-brown glow from the layer of dry pine needles.
”Here we are boys.”
The road came to a small circle with a large planter in the center. At the far end of the circle was a narrow driveway, flanked on either side by two large pillars of brick, each with an ornate street light at the top. Standing in front of the left column was a carved stone statue of a rabbit, sitting on its haunches, with its head cocked at an angle. Before the right pillar stood the base of a similar statue, but the top half was missing, sheared off like the head of a radish.
The car pulled up to the far side of the circle and came to rest on the shoulder of the road, just short of the drive. “Everybody out!”
”Woah, are those our statues?” asked Ben.
”Yep, the man who owned the house was a retired stone mason. There are little statues all over.”
”What happened to that one mommy?”
”It’s just very old honey. It must have broken off at some point.”
”See Jerr’, that one was the big bunny’s little brother, and he was always asking stupid questions, so one day, the big bunny pulled out his samurai sword and, SWOOSH!”
Jeremy slowly crept up to the rabbit statue and walked around it several times, examining it from all angles. “What sword? I don’t see a sword.”
Jeremy’s mother was already making her way up the drive. “Come along boys, you can come see your new rooms.”
-
The house was huge. The entire outside was covered in dark grey stones like a castle, most of which were rough, but some had been smoothed flat with designs or small carvings of animals. Along the roof the stones made a pattern that looked like the ramparts and battlements along a castle’s exterior wall, and along the side of the house were a number of odd slit windows. Around the house were a number of large, dense hedged, and as their mother had promised, the grounds were scattered with dozens of stone statues of rabbits, turtles, squirrels, frogs, and and many strange animals Jeremy had never seen before.
Jeremy excitedly pointed out each as they passed. “Look at that one mommy. What is it? It has a hat.” Jeremy motioned to a small statue at the corner of the house which stood against a pile of rocks next to a rain downspout.
”Its called a gargoyle.”
”Where do they live?”
”They don’t live anywhere.” replied Ben.
”Gargoyles are make believe honey, like dragons and ferries.”
The boys lingered in the entrance way, a broad path between two parts of the house that jutted out which was overhung by a sort of stone roof. The roof was held up by two more stone pillar like the ones back by the street, but this time much taller, and hanging from the center of the roof was another ornate lamp. The house was empty when they entered. No people, no furniture, no nothing. Jeremy’s mother placed her things on a long counter in the kitchen and began digging through her purse for something. As she looked, Ben helped Jeremy open the heavy wooden door which had begun to close as the boys made their way up the steps. The door was one of two which made up the front entrance. Each was several inches thick and rimmed by black metal pieces fastened to the wood with rivets.
”Take your shoes off boys, I don’t want to get any of that mud on the new carpets, they were just installed.”
Ben quickly kicked his shoes to one side and bounded down a hallway. Jeremy had considerably more trouble extricating himself from his shoes. Jeremy had insisted on buying a pair of rainbow shoe laces he had seen in the airport in Minneapolis which were at least three times longer than necessary for his shoes. To take up the slack, Jeremy’s mother ran the laces through each eyelet several times and then tied two large double bowes, which now refused to come undone. Finally he was able to simply slip his feet out. He tossed each shoe aside being careful to mimic Ben’s technique, and then made his way towards the sound of his mother.
When he reached the kitchen, Jeremy’s mother was talking to someone on her cell phone. “Yes? Hi, this is Samantha Gala. I was hoping to find out if there’s an ETA on the truck.”
Looking around, Jeremy could see all the trappings of a kitchen: there was a large stove set against one wall with a big metal vent above it; to the left of which were two oven doors nestled into the corner of the room, surrounded by cabinets with cross pieces and 5 little windows in each door. In the center was a counter top that came up out of the floor on more stone pillars, this time carved smooth with little pictures of grapes and wheat and babies with little wings. Jeremy ran his fingers over the carvings trying to make out what they were doing in each picture.