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ysonesse(First appeared at Runaway Tales: Eggnog #12, Malt: 12 Days of Christmas, Topping: Whipped Cream)
Note: This piece is set in February, 1983; Allyson is seven years old.
“Mom, this battery’s dead.” Allyson held out the flat silver disc for her mother’s intervention. “Dad took it out ‘cause his watch can’t tick no more.”
Daphne swiped the battery from her daughter’s hand. “Of course it’s not dead! Your father was just using an expression!”
Michael stopped a never-ending effort to free the Volvo from twenty-three inches of snow. “Don’t snap at her.”
Daphne glared at him. “She ought to know the difference between what’s dead and alive.”
“I know, Mom,” Allyson replied in a self-assured little girl fashion. “But I wanna bury it.”
“Are you serious?” Daphne asked.
“Let Ally give that old battery some proper last rites. Can’t do any harm,” Michael replied.
“Bury it and everything?”
“Use those wads of sales papers we’ve got stuffed in the pantry. I counted about eleven of those damned Bradlees and Sears ads…”
“There is no way I’m going to wrap a dead battery in paper! I’m not letting her bury anything in the snow either!”
Michael dropped the shovel onto a recently uncovered bit of concrete. “Let our kid have some fun.”
“Will you help me, Dad?”
“Sure, kiddo.”
Daphne rolled her eyes.
Note: This piece is set in February, 1983; Allyson is seven years old.
“Mom, this battery’s dead.” Allyson held out the flat silver disc for her mother’s intervention. “Dad took it out ‘cause his watch can’t tick no more.”
Daphne swiped the battery from her daughter’s hand. “Of course it’s not dead! Your father was just using an expression!”
Michael stopped a never-ending effort to free the Volvo from twenty-three inches of snow. “Don’t snap at her.”
Daphne glared at him. “She ought to know the difference between what’s dead and alive.”
“I know, Mom,” Allyson replied in a self-assured little girl fashion. “But I wanna bury it.”
“Are you serious?” Daphne asked.
“Let Ally give that old battery some proper last rites. Can’t do any harm,” Michael replied.
“Bury it and everything?”
“Use those wads of sales papers we’ve got stuffed in the pantry. I counted about eleven of those damned Bradlees and Sears ads…”
“There is no way I’m going to wrap a dead battery in paper! I’m not letting her bury anything in the snow either!”
Michael dropped the shovel onto a recently uncovered bit of concrete. “Let our kid have some fun.”
“Will you help me, Dad?”
“Sure, kiddo.”
Daphne rolled her eyes.
