Hilarie - West Coast update
So my fine friends, I'm due for a blog. Nick covered Book Club for this week, so I'll save the humdinger I just finished for next week. Instead, I dug up an old story I wrote years ago. It's not perfect....haven't gone near it to edit in like....ever. So help yourself to a rough, sandpapery short story of mine.
Madly,
hil
The III
The night Hank’s grandfather passed away, he and his wife Dorie had a staggering amount of sex. Blinded by their grief, the plan to recapture Grandfather’s soul with a new life seemed an attainable and practical goal. So six weeks later, when the tears had slowed and the pain had dulled, Hank and Dorie were surprised and a little taken aback that their experiment had actually worked.
Donald Harson III would live again.
Early in the pregnancy, Dorie had felt odd about carrying around the soul of the late Mr. Harson. She had loved him dearly, but there was always a certain level of sternness to his personality. She was uncomfortable with the idea of him analyzing her from the inside, and Hank took note of her agitation. He explained to her that Grandfather was more than likely just happy to be given another chance, and that naturally, he must be pleased to be reunited with the family, instead of having to start over completely. This soothed Dorie, who from then on, took to treating her fetus with the respect and awe she had felt for Grandfather.
When the baby was born, a few of the relatives were reasonably unsettled when they learned of the child’s name.
“But it’s a girl!”
“No matter,” Dorie would chirp.
“Surely you mean the IV, right?”
“No,” the couple would respond. “The third.”
“But Grandfather was the third!”
“Yes, we know….It’s him.”
Donald Harson III was a fussy baby, but that was only because she wanted to communicate to her devoted family. The fact that she had to relearn speech frustrated her to no end.
As the III got a little older, Hank and Dorie found it increasingly difficult to enforce any level of discipline. She would throw her food at neighbors and Family members. But Hank and Dorie would explain to them that Grandfather had never like vegetables, so who could expect anything different now?
Those relatives who had kept their opinions to themselves, out of an uncertainty in the seriousness of the couple’s claims, began to speak up.
“This is appalling Hank! Gramma is going to hear about this and be horrified!”
But Hank and Dorie had prepared for this. They didn’t expect the cousins to understand, and they were sympathetic to the fact that Grandfather picking them would spark some jealousy in the family. So the couple would just smile and nod, and avoid the subject.
The “terrible twos” were a dark time for the family. It’s seemed that Grandfather was not responding to his old favorite things in his new form. In his past life, Donald had smoked a pack a day. But due to the certain laws of certain states, she wouldn’t be allowed to do so for another 14 years. So Dorie generously took up the habit, but the III would cough and cry when smoke was blown in her direction.
“Jeopardy” had been another thing the old Donald had treasured. But his reincarnation found Mr. Trebeck neither amusing, nor interesting.
The couple fell into a deep depression when by age three, the III was still not talking. She would communicate in a variety of yowls and moans, but she restricted the use of her tongue for the bottle she still obsessively carried around.
Thanksgiving of that third year, Hank caught the III silently staring at him as he pored two fingers of a very fine Irish whiskey. That was it!
“I’m so sorry,” Hank said, nearing the toddler. When he was close enough, Hank took the bottle from the girl and emptied its contents into the Christmas cactus that Gramma had been nurturing for close to fifteen years.
“Hank, what’s going on?” one of the cousins blurted out, sending everyone’s attention to the father and daughter.
Hank said nothing, but began filling the III’s bottle with the fine Irish whiskey. Dorie pushed her way to the front of the crowd that had gathered in the combined dining/living room of Gramma Harson’s house.
“Yes, darling! You figured it out!” Hank handed the bottle back to Donald Harson the III.
Chaos ensued. Everyone made a mad dash for the girl as she brought the bottle to her mouth. But Hank and Dorie, in their solid partnership, summoned unknown strengths to hold everyone back while the III sipped and suckled away.
“For Christ’s sake, what are you doing?”
“He wants this,” the couple answered.
“Wants this? She’s a baby!”
“She’s Grandfather.”
“She’s a mute!”
“No he’s not.”
“She is!”
“Oh hell,” came a screechy voice from the far end of the room. Amidst all of the racket, the III had made her way to the head of the dining room table.
Everyone dropped whom they were clutching and stood at attention, dumbfounded.
The III raised an eyebrow. “Quit your bickering, shut up and eat.”
And as everyone took their places at the table, Gramma leaned in to Dorie and muttered, “It always did take a nip to get him going.”
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