inadequecies ii
So I had a conversation over the weekend with The Boy on the phone, and we talked about the usual things one does to a boy of capital letters. I noticed last Friday that he had been limping a little after karate training, and thinking it odd that he was not making his usual habit of announcing his misery very loudly to the world at large, I asked him about it later over the phone. He said his hip was hurting, as it had been for a while -- he had been having problems with it on and off throughout the entire semester.
"Oh," said I, in complete awe of the floodgate of plans that had been thrown open in my head. "Then... we'll build you a new one. We'll make it a group project, even!"
"What are you talking about." he said, a slightly exasperated squinty look of disbelief carefully inflected in his voice.
"I'm not sure if I can get my hands on some scalpels, but we could cut you open, make you a new hip bone. Out of legos. And foam stuffing. We'll build it stronger! Better! ...I don't remember how the rest goes."
"Yeah, since now you have the technology to do so," he said wryly, and the conversation went on to compare small yappy dogs to oversized gerbils.
Well, today I went to the library to return an overdue book (I return all my books overdue because I inevitably forget that, well, the books aren't mine) and, wandering briefly through the corridors in search of non-existent new Amy Tan stories, I glanced over at the adjacent shelves of nonfiction, and found myself staring at medical textbooks. The floodgate threw itself open again, this time with memories of previous plans. I left holding a very heavy, leather-bound, ancient edition of Gray's Anatomy above my head in one hand like a dumbbell, and marched happily back to my house, where I proceeded to poke around and locate a hammer, some steel nails, and lots and lots of duct tape.
On the bus to karate training, I imagined the conversation in my head -- after changing into my street clothes, I'd plop myself down next to The Boy and give him a very certain sideways stare. "So, have you thought any more about that group project?"
I'd love for him to be all confused and not know what I was talking about (the surprise would make the devious hatching of my plan even sweeter), but of course he would know me all too well and would sort of roll his eyes and chuckle. "Hahaha -- NO."
"Oh," I would say, and very casually reach into my backpack. "Because I was doing my research..." And at this point I would pull the book out, letting it fall open in my lap just so, making visible the paperclip-marked pages on hip bones and surgery. "...and it doesn't seem like it would be too hard." Then I would unearth the hammer and hold it very loosely in my hand, sort of swinging it in lazy circles like I had been doing so all my life, nodding at whatever medical nonsense was visible on the pages before me.
(The Boy had no lines at this point, of course.) "I couldn't locate that bag of scalpels, but I figure the hooks on the hammer would work just as well, and--" throw in a shrug here for theatrics, "--it serves more than one purpose." And that was about as far as I got. I would have to wait to see how he reacted to see if the nails and duct tape would even be needed.
.....But, of course, as soon as I got there, he left after the first hour of training, so I was stuck afterwards, in my street clothes, slumped down next to no one in particular with an ancient medical textbook and a hammer in my backpack and a distinct lack of a punchline.
"Oh," said I, in complete awe of the floodgate of plans that had been thrown open in my head. "Then... we'll build you a new one. We'll make it a group project, even!"
"What are you talking about." he said, a slightly exasperated squinty look of disbelief carefully inflected in his voice.
"I'm not sure if I can get my hands on some scalpels, but we could cut you open, make you a new hip bone. Out of legos. And foam stuffing. We'll build it stronger! Better! ...I don't remember how the rest goes."
"Yeah, since now you have the technology to do so," he said wryly, and the conversation went on to compare small yappy dogs to oversized gerbils.
Well, today I went to the library to return an overdue book (I return all my books overdue because I inevitably forget that, well, the books aren't mine) and, wandering briefly through the corridors in search of non-existent new Amy Tan stories, I glanced over at the adjacent shelves of nonfiction, and found myself staring at medical textbooks. The floodgate threw itself open again, this time with memories of previous plans. I left holding a very heavy, leather-bound, ancient edition of Gray's Anatomy above my head in one hand like a dumbbell, and marched happily back to my house, where I proceeded to poke around and locate a hammer, some steel nails, and lots and lots of duct tape.
On the bus to karate training, I imagined the conversation in my head -- after changing into my street clothes, I'd plop myself down next to The Boy and give him a very certain sideways stare. "So, have you thought any more about that group project?"
I'd love for him to be all confused and not know what I was talking about (the surprise would make the devious hatching of my plan even sweeter), but of course he would know me all too well and would sort of roll his eyes and chuckle. "Hahaha -- NO."
"Oh," I would say, and very casually reach into my backpack. "Because I was doing my research..." And at this point I would pull the book out, letting it fall open in my lap just so, making visible the paperclip-marked pages on hip bones and surgery. "...and it doesn't seem like it would be too hard." Then I would unearth the hammer and hold it very loosely in my hand, sort of swinging it in lazy circles like I had been doing so all my life, nodding at whatever medical nonsense was visible on the pages before me.
(The Boy had no lines at this point, of course.) "I couldn't locate that bag of scalpels, but I figure the hooks on the hammer would work just as well, and--" throw in a shrug here for theatrics, "--it serves more than one purpose." And that was about as far as I got. I would have to wait to see how he reacted to see if the nails and duct tape would even be needed.
.....But, of course, as soon as I got there, he left after the first hour of training, so I was stuck afterwards, in my street clothes, slumped down next to no one in particular with an ancient medical textbook and a hammer in my backpack and a distinct lack of a punchline.