Duckie
A child befriends a toy, and suddenly it becomes clear where friendship truly begins.
There's nothing more immediate than the emotions of a child. In a pause between heartbeats joy can recede to anger, hurt leaps to happy, and within that moment of change actions precede thought, driven on the beating wings of a split second decision, where our best friends become enemies, and our most prized posessions become lost to us forever. The deed done, our world crumbles under the reality of our making.
Casey collected ducks, and loved the little plastic and wooden birds his mother & father brought him from their journeys abroad. They placated him with gifts in hopes of soothing the pain brought by their absence. Shelves along a pine case held Casey's prized ducks. Since age three he loved them, especially the little rubber kind that float in the tub or pool. At bathtime he would gather four or five of his best rubber ducks from his toybox and take them to mysterious lands where pools of bubbly, magical water carried them to the far away places to meet mommy and daddy.
But of all Casey's ducks he had one favorite. Duckie was the first bath toy he'd gotten from his mommy & daddy, so he was told, and chosen from the very hospital gift shop he was born in. Some would say that at five Casey was too old to play with such trivial toys like rubber ducks, but Casey didn't care. Duckie had been his friend since he could remember, and a friend wasn't something you just threw away.
Over the years Casey's temper had grown short, frustrating and even frightening his babysitters and teachers alike. His daily walks to the pond on their property was the highlight of his day, and no dark cloud or soaking rain would keep him from his pond-side activities, much to his babysitter's chagrin. Casey was not to be put off, and well they knew this. But today was different, Casey found, because his stomach knotted in aggitation as he woke to the sound of thunder in the distance. Not the thunder that brings fun rain that you can splash and play in, but the kind that sent the babysitter into a stubborn mood that meant no pond. Today, he feared, would be one such day.
In the gray gloom inside his unlit bedroom, Casey dressed. His anger grew even before he knew he would have need of it. His shoes refused to tie easily, his jeans felt heavy and tight around his tummy, and Duckie had to be dug from the bottom of his toybox. One by one the toys flew from his hands, his mouth working, his eyes tearing. If he and Duckie didn't get to the pond soon the storm would come.
Toy after toy flew from his grasp to hit the floor about the room, sounds of metal trucks and cars, plastic tools and a hard hat clanging dully across the ceramic tile. He'd finally found Duckie when the rain began to tap on the window, a grim reminder that his entire day would be spent indoors, alone, and without his parents. And now he would surely have to clean his room as well, and this did NOT set well with Casey one bit.
If he were to go to the pond, he thought frantically, it would have to be now, and perhaps without his babysitter. Clutching Duckie beneath his arm Casey ran through the big tiled hallway and out the heavy doors where he sped barefoot in the rain across the slippery grass to the pond where he and Duckie would play. Once there Casey realized he'd forgotten the string to tie around Duckie's neck, and without it Duckie could float out too far for him to reach. CONT NEXT COLUMN...
A child befriends a toy, and suddenly it becomes clear where friendship truly begins.
There's nothing more immediate than the emotions of a child. In a pause between heartbeats joy can recede to anger, hurt leaps to happy, and within that moment of change actions precede thought, driven on the beating wings of a split second decision, where our best friends become enemies, and our most prized posessions become lost to us forever. The deed done, our world crumbles under the reality of our making.
Casey collected ducks, and loved the little plastic and wooden birds his mother & father brought him from their journeys abroad. They placated him with gifts in hopes of soothing the pain brought by their absence. Shelves along a pine case held Casey's prized ducks. Since age three he loved them, especially the little rubber kind that float in the tub or pool. At bathtime he would gather four or five of his best rubber ducks from his toybox and take them to mysterious lands where pools of bubbly, magical water carried them to the far away places to meet mommy and daddy.
But of all Casey's ducks he had one favorite. Duckie was the first bath toy he'd gotten from his mommy & daddy, so he was told, and chosen from the very hospital gift shop he was born in. Some would say that at five Casey was too old to play with such trivial toys like rubber ducks, but Casey didn't care. Duckie had been his friend since he could remember, and a friend wasn't something you just threw away.
Over the years Casey's temper had grown short, frustrating and even frightening his babysitters and teachers alike. His daily walks to the pond on their property was the highlight of his day, and no dark cloud or soaking rain would keep him from his pond-side activities, much to his babysitter's chagrin. Casey was not to be put off, and well they knew this. But today was different, Casey found, because his stomach knotted in aggitation as he woke to the sound of thunder in the distance. Not the thunder that brings fun rain that you can splash and play in, but the kind that sent the babysitter into a stubborn mood that meant no pond. Today, he feared, would be one such day.
In the gray gloom inside his unlit bedroom, Casey dressed. His anger grew even before he knew he would have need of it. His shoes refused to tie easily, his jeans felt heavy and tight around his tummy, and Duckie had to be dug from the bottom of his toybox. One by one the toys flew from his hands, his mouth working, his eyes tearing. If he and Duckie didn't get to the pond soon the storm would come.
Toy after toy flew from his grasp to hit the floor about the room, sounds of metal trucks and cars, plastic tools and a hard hat clanging dully across the ceramic tile. He'd finally found Duckie when the rain began to tap on the window, a grim reminder that his entire day would be spent indoors, alone, and without his parents. And now he would surely have to clean his room as well, and this did NOT set well with Casey one bit.
If he were to go to the pond, he thought frantically, it would have to be now, and perhaps without his babysitter. Clutching Duckie beneath his arm Casey ran through the big tiled hallway and out the heavy doors where he sped barefoot in the rain across the slippery grass to the pond where he and Duckie would play. Once there Casey realized he'd forgotten the string to tie around Duckie's neck, and without it Duckie could float out too far for him to reach. CONT NEXT COLUMN...
In a dusty corner of the room a light glows from the crack in the toybox lid. Something quickens inside the wooden womb.
CONT... Behind him he heard a woman's voice; the babysitter had discovered he'd gone. Casey clutched Duckie in his wet hands and felt himself grow angrier knowing that if Duckie hadn't gotten himself so far down into the toybox they would've had time to play. Gritting his teeth Casey drew back his hand and tossed Duckie into the water at his feet. The rain poured around him and onto the pond as Duckie floated and bobbed further away. As the babysitter's angry voice grew louder behind him, Casey watched in horror as his best friend floated from his reach, bouncing side to side in the rippling droplets made by the rain.
It was only a moment of anger, just a child's tantrum gone awry with no one to govern its fury, and yet in its aftermath a child learns first-hand the agony of regret. He would miss his parents and visit the pond each day in hopes that Duckie, his once best friend, would be waiting at the sandy shore for him. Casey would keep his anger in now as he thinks of Duckie, and he would grow to be a man untrusting of even the slightest risks. In his dreams he would visit the pond to walk its shores in search of his regret.
Toy Room
CONT... Behind him he heard a woman's voice; the babysitter had discovered he'd gone. Casey clutched Duckie in his wet hands and felt himself grow angrier knowing that if Duckie hadn't gotten himself so far down into the toybox they would've had time to play. Gritting his teeth Casey drew back his hand and tossed Duckie into the water at his feet. The rain poured around him and onto the pond as Duckie floated and bobbed further away. As the babysitter's angry voice grew louder behind him, Casey watched in horror as his best friend floated from his reach, bouncing side to side in the rippling droplets made by the rain.
It was only a moment of anger, just a child's tantrum gone awry with no one to govern its fury, and yet in its aftermath a child learns first-hand the agony of regret. He would miss his parents and visit the pond each day in hopes that Duckie, his once best friend, would be waiting at the sandy shore for him. Casey would keep his anger in now as he thinks of Duckie, and he would grow to be a man untrusting of even the slightest risks. In his dreams he would visit the pond to walk its shores in search of his regret.
Toy Room
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