Hello everyone my name is Jonathan and this is my very first blog post ( cue trumpet fanfare). It is a story I wrote for my college composition class at Polk State about a time we were left at home alone when we were younger. Enjoy.
The Whole Story
“Hey, can someone get me some markers?” Mom called out one mid-summer afternoon about seven years ago.
“Sure, do you mind grabbing your markers, Joseph?” responded my oldest brother Nicholas.
Joseph, my thin olive-skinned older brother, hurriedly pushed his chair back from the oval mahogany table, then dashed off towards the upstairs.
“What’s taking him so long?” Mom asked after a few minutes.
“He keeps the markers in that little plastic safe and sometimes the lock gets stuck.”
“Wait, why does Joseph keep his markers in a safe?”
“Well once while you were gone, the little ones got into the markers and drew on themselves a little,” responded Nicholas
“Oh. You know, if you boys had been paying more attention, then the little ones wouldn’t havebeen able to draw on themselves.” That was all my mother had to say on the subject. Maybe that is because Nicholas did not tell her the whole story.
Mom and Dad had left the house, and we had just finished eating lunch. We did not use the dishwasher in our house, as it had a tendency to backup and fill with a dirty gray water, half-rotten vegetables and eggshells. To avoid this problem, we washed the dishes by hand. Amid the clinking sound of dishes bumping against each other, I could hear Nicholas and Stephen, the third oldest, working and laughing while Joseph played the video game. Nicholas told us that we would rotate through turns on the video game, and we all decided Joseph’s turn was first. While Nicholas was wiping the white laminate countertops, Stephen and I finished up drying the sparkling clean plates and silverware. All the while, I could hear the sounds of the video game punctuated by the occasional grunt from Joseph.
The video game was a relatively new item in our house. Mom and Dad had purchased it as a surprise gift. Like many privileges in our house, the video game came with certain rules : It couldn’t interfere with work, we could play for only fifteen minutes at a time, we had to ask mom before we played, and if Mom and Dad were gone we had to be watching our younger siblings at all times. When Mom and Dad were gone, these rules weren’t as well enforced as they should have been. In other words, we should have waited until the dishes were completely finished before we started playing the video game. As it was, the dishes became increasingly difficult to focus on.
After the wiping and drying were finished, I was left to sweep the floor while the other boys followed the siren call of the video game. I didn’t sweep the floor. Instead, I too was slowly drawn in by the video game’s hypnotic qualities. Like a rabbit mesmerized by a stoat, I was frozen staring at the TV. However, I had not completely forgotten about the kitchen. As I felt the broom slowly grow warm in my hands, I would suddenly jerk awake and wrench myself free from the video game’s grasp. After a few half-hearted brushes of the broom, I quickly returned to the front room sucked in by the mindless black hole of lights and sounds.
Suddenly, Nathaniel’s high-pitched voice piped up, “Look, we made masks!”
We all looked up, and in that moment the video game was forgotten. The warm, contented feeling left me, replaced immediately by a feeling of absolute terror combined with impending doom. My stomach tied itself into several knots, which must have rather inconvenienced the butterflies that had taken up residence within. The reason for my emotional disturbance was simple. Nathaniel had drawn intricate tribal-like masks directly on the little ones’ faces with the markers Joseph kept upstairs. Nathaniel had even made gloves for himself. Oh, and the markers, they weren’t washable. For a brief moment we sat there stunned. Then Nicholas issued marching orders.
“Joseph and Stephen, grab three hot soapy cloths and some water, and start scrubbing the little ones’ faces. Joseph, you clean Nathaniel’s face, Stephen; you clean Christopher; I’ll clean Anne’s face; and Jonathan, sweep the kitchen floor.”
While I hurriedly swept the floor, I could hear the low rumble of Joseph’s voice as he growled at Nathaniel. My broom made a swoosh sound as I kicked my sweeping into high gear. I could still hear the sounds of the little ones being cleaned. I could hear the sounds of Nathaniel’s indignant protest as Joseph growled and grumbled. I heard Anne’s occasional whimper immediately followed by Nicholas shushing her. Christopher endured his scrubbing with all the silence a two-year-old boy can muster. As I swept I thought about the day’s events, I recognized how lucky we were that the little ones hadn’t hurt themselves, I thought about how much trouble we would be in if Mom and Dad found out, and, most importantly, I wondered if I would get a turn on the video game. The feeling of impending doom never came to fruition because we managed to scrub every bit of that unwashable marker off of the little ones’ faces and hands before Mom and Dad came home. Because we cleaned up the marker before they came home, my parents did not know the story, at least not until we told them. We did not tell them the full story for seven years. By that time, we were sure there was no chance we would get in trouble.
It has been ten years since that day, and the story has become just another family story that gets told every so often. Invariably someone makes the point that we should have been paying better attention. For several years that story served to remind me to pay attention. Even now that story still keeps me alert and aware. Its ability to influence me lies less in what did happen but rather what might have happened. When I think back on it, I marvel at how lucky we were that nothing worse happened.
I never did get my video game turn that day.
