Today's the start of the A to Z Challenge! And yes, as little time as I seem to have, I'm jumping into the fray.
The stench hit first; the rot of decaying flesh filled her nostrils, snapping her out of unconsciousness. She tried to move, lifting a hand in the darkness to find slime coating the walls that surrounded her. The air was dank and oppressive, filling her lungs with a physical presence her body tried to reject.
Coughing, she rolled onto her side and nearly passed out from the pain. Testing with her left hand, she felt the break in her upper right arm, the lower piece of bone jutting forward. She couldn't remember how it had happened.
How had she gotten here? She tried to remember as she sat up and clawed at the muck with her good hand. She had leaned down to collect a sample of water from a pool in the swamp... There was a big splash and then... Nothing. It was blank.
She got her feet beneath her, slipped, and slid onto her hip. Her arm hit the wall and a wave of pain washed over her.
She fought back panic as she tried again, holding a tree root with her good hand for balance. For some reason, she knew she had to get out quickly. Had an overpowering feeling that something was coming back for her.
Her movements opened the mat of vegetation that covered the hole, and cool air rushed over her. She gulped the fresh air and tried not to gag as the breeze shifted and the stench rose again. She had to get out.
Using her left hand, she reached as far above her as she could, grabbed hold of a low-hanging cypress branch, and scrabbled up the slick walls. The lure of fresh air and the threat of something she couldn't quite recall drove her on. After several minutes of struggling, she lay on the spongy surface, staring up at the distant sky.
And then she heard it, the deep staccato of an alligator call, and it all came rushing back, filling her body with a surge of adrenaline like an electric shock. She had leaned down to collect the sample and the splash... the splash was an alligator. It had grabbed her arm and pulled her under water, rolling over and over to kill her. But somehow she had not only survived the death roll, she had been cached for later. Mating season. That was the only explanation.
A tail hit the water nearby and the woman struggled to her feet. She had to get out before the alligator returned.
What do you think? Fact or Fiction?
Last week: Fact. (down to the three-story drop, bounce, and run)
Showing posts with label Fact or Fiction Friday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fact or Fiction Friday. Show all posts
Friday, April 1, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Fact or Fiction Friday: what the squirrel?
Some Fridays I practice writing my non-fiction in an interesting way or my fiction realistically. Can you tell whether this is fact or fiction?
Tap-t-t-tap.
The sound came down the hall. I set the dish towel on the counter and poked my head into the hallway, listening.
Again: tap-t-t-tap.
What on earth could it be? I was alone in the apartment, no dog, no cat, no pet of any kind. But it sounded like small nails on the hardwood floor.
I stepped into the hallway to investigate, passing the eating area on my way to the living room.
Tap-t-t-tap. Swish.
I paused. It was definitely coming from the living room. Had a bird gotten in? They stopped on the balcony to visit the feeder I'd put out there. And there was that hole in the lower corner of the door frame, where someone must have kicked it too hard.
I peered around the corner into the living room, expecting to see a sparrow or maybe a starling sitting on the floor. Instead, I saw a fat body covered with gray fur: a squirrel. How on earth had it gotten up to the third floor? There wasn't a tree anywhere near the building.
"Chuck-chuck-chu-chuck." It gave an alarm call and twitched its tail, watching me as warily as I watched it. Maybe it would go out on its own. We stared at each other for several minutes. Maybe not.
Stepping into the living room, I held my arms wide, hoping to corral it back through the hole in the door. Panicked, it turned away from me, headed for the door and swerved at the last second, racing around the perimeter of the room, past me, and down the hallway.
I chased after it, staying close to the right side of the hallway, forcing the squirrel to the left. It took the nearest exit into the eating area, where it leaped onto a chair, then up onto the table, scattering the newspaper across the room.
I stood in the doorway. It was trapped in the room, but how would I get it out? I had to get it back to the balcony door in the living room. Using a chair, I blocked off the rest of the hallway (definitely did not need a squirrel in my bedroom). Then
I eased my way into the dining room.
The squirrel twitched its tail, turning slowly to keep an eye on me as I circled the table. When I was on the far side, I moved quickly, shooing it off the table and back into the hallway. For a moment, it hesitated, and I thought it might leap over my barricade. But the other direction was clearer, and the squirrel took off with me close behind.
It paused in front of the door. Somehow I had to get it out, but based on what had happened last time, I knew it wouldn't go through the hole. I wasn't up for another chase around the apartment. From the looks of it, neither was the squirrel.
How to open the door from a distance?
"Chuck-chuck-chu-chuck!"
Yeah, I'm working on it.
"Chuck!"
The chair! I grabbed a chair from the eating area and carried it at a snail's pace into the living room. The squirrel tensed, and I fully expected it to either race between my legs or to jump up onto the chair legs I was holding over its head. Holding my breath, I nudged the screen door open by its wooden frame.
Nothing happened. The squirrel just stood there, as if completely mesmerized by the chair floating over it.
I shifted my foot, and it jumped. Onto the screen, where it hung for a moment before it jumped again--over the balcony railing and three stories straight down.
I dropped the chair and ran outside, wondering if it would survive. It bounced once, shook itself, and raced off to the nearest tree.
I took the bird feeder in. It wasn't worth the trouble.
What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Tap-t-t-tap.
The sound came down the hall. I set the dish towel on the counter and poked my head into the hallway, listening.
Again: tap-t-t-tap.
What on earth could it be? I was alone in the apartment, no dog, no cat, no pet of any kind. But it sounded like small nails on the hardwood floor.
I stepped into the hallway to investigate, passing the eating area on my way to the living room.
Tap-t-t-tap. Swish.
I paused. It was definitely coming from the living room. Had a bird gotten in? They stopped on the balcony to visit the feeder I'd put out there. And there was that hole in the lower corner of the door frame, where someone must have kicked it too hard.
I peered around the corner into the living room, expecting to see a sparrow or maybe a starling sitting on the floor. Instead, I saw a fat body covered with gray fur: a squirrel. How on earth had it gotten up to the third floor? There wasn't a tree anywhere near the building.
"Chuck-chuck-chu-chuck." It gave an alarm call and twitched its tail, watching me as warily as I watched it. Maybe it would go out on its own. We stared at each other for several minutes. Maybe not.
Stepping into the living room, I held my arms wide, hoping to corral it back through the hole in the door. Panicked, it turned away from me, headed for the door and swerved at the last second, racing around the perimeter of the room, past me, and down the hallway.
I chased after it, staying close to the right side of the hallway, forcing the squirrel to the left. It took the nearest exit into the eating area, where it leaped onto a chair, then up onto the table, scattering the newspaper across the room.
I stood in the doorway. It was trapped in the room, but how would I get it out? I had to get it back to the balcony door in the living room. Using a chair, I blocked off the rest of the hallway (definitely did not need a squirrel in my bedroom). Then
I eased my way into the dining room.
The squirrel twitched its tail, turning slowly to keep an eye on me as I circled the table. When I was on the far side, I moved quickly, shooing it off the table and back into the hallway. For a moment, it hesitated, and I thought it might leap over my barricade. But the other direction was clearer, and the squirrel took off with me close behind.
It paused in front of the door. Somehow I had to get it out, but based on what had happened last time, I knew it wouldn't go through the hole. I wasn't up for another chase around the apartment. From the looks of it, neither was the squirrel.
How to open the door from a distance?
"Chuck-chuck-chu-chuck!"
Yeah, I'm working on it.
"Chuck!"
The chair! I grabbed a chair from the eating area and carried it at a snail's pace into the living room. The squirrel tensed, and I fully expected it to either race between my legs or to jump up onto the chair legs I was holding over its head. Holding my breath, I nudged the screen door open by its wooden frame.
Nothing happened. The squirrel just stood there, as if completely mesmerized by the chair floating over it.
I shifted my foot, and it jumped. Onto the screen, where it hung for a moment before it jumped again--over the balcony railing and three stories straight down.
I dropped the chair and ran outside, wondering if it would survive. It bounced once, shook itself, and raced off to the nearest tree.
I took the bird feeder in. It wasn't worth the trouble.
What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Friday, January 28, 2011
There's no place like home...
After four (miserable) days in Budapest, we were finally going home! Caught the airport shuttle, arrived with plenty of time to get checked in. Flight on schedule. My heart soared.
Half an hour later, Beloved Husband asked, "So... why haven't they announced any flights?"
I glanced around and shrugged. "Maybe they're just clustered together."
Beloved Husband got up to look at the departure board. He scowled and returned to his seat.
"We're delayed by an hour. All incoming flights from Germany are delayed."
Great. So the big snowstorm they'd predicted on the day we were supposed to leave didn't materialize, but the one they'd predicted for our return did. My mind raced... We were going to be stuck here, I just knew it. In the airport. Overnight. With two young kids and nowhere near enough diapers for the youngest. Dear God, why hadn't we stayed home?
We checked the departure schedule every five minutes after that, but the new time held. Our plane arrived, and we were ready to board. Except for one small problem.
"Final boarding call for flight... to Milan." This was the twelfth final call, and we quickly learned that they were planning to hold the plane for the TEN people who had not yet boarded. At our gate. And we would have to wait, too.
After about 20 minutes, someone had the bright idea to open a new gate so we could actually get on our plane. We were finally on our way, long after we were supposed to have landed in Berlin.
The flight is about an hour and 20 minutes. After 2.5 hours, I started to wonder what was going on. Eventually, the pilot came on to tell us that the airport wasn't allowing any planes to land. We would continue circling and see what happened.
Ten minutes later: "We will be landing at Schönefeld. Tegel still isn't accepting any planes. We're going to cut our losses and get on the ground." Good thing we hadn't left a car at the airport!
Within minutes, the landing lights on the wings came on and the landing gear went down.
"Wow, that was a smooth landing!" my mother-in-law said.
"We didn't land yet." I pointed out the window, where a blizzard obscured the end of the wing. "I sincerely hope it doesn't look like that when we're on the ground."
And then we landed! Everyone on the plane cheered. We taxied a short distance and stopped.
"Look outside," my mother-in-law said. It looked exactly like it had when we were in the air.
"We have to wait for a 'follow me' car--I don't know where they want us," the pilot explained. Outside the window was nothing but white. No sign of anything, including the airport terminal. The follow-me car parked us right there, in the middle of who knew where.
"Well, at least we're back in the city," I said, looking at the bright side.
"We have to wait for a bus to come get us," the flight attendant announced. "At least fifteen minutes." People stopped putting on coats and sat back down. Fifteen minutes later a small car pulled up and a woman came on board.
"There are several planes that had to land here," she explained, "and we don't have many buses. It will be at least 40 minutes before a bus can come get you." The flight attendants immediately brought out food and wine to prevent a riot.
Just as they finished serving our row, someone said, "The bus is here!"
Crap! I was holding a full glass of wine in one hand, with no place to put it because I had to put the seat tray up to get Snuggle Monkey. So I chugged it. We carried the boys down the steps, through about ten inches of snow, and onto the bus. We'd made it. We were officially back in Berlin.
Rrrrrrrr! The bus lurched a few inches forward. Pause. Rrrrrrr! Another lurch. Giggles and guffaws came from all around us. Again and again, the driver tried to get us going, but the snow was too deep. Then he tried backing up. Rrrrrrrrrr! Nothing.
"Would everyone please move to the back of the bus?" More laughter as everyone crammed together in the back half of the bus (good thing we'd been on a small plane). That did it. We started to move.
And then we were in the terminal. The cold air clung to us, and we wondered whether we would get our luggage, or if it would be left out there in the middle of the snow field until the plows had cleaned things up.
"Take the boys home," Beloved Husband said to my mother-in-law and me. "I'll wait here either for the luggage or to fill out lost luggage forms." Brilliant idea!
We led the boys outside, through the snow, in search of a taxi. Found one, got everyone buckled in and followed four plows home on the Autobahn. It took forever. Oh, and we had to pay for a second taxi, yet again. But we were home!
What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Last week's story? Fiction based on fact. Snuggle Monkey did not plunge us into darkness; the rest was true.
Half an hour later, Beloved Husband asked, "So... why haven't they announced any flights?"
I glanced around and shrugged. "Maybe they're just clustered together."
Beloved Husband got up to look at the departure board. He scowled and returned to his seat.
"We're delayed by an hour. All incoming flights from Germany are delayed."
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| source |
Great. So the big snowstorm they'd predicted on the day we were supposed to leave didn't materialize, but the one they'd predicted for our return did. My mind raced... We were going to be stuck here, I just knew it. In the airport. Overnight. With two young kids and nowhere near enough diapers for the youngest. Dear God, why hadn't we stayed home?
We checked the departure schedule every five minutes after that, but the new time held. Our plane arrived, and we were ready to board. Except for one small problem.
"Final boarding call for flight... to Milan." This was the twelfth final call, and we quickly learned that they were planning to hold the plane for the TEN people who had not yet boarded. At our gate. And we would have to wait, too.
After about 20 minutes, someone had the bright idea to open a new gate so we could actually get on our plane. We were finally on our way, long after we were supposed to have landed in Berlin.
The flight is about an hour and 20 minutes. After 2.5 hours, I started to wonder what was going on. Eventually, the pilot came on to tell us that the airport wasn't allowing any planes to land. We would continue circling and see what happened.
Ten minutes later: "We will be landing at Schönefeld. Tegel still isn't accepting any planes. We're going to cut our losses and get on the ground." Good thing we hadn't left a car at the airport!
Within minutes, the landing lights on the wings came on and the landing gear went down.
"Wow, that was a smooth landing!" my mother-in-law said.
"We didn't land yet." I pointed out the window, where a blizzard obscured the end of the wing. "I sincerely hope it doesn't look like that when we're on the ground."
And then we landed! Everyone on the plane cheered. We taxied a short distance and stopped.
"Look outside," my mother-in-law said. It looked exactly like it had when we were in the air.
"We have to wait for a 'follow me' car--I don't know where they want us," the pilot explained. Outside the window was nothing but white. No sign of anything, including the airport terminal. The follow-me car parked us right there, in the middle of who knew where.
"Well, at least we're back in the city," I said, looking at the bright side.
"We have to wait for a bus to come get us," the flight attendant announced. "At least fifteen minutes." People stopped putting on coats and sat back down. Fifteen minutes later a small car pulled up and a woman came on board.
"There are several planes that had to land here," she explained, "and we don't have many buses. It will be at least 40 minutes before a bus can come get you." The flight attendants immediately brought out food and wine to prevent a riot.
Just as they finished serving our row, someone said, "The bus is here!"
Crap! I was holding a full glass of wine in one hand, with no place to put it because I had to put the seat tray up to get Snuggle Monkey. So I chugged it. We carried the boys down the steps, through about ten inches of snow, and onto the bus. We'd made it. We were officially back in Berlin.
Rrrrrrrr! The bus lurched a few inches forward. Pause. Rrrrrrr! Another lurch. Giggles and guffaws came from all around us. Again and again, the driver tried to get us going, but the snow was too deep. Then he tried backing up. Rrrrrrrrrr! Nothing.
"Would everyone please move to the back of the bus?" More laughter as everyone crammed together in the back half of the bus (good thing we'd been on a small plane). That did it. We started to move.
And then we were in the terminal. The cold air clung to us, and we wondered whether we would get our luggage, or if it would be left out there in the middle of the snow field until the plows had cleaned things up.
"Take the boys home," Beloved Husband said to my mother-in-law and me. "I'll wait here either for the luggage or to fill out lost luggage forms." Brilliant idea!
We led the boys outside, through the snow, in search of a taxi. Found one, got everyone buckled in and followed four plows home on the Autobahn. It took forever. Oh, and we had to pay for a second taxi, yet again. But we were home!
What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Last week's story? Fiction based on fact. Snuggle Monkey did not plunge us into darkness; the rest was true.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Lost in the Labyrinth
All Christmas day, we were stuck inside the hotel. Outside, the winds howled, blowing rain sideways past our window. Just above freezing; not the best kind of weather for sight-seeing. So instead of experiencing the wonders of Budapest, we sat inside. Thank goodness Santa had brought the boys some new toys to play with.
On the second day of Christmas (December 26th—Christmas is a two-day affair in much of Europe), we ventured outdoors. The temperature had dropped and the sidewalks were now covered with drifted snow. We had packed according to a weather forecast that predicted zero precipitation, so we were utterly unprepared. The boys couldn't keep out of the snow. Within ten minutes they were whining about their cold, wet feet.
We trudged up to the castle district, hoping to at least see something before we left the next day. Naturally, the castle was located at the top of a hill, so the winds were stronger than ever. After a few stiffly posed pictures at the Fisherman's Bastion, we searched for the Labyrinth. A dank underground tunnel system never sounded so inviting.
We arrived as they were setting up the annual Christmas candle-lighting event. Once a year, on December 26th, 1,000 tea candles light the inside of the Labyrinth, a series of caves beneath Buda Castle.
The tiny lights lined the passageways and made them seem almost cozy. And they were beautiful. I was really enjoying our trip for the first time.
"I wonder if there are any bats down here," Boss Man commented as we looked around.
"Bat! I'm a bat!" Snuggle Monkey said.
And then his little hand was no longer holding mine. He grabbed both sides of his unzipped jacket and held them wide, flapping his "wings." He looked like a tiny dracula flitting among the candles. I worried a bit that he'd get too close to the candles, but he seemed to be staying away from them. I let my guard down.
"I'm a super fast bat! The fastest bat in the world!"
Whoosh, he ran, down one side of the cavern. Candles flickered wildly in his wake. He wheeled around and came racing back toward us. Whoosh! Behind him, the candles went out, like a series of dominoes falling. He raced around us, as we stood in our dead-end section of the cave, which was rapidly getting darker with each flame that died. The last tealight, over to my left, sputtered and went out.
They turned off the electric lights after they lit the candles. In the utter darkness, I noted the warm, damp air against my face. And then the wails broke the silence.
"MAMA!!!!"
"PAPA!!!!"
The shouts ricocheted off the walls in a deafening din. I reached one hand out in the general direction of one of the wails.
"I'm here," I said, trying to keep a steady voice as I searched for my son in the darkness.
"Don't move," Beloved Husband said. "We'll find you. Just stay where you are. Keep talking."
"I'M HERE!"
I'm here... I'm here... echoed all around us.
"In a quiet voice please," Beloved Husband said. Wow, he was staying really calm!
Sweeping my arms in front of me, I started up a constant stream of quiet chatter. I wasn't sure if I was trying to calm my kids, myself, or my mother-in-law (who has since decided she won't be joining us on any more family trips to explore the cities of Europe). Or maybe, like a bat, I was trying to echolocate my way to my kids.
After a few moments, I located Boss Man, and my husband found Snuggle Monkey. Both were sniffling.
"What about me?" my mother-in-law asked.
"Take my arm, Mom," Beloved Husband said. "I can see a faint light down that way."
"You do?" I looked in what I thought was the direction of the passageway but didn't see anything. I did, however, hear feet shuffling away from me.
"Wait!" I said to my husband as he led us to what I hoped would be a way out.
"We're going to have to stock up on night lights after this," I muttered as we crept down the passageway.We seemed to be moving at a snail's pace—literally. I felt as if I could only go a few inches at a time, and Boss Man's grip threatened to permanently cut off circulation from at least two fingers.
"Wait, I hear someone," Beloved Husband stopped walking, and I ran right into him. Boss Man stepped on Snuggle Monkey's foot, which elicited a wail.
I peered into the darkness, hoping I might see that faint light he'd mentioned. And then I was completely blinded by a bright white circle of light that was right at eye-level about three meters away. Pain shot across the back of my eyes and I squeezed them shut. The afterimage lit up green and orange against my eyelids.
"Mi folyik itt?" came a voice out of the darkness.
"What? Sorry? Do you speak English?" Beloved Husband asked.
Beloved Husband explained as the worker pulled out his lighter and set about re-lighting the candles. Then he escorted us to the entrance. Apparently they didn't want us in the Labyrinth during their special once a year candle-lighting event. Sadly, I can't really blame them
What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Last week's story? Fact.
On the second day of Christmas (December 26th—Christmas is a two-day affair in much of Europe), we ventured outdoors. The temperature had dropped and the sidewalks were now covered with drifted snow. We had packed according to a weather forecast that predicted zero precipitation, so we were utterly unprepared. The boys couldn't keep out of the snow. Within ten minutes they were whining about their cold, wet feet.
We trudged up to the castle district, hoping to at least see something before we left the next day. Naturally, the castle was located at the top of a hill, so the winds were stronger than ever. After a few stiffly posed pictures at the Fisherman's Bastion, we searched for the Labyrinth. A dank underground tunnel system never sounded so inviting.
We arrived as they were setting up the annual Christmas candle-lighting event. Once a year, on December 26th, 1,000 tea candles light the inside of the Labyrinth, a series of caves beneath Buda Castle.
The tiny lights lined the passageways and made them seem almost cozy. And they were beautiful. I was really enjoying our trip for the first time.
"I wonder if there are any bats down here," Boss Man commented as we looked around.
"Bat! I'm a bat!" Snuggle Monkey said.
And then his little hand was no longer holding mine. He grabbed both sides of his unzipped jacket and held them wide, flapping his "wings." He looked like a tiny dracula flitting among the candles. I worried a bit that he'd get too close to the candles, but he seemed to be staying away from them. I let my guard down.
"I'm a super fast bat! The fastest bat in the world!"
Whoosh, he ran, down one side of the cavern. Candles flickered wildly in his wake. He wheeled around and came racing back toward us. Whoosh! Behind him, the candles went out, like a series of dominoes falling. He raced around us, as we stood in our dead-end section of the cave, which was rapidly getting darker with each flame that died. The last tealight, over to my left, sputtered and went out.
They turned off the electric lights after they lit the candles. In the utter darkness, I noted the warm, damp air against my face. And then the wails broke the silence.
"MAMA!!!!"
"PAPA!!!!"
The shouts ricocheted off the walls in a deafening din. I reached one hand out in the general direction of one of the wails.
"I'm here," I said, trying to keep a steady voice as I searched for my son in the darkness.
"Don't move," Beloved Husband said. "We'll find you. Just stay where you are. Keep talking."
"I'M HERE!"
I'm here... I'm here... echoed all around us.
"In a quiet voice please," Beloved Husband said. Wow, he was staying really calm!
Sweeping my arms in front of me, I started up a constant stream of quiet chatter. I wasn't sure if I was trying to calm my kids, myself, or my mother-in-law (who has since decided she won't be joining us on any more family trips to explore the cities of Europe). Or maybe, like a bat, I was trying to echolocate my way to my kids.
After a few moments, I located Boss Man, and my husband found Snuggle Monkey. Both were sniffling.
"What about me?" my mother-in-law asked.
"Take my arm, Mom," Beloved Husband said. "I can see a faint light down that way."
"You do?" I looked in what I thought was the direction of the passageway but didn't see anything. I did, however, hear feet shuffling away from me.
"Wait!" I said to my husband as he led us to what I hoped would be a way out.
"We're going to have to stock up on night lights after this," I muttered as we crept down the passageway.We seemed to be moving at a snail's pace—literally. I felt as if I could only go a few inches at a time, and Boss Man's grip threatened to permanently cut off circulation from at least two fingers.
"Wait, I hear someone," Beloved Husband stopped walking, and I ran right into him. Boss Man stepped on Snuggle Monkey's foot, which elicited a wail.
I peered into the darkness, hoping I might see that faint light he'd mentioned. And then I was completely blinded by a bright white circle of light that was right at eye-level about three meters away. Pain shot across the back of my eyes and I squeezed them shut. The afterimage lit up green and orange against my eyelids.
"Mi folyik itt?" came a voice out of the darkness.
"What? Sorry? Do you speak English?" Beloved Husband asked.
Beloved Husband explained as the worker pulled out his lighter and set about re-lighting the candles. Then he escorted us to the entrance. Apparently they didn't want us in the Labyrinth during their special once a year candle-lighting event. Sadly, I can't really blame them
What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Last week's story? Fact.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Fact or Fiction - Santa edition
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"What's this?!" Boss Man popped up from the far side of the bed, hands waving in the air.
I squinted, trying to make out the objects he clutched. Oh crap! The stocking stuffers! He'd been entertaining himself by going through the suitcase, and now he held some of the precious few gifts we'd brought with us.
"Put them back," I said, trying not to pounce on the suitcase to prevent him finding anything else.
"But what are they?" he asked, as he shoved the toys under the flap. His eyes were enormous and the corner of his mouth twisted up. He knew, absolutely knew, he'd found something he shouldn't. Something that heralded fun.
I shook my head and shooed him into the other room.
Within two minutes, he was back, climbing onto my lap.
"Mama," he whispered with a giggle. "Mama, I really want to know what those things were."
I looked helplessly at Beloved Husband. Do we tell him? I wondered. Boss Man had come home from school two weeks before and casually asked, "Who puts the presents under the tree?"
"I do," I had replied.
"Aha! YOU'RE Santa Claus!" he had shouted.
"Er, Santa puts presents in the stockings," I had said. "We put the gifts from each other under the tree."
"Oh. Okay." Boss Man had happily accepted my explanation.
But now, here we were, evidence in his hot little hands. My husband either avoided my eye or was busy doing something else, and I was left scrambling for a solution. I didn't mind telling Boss Man that there's no Santa, but I knew he would ruin it for Snuggle Monkey, who was excited about Santa for the first time.
And then it hit me, the words coming out of my mouth even before I had thought them through. "They're presents for Santa's elves."
Boss Man looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
"They work all year making gifts for children, and no one ever gives them anything. So we brought a few toys we thought they might like."
He frowned for a moment, considering this, then grinned. "Yay! Can we write a note? I want to write it!"
I helped him write a note to Santa, telling him the gifts were for the elves. And on Christmas morning, Santa left a note for us, thanking us for the presents and saying he thought Snuggle Monkey might like the same gifts. Boss Man thought that was very considerate of Santa to give the same gifts we did.
What do you think? Fact or fiction?
Last week's story? Fact.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Fact or Fiction - taxi edition
This is the first of a new series of posts: Fact or Fiction Friday. Writing non-fiction as an engaging story is essential, and I also write fiction, so I'm going to post bits here that either recount actual events or are complete fiction. Can you tell which?
I rushed out to finish last-minute shopping. I wanted to get everything crossed off my list before the snow hit and public transportation went from every-10-minutes to unreliable-if-it-runs-at-all.
The online weather forecast continued to predict heavy snowfall. Secretly, I prayed for it… hoped it would cancel our flight the next morning. Every time I walked through the doors of a shop onto the street, I inspected the sky. Low, dark clouds; very promising. And then I spotted the first snowflakes.
It begins! I rubbed my hands together in glee. No Christmas travels this year. No stress of wrangling two energetic, loud boys in a foreign country while trying to simultaneously enjoy the sites and soak up the culture. We could kick back and relax at home.
Into another shop I went, giddy with thoughts of staying home. A few minutes later I came out, fully expecting to find a growing blanket of white. No such luck. No more flakes, just clouds again. Well, maybe it will start up again soon. Maybe it will snow all night.
By nightfall, no snow had fallen. I checked the forecast every 30 minutes to no avail. Finally, my husband and mother-in-law persuaded me to order a taxi for the next morning.
I grumbled but did it: a large taxi for the five of us, plus our luggage. They knew we were headed to the airport, knew exactly what we needed and when. I went to bed still hoping to wake to a blizzard.
In the morning, I glanced out the window, devastated to find that no new snow had fallen. Not so much as a centimeter. We finished packing and lugged everything out to the curb at the appointed time.
The boys chased each other around their grandmother while we waited. We had budgeted just enough time to get to the airport and check in, given that the roads were not well plowed.
After several minutes, we started to get fidgety.
“Call them,” Beloved Husband said.
“I don’t know the number.” I was stalling, and he knew it. He was also prepared: he rattled off the number, so I had to call.
“Hi, I ordered a large taxi but it’s not here.” I gave the address and she found my order.
“Yes, I’m afraid there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
“But I ordered one last night.”
“I see that but there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
Good grief, can she say anything else? “We're already late for the airport. We need a taxi.”
“I’m sorry, but there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
A note of panic entered my voice. “What are we supposed to do? We’re going to miss our flight!”
“I don’t know what to tell you, there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
I could feel a hot little ball of fury growing in my chest. What’s the point of ordering a taxi if they don't send one? And yet, some small part of me thought: this is it! We’ll miss our flight!
“Can you send a regular taxi then? My two-year-old can sit on my lap,” I suggested, since the dispatcher didn’t seem to be able to come up with a solution on her own.
“No, you can’t do that,” she replied. “You have to have a large taxi for five people and there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
I came within a millisecond of throwing my cell phone in a snow bank. Doing my best not to scream obscenities, I asked, “Well then what CAN you send us?”
“Two regular taxis.”
“Then send them! Immediately! Right this second! We're going to miss our flight!” I snapped my phone shut, fuming. A taxi that has been ordered isn’t available and their default option is to NOT SEND ONE?!?! Unbelievable.
Five minutes later, a taxi pulled up, and we loaded the luggage and started to get in, thinking we might get lucky and not have to pay for two taxis. But then the driver noticed there were five of us. No second taxi was anywhere in sight, but the driver insisted that it was coming and no, Snuggle Monkey could not sit on someone’s lap. We would have to wait.
We got the boys in, and just as the driver was about to get in the driver’s seat, he noticed that they needed child booster seats. So we all had to get out again while he got them. As he was doing this, the second taxi arrived. My husband and his mom climbed in that one while I got the boys and I buckled into ours.
And then we took off. Our driver raced along the icy streets. Initially, I was pleased—he was taking our timing problem seriously. But then he headed into the forest, where he passed cars on blind curves and careened close to snowbanks, trying to get to the Autobahn faster. Visions of my husband watching as a head-on collision killed his wife and kids in the car before him flashed through my mind.
Somehow, we made it onto the Autobahn in one piece and got to the airport in record time. In retrospect, the taxi incident was a sign that we should have stayed home.
What do you think? Fact or Fiction? I'll reveal the answer next Friday.
I rushed out to finish last-minute shopping. I wanted to get everything crossed off my list before the snow hit and public transportation went from every-10-minutes to unreliable-if-it-runs-at-all.
The online weather forecast continued to predict heavy snowfall. Secretly, I prayed for it… hoped it would cancel our flight the next morning. Every time I walked through the doors of a shop onto the street, I inspected the sky. Low, dark clouds; very promising. And then I spotted the first snowflakes.
It begins! I rubbed my hands together in glee. No Christmas travels this year. No stress of wrangling two energetic, loud boys in a foreign country while trying to simultaneously enjoy the sites and soak up the culture. We could kick back and relax at home.
Into another shop I went, giddy with thoughts of staying home. A few minutes later I came out, fully expecting to find a growing blanket of white. No such luck. No more flakes, just clouds again. Well, maybe it will start up again soon. Maybe it will snow all night.
By nightfall, no snow had fallen. I checked the forecast every 30 minutes to no avail. Finally, my husband and mother-in-law persuaded me to order a taxi for the next morning.
I grumbled but did it: a large taxi for the five of us, plus our luggage. They knew we were headed to the airport, knew exactly what we needed and when. I went to bed still hoping to wake to a blizzard.
In the morning, I glanced out the window, devastated to find that no new snow had fallen. Not so much as a centimeter. We finished packing and lugged everything out to the curb at the appointed time.
The boys chased each other around their grandmother while we waited. We had budgeted just enough time to get to the airport and check in, given that the roads were not well plowed.
After several minutes, we started to get fidgety.
“Call them,” Beloved Husband said.
“I don’t know the number.” I was stalling, and he knew it. He was also prepared: he rattled off the number, so I had to call.
“Hi, I ordered a large taxi but it’s not here.” I gave the address and she found my order.
“Yes, I’m afraid there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
“But I ordered one last night.”
“I see that but there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
Good grief, can she say anything else? “We're already late for the airport. We need a taxi.”
“I’m sorry, but there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
A note of panic entered my voice. “What are we supposed to do? We’re going to miss our flight!”
“I don’t know what to tell you, there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
I could feel a hot little ball of fury growing in my chest. What’s the point of ordering a taxi if they don't send one? And yet, some small part of me thought: this is it! We’ll miss our flight!
“Can you send a regular taxi then? My two-year-old can sit on my lap,” I suggested, since the dispatcher didn’t seem to be able to come up with a solution on her own.
“No, you can’t do that,” she replied. “You have to have a large taxi for five people and there are no large taxis in your part of the city right now.”
I came within a millisecond of throwing my cell phone in a snow bank. Doing my best not to scream obscenities, I asked, “Well then what CAN you send us?”
“Two regular taxis.”
“Then send them! Immediately! Right this second! We're going to miss our flight!” I snapped my phone shut, fuming. A taxi that has been ordered isn’t available and their default option is to NOT SEND ONE?!?! Unbelievable.
Five minutes later, a taxi pulled up, and we loaded the luggage and started to get in, thinking we might get lucky and not have to pay for two taxis. But then the driver noticed there were five of us. No second taxi was anywhere in sight, but the driver insisted that it was coming and no, Snuggle Monkey could not sit on someone’s lap. We would have to wait.
We got the boys in, and just as the driver was about to get in the driver’s seat, he noticed that they needed child booster seats. So we all had to get out again while he got them. As he was doing this, the second taxi arrived. My husband and his mom climbed in that one while I got the boys and I buckled into ours.
And then we took off. Our driver raced along the icy streets. Initially, I was pleased—he was taking our timing problem seriously. But then he headed into the forest, where he passed cars on blind curves and careened close to snowbanks, trying to get to the Autobahn faster. Visions of my husband watching as a head-on collision killed his wife and kids in the car before him flashed through my mind.
Somehow, we made it onto the Autobahn in one piece and got to the airport in record time. In retrospect, the taxi incident was a sign that we should have stayed home.
What do you think? Fact or Fiction? I'll reveal the answer next Friday.
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