Clean Up Your Mess - OMP Prompt
[locked to those who know of Adam's Immortality]
Let me start by saying that I technically did not make the mess. That would be the fault of God, Mother Nature or whatever entity you want to give credit for a driving rainstorm. You might also credit them for causing the flat tire, though I think that might be partially Adam’s fault, but I’m not really sure. Certainly, it was HIS idea to go out in that driving rainstorm to change said flat tire. I wasn’t even consulted, as I was in the back of the van, asleep. I suppose that had I been consulted, I could have pulled out my AAA card and we could have sat in the nice, dry van until help arrived, and then the nice driver could have changed the tire. But, again, I was not consulted. I awoke to the sound of a five thousand year old man (and no, I didn’t know that at the time) trying to change the tire on a VW van, muttering curse words that I didn’t have to know the ancient language to understand the meaning in the tone.
The only part of the mess I can be held accountable for is when he asked me to get in the driver’s seat and drive, because the tire was not only flat, but stuck in the muck and mud on the side of the road. I suppose I should have told him that I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift. But really, how hard could that be?
Harder than it looks, actually.
So, yes, the van rolled back and knocked him flying into the bushes on the side of the road and the aforementioned muck and mud. Let it also be noted here that it’s not my fault that said bushes were prickly briar brambles. I didn’t plant them. But you would have thought so by the way he looked at me when he climbed back up to the road.
And when he got back in the van, after changing the tire, I couldn’t help the giggles. He was covered in mud, from the top of his head down to his boots, and there was a big glob of it on that splendid nose of his. It stuck in his hair, making it stick up like Alfalfa’s, and his coat had rips and tears and bits of prickly briars all over it.
“That’s quite enough.” His voice was controlled and clipped. I thought he was angry, at the time, and retreated to a corner. Now I know that he was upset and angry with himself. By the time we got to the hotel, the silence between us was as uncomfortable as any I had ever felt in my life. I thought he was going to send me home. I was prepared for that. Of course, when I saw him sitting in that muddy tub, looking so cold and miserable and lost, I stopped worrying about things like fault. No matter who made the mess, I set about cleaning it up, and that was a rather lovely task, one that I enjoyed a great deal. I think he did, too. It remains one of my favorite memories. My favorite mess. I didn’t mind cleaning that up, not a bit.
Alexa Bond
Highlander
543 words
Let me start by saying that I technically did not make the mess. That would be the fault of God, Mother Nature or whatever entity you want to give credit for a driving rainstorm. You might also credit them for causing the flat tire, though I think that might be partially Adam’s fault, but I’m not really sure. Certainly, it was HIS idea to go out in that driving rainstorm to change said flat tire. I wasn’t even consulted, as I was in the back of the van, asleep. I suppose that had I been consulted, I could have pulled out my AAA card and we could have sat in the nice, dry van until help arrived, and then the nice driver could have changed the tire. But, again, I was not consulted. I awoke to the sound of a five thousand year old man (and no, I didn’t know that at the time) trying to change the tire on a VW van, muttering curse words that I didn’t have to know the ancient language to understand the meaning in the tone.
The only part of the mess I can be held accountable for is when he asked me to get in the driver’s seat and drive, because the tire was not only flat, but stuck in the muck and mud on the side of the road. I suppose I should have told him that I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift. But really, how hard could that be?
Harder than it looks, actually.
So, yes, the van rolled back and knocked him flying into the bushes on the side of the road and the aforementioned muck and mud. Let it also be noted here that it’s not my fault that said bushes were prickly briar brambles. I didn’t plant them. But you would have thought so by the way he looked at me when he climbed back up to the road.
And when he got back in the van, after changing the tire, I couldn’t help the giggles. He was covered in mud, from the top of his head down to his boots, and there was a big glob of it on that splendid nose of his. It stuck in his hair, making it stick up like Alfalfa’s, and his coat had rips and tears and bits of prickly briars all over it.
“That’s quite enough.” His voice was controlled and clipped. I thought he was angry, at the time, and retreated to a corner. Now I know that he was upset and angry with himself. By the time we got to the hotel, the silence between us was as uncomfortable as any I had ever felt in my life. I thought he was going to send me home. I was prepared for that. Of course, when I saw him sitting in that muddy tub, looking so cold and miserable and lost, I stopped worrying about things like fault. No matter who made the mess, I set about cleaning it up, and that was a rather lovely task, one that I enjoyed a great deal. I think he did, too. It remains one of my favorite memories. My favorite mess. I didn’t mind cleaning that up, not a bit.
Alexa Bond
Highlander
543 words