"What are you doing?" Caroline asked, as she swept into the kitchen. Her two older brothers were crowded around the sink - specifically the garbage disposal. The eldest held two forks situated into a pronged weapon, thrust deep into the rabbit hole. They looked up as though they had been caught.
"Trying to get something out of the garbage disposal…" the younger brother said, his hands diving into his pockets. "He dropped something in there." Pointing to his older brother, who was still busily working with the forked tool.
"What did you drop?" Caroline asked, moving closer, eager to help like a good sister. "Here, let me put my hand down there…I think my wrists are small enough to fit." She reached to dive pointer first into the mouth of the monster, but was quickly shuffled away.
"No!" They both said loudly. "Do not put your hand down there…that's the garbage disposal."
"I know," she said, "I think I can get whatever's down there."
"No, what if it turns on while your hand is down there?…like that guy who was mowing the lawn, your fingers are gone!" The eldest said, unintentionally rhyming, genuinely terrified at the thought. He shook away the idea like a wet dog drying itself. "I can't even think about that…please never put your hand down there."
"What do you think's going to happen…how would it turn on?" Caroline rebutted, failing to see the logic in her brothers' concerns.
"I don't know….what if there's a power surge, or you slip and accidentally flip the switch…I don't know…it just…it's too scary. It's too risky. Promise you'll never put your hand down there."
"Yeah, promise," said the younger one.
"Okay, okay. I promise."
"I got this," the elder said confidently, holding up the two forks as if clearly showing her the tools added legitimacy to their plan.
The brothers continued to work. One, the younger, was the spotter, while the elder continued to handle the machinery. It was more of a feeling game than anything else. Once the two forks were shoved into the monster's mouth, very little could be seen.
"Should we turn it on?" the younger asked, it was clear the thought had been on his mind.
"Maybe…" the elder said looking to his brother. They shared an upward shake of the shoulders, and the younger reached for the switch.
"What did you guys drop in there?" Caroline said, stopping their momentum.
Simultaneously they responded, "An avocado pit."
"Oh my goodness," she said, turning to leave at once. "You guys are idiots." She marched upstairs to the sounds of an avocado pit being torn to pieces by the blades of hell. The garbage disposal.
Patience is a wonderful thing…now, if only I could find some of it.
“How long are they going to do that?” Sandra asked as she rubbed sunblock on the tops of her bronzed thighs. A bit of sand had crept onto the corner of her beach blanket – it was striped with alternating panels of white and red. Next to her lounged a woman of a much paler complexion. Dark sunglasses shaded the pale woman’s piercing blue eyes, a wide-brimmed straw hat nested atop her medium-lengthed, auburn-colored hair. Her cut was shaped sweetly like the drop of a tear. Her nose, which could have been likened to the cuteness of a button, was softly pointed and kissed with spots – freckles. This nose, this charming nose was buried deeply in the pages of a book.
“Do what?” she asked. Her name was Carolyn.
“Throw that ball back and forth. They’re like a couple of stray dogs…back and forth, back and forth. Don’t they get tired? It’s been hours…”
Sandra was now standing and, using her hand as a broom, brushing the intruding sand away from her red and white beach blanket. She was a muscular girl, and long-limbed. Like armor, her abdomen was rigidly squared into six equal quadrants. Brave beads of sweat decorated her core like diamonds adorn the front of a shield. Her chest was filled fully and scantily clad with a purple bikini top – strapless and with a twist in the middle for design and also allure. She put her hands on the bones of her hips and, intrigued, watched closely the two young men playing catch. The white ball, stitched crossly with red thread, was rocketed from one man to the other with unearthly power.
Carolyn, who had been lying on her stomach – which was not armored like Sandra’s but rather smooth and soft – her feet kicking with each turn of a page, sat up and also watched closely the two young dogs playing fetch. To her, they were beautiful. The way they moved effortlessly. An oversized leather hand fixed on the end of each man’s left arm. It was with this large leather hand they met each descent of the white ball’s many flights. With a powerful right arm they launched the ball, sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes straight as an arrow, a bullseye. After bullseyes, which were strived for, the two men would gesture varied hand signals at one another. Sometimes the gestures were simple, but usually their thick fingers would move with wild complexity as if they were playing an invisible floating piano.
“Do they know sign language?” Carolyn asked of Sandra.