Thee Random Words

07 - ICE CREAM, DOG, SNEAKERS

“It is true!” yelled the boy in frustration.

“No, it isn’t! You’re lying!” taunted the girl.

“It. Is. True!” shouted the boy one more time before he ran at the girl and pushed her to the ground.

The girl, quite naturally, started wailing.

And nothing attracts an adult’s attention as a child crying. And before the boy even had time to consider the repercussions of his reaction, a teacher arrived.

“What have you done, boy?!” the teacher demanded sternly while grabbing the boy by his arm, a precaution in case of an attempted fight.

“He pushed me…” wailed the girl louder, now crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks, while a glint of mischief flickered in the corners of her eyes, noticeable only to the trained eyes of her peers, and easily overlooked by an exhausted teacher.

“What a dreadful thing to do,” the teacher scolded the boy. “You must apologise at once.”

“No!” the boy shouted his rejection, attempting to pull away his arm.

“I say!” exclaimed the astonished teacher, failing to understand why the faulting party, as she had perceived it, would refuse to act in accordance with the established norms.

“What you did was not nice,” she hurried to explain. “We do not push one another, don’t we.”

“She deserved it!” the boy cried further, frustrated at the teacher’s lack of understanding.

“Upon my word!” the teacher could not believe her ears. The boy had never been known as troublesome, rather the opposite – very meek and obliging in his behaviour. Yet, suddenly, he had displayed an unfamiliar obstinance.

“She deserved it!” reaffirmed the boy.

“Well, if this is how you intend to be, then be off with you to the headmistress!”

And without engaging further in the confrontation, she started marching back in the direction of the school, the boy obediently following in tow, while a teaching assistant tended to the injured girl.

But once at the headmistress’s, the boy’s obstinacy chose to reappear. Over and over, he repeated that the girl had deserved it. Leaving the two baffled mistresses no other option than to call his grandmother. After all, what better way to address a child’s lack of cooperation than to confront it by another, reasonable adult, one whom the child respected and adored.

The boy, namely, had no parents. They had died, several months ago, in a car crash. And the boy had been taken in by his only remaining relative – his father’s mother.

But to the two mistresses’ disappointment, the grandmother’s arrival afforded no reason. Upon learning of the boy’s action, followed by the boy’s repetitions of the girl’s deserving it, the grandmother simply stated: “There you have it, the girl deserved it.”

And allowing for no further discussion, got up and took the boy with her, leaving the teacher and the headmistress with their mouths gaping incredulously.

“Shall we go and have some ice cream?” offered the grandmother once they were out of school. “You’ve had quite an eventful afternoon.”

Naturally, no child would ever refuse such an enticing offer, and off to the ice cream shop they went.

Once they were comfortably seated at their table in the summer garden, each halfway through their generous portion of ice cream, the grandmother finally enquired:

“What did she say?”

“She said I was a liar,” the boy responded simply as he swallowed another spoonful of chocolate chip ice cream.

“That seems a very unfair accusation,” remarked the grandmother. “Whatever prompted her to think that?”

“She said you haven’t got magical sneakers.”

“I see,” the grandmother sighed.

After a short silence, the grandmother continued.

“Have you told her about my adventures with the magical sneakers?”

“Yes!” the boy beamed with pride. “And she said I was making it all up, that you didn’t have adventures with magical sneakers.”

The answers earned another sign from his grandmother.

It had been their agreement that the stories of her adventures with magical sneakers were only for the two of them and not to be retold, to avoid people learning about the grandmother’s secret endeavours.

There had never really been any plan for sharing the stories with the boy. But after his parents had died, and he had set in her house day after day, in deep sorrow, she needed to do something to cheer him up. And one night, when she had been putting him to bed, she had told him the very first story of the magic sneakers.

Needless to say, a mere mention of magic sneakers had piqued an interest in the boy. A small light had appeared in his otherwise sorrowful eyes, a light she wanted to flame up until his whole face had lit up and he had laughed himself to tears. And by the time she had finished with the first story of the magical sneakers, they had both doubled over with laughter, her old stomach muscles protesting from the abuse the next few days.

“Have I ever told you that story when I went on a rescue mission with my magical sneakers?” the grandmother addressed the boy again, knowing well that she hadn’t. But the boy’s undivided interest was all the reaction she had been hoping for.

“A rescue mission?!” the boy whisper shouted excitedly. “Who were you rescuing?”

“A what. A many-tailed dog,” the grandmother responded simply.

“A many-tailed dog?” the boy’s eyes widened. “Is there such a thing?”

“Is there such a thing?” the grandmother responded, feigning to be appalled at the question ever being asked. “Of course, there is such a thing! If there is the unicorn land where all the grass and the canopies of the trees are pink, then how can one ever question the existence of the many-tailed dog?!”

“Oh, yes, silly me,” giggled the boy.

“Would you like to hear it?” asked the grandmother, even though the question was unnecessary.

“Yes, please!” the boy exclaimed loudly, hoping that the volume of his voice would sufficiently convey his eagerness.

“Then I shall tell it,” confirmed the grandmother.

She settled herself back in her seat comfortably while a pair of young, eager eyes beamed at her expectedly.

“It was many, many years ago, when you were still not born, and I was living at the seaside,” she commenced her narration. “I was lying very comfortably on the beach, not a single person in sight, enjoying the hot sun kissing my skin, when a beautiful, exotic bird appeared in the sky.”

“It had the most wonderfully coloured feathers, the colours seamlessly changing into one another like a rainbow, each feather adorned in such a way to reflect millions of hues as the sun shone on them. And that colourful bird carried a scroll in its beak. And what a beak it was! It seemed like all the sparkling crystals of this world were meticulously placed there to reflect every ray of sunshine, announcing the bird’s arrival from afar.”

“What did the scroll say?” interrupted the boy eagerly.

“All in good time,” the grandmother would not be rushed. “After all, the story must be told in the proper order.”

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry, nanny,” the boy swiftly agreed.

“Now, as I was saying. This magnificent, unique bird approached me, and landed right next to me, and opening its sparkling beak, threw the scroll right on top of my head, and shutting its beak closed, remained standing there, staring somewhere into the distance.”

“But the scroll!” reminded the boy as his grandmother did have a tendency to stray off topic on occasions.

“Right, right, the scroll,” recollected the grandmother.

“The scroll left quite a bump on my head, mind you, for it was particularly heavy,” finally the grandmother continued. “It was almost the size of those French baguettes that we like so much. And attached to a particularly heavy wooden pole.”

“As you are now, so I was intrigued about the content of the scroll,” granny ploughed on. “I broke the seal – ach, yes, I’ve quite forgotten all about it – there was a dark, purple seal with an imprint of a wildflower, unbeknownst to me, that held the scroll together.”

A pause issued, the grandmother gathering her thoughts.

“As I was saying,” granny broke her reverie, “I broke the seal and unwrapped the scroll. But do you know what?” A small test to ensure that the boy was still attentive.

“What, what?!” the boy obliged readily.

“The scroll was empty. Not a single word written on it.”

“Whaaat?!” the boy gasped incredulously. “But how is that possible?”

“How, indeed,” echoed the grandmother. “I asked myself the same question. I turned it around, twisted it, folded it in half, looked at it towards the sun – nothing was working.”

“But you managed in the end, didn’t you?” the boy stated rather than asked, confident that his grandmother, who had experienced so many spectacular adventures with her magic sneakers, would surely be able to break the secret of one simple scroll.

“Yes, but I had a little help,” admitted the grandmother. “There is no shame in asking for or accepting help if one feels stuck.”

Naturally, the stories were not just an adventurous entertainment, they had to provide small, useful life lessons. It was something the grandmother had sought from the very first one.

The boy nodded his agreement. Not that disagreeing would have been productive – to the contrary. It could have been dangerous to the continuation of the story.

“Well,” the grandmother picked up where she had left off. “It just so happened that while I was busy inspecting the scroll in all imaginable ways, I suddenly heard a chuckle come from the side. First, I believed it to be my imagination – after all, I had been all alone on the beach. But when I heard it again, I turned my head and saw the magnificent bird, yes, the bird, chuckling. And imagine what happened next.”

“Whaaat?” the boy was once more ready to oblige.

“The rainbow bird tilted its head, indicating that I should follow it.”

“And you did!”

“I did,” confirmed the grandmother.

“Where did it take you?” the boy pressed once again.

“Back to my room,” the grandmother replied. “And before you start wondering, as soon as we stepped into the room, the vibrant bird went straight for my wardrobe.”

“To get your magical sneakers!” shouted the boy with certainty.

“Sssh!” the grandmother quickly tried to quiet him down. “Remember what we said – we mustn’t tell anyone else about the adventures with the magical sneakers.”

“Sorry, granny,” the boy was rueful.

“But, yes, it was my magical sneakers. The bird grabbed them by the shoelaces and brought them to me, and once again, very unceremoniously threw them on the ground in front of my feet.”

“I quickly put them on and laced the laces in the secretive pattern necessary to activate them.”

“What about the scroll?” the boy was impatient again.

“I’m just getting to it, hold your horses,” the grandmother appeased him. “As soon as I activated my sneakers, the scroll began to sizzle, hiss, and black dots of ink started appearing on it, only to be replaced by letters. And when the scroll had finished its magic, it read: “The many-tailed dog has gone missing. You must find it. Should you accept this mission, pluck out the green coloured feather on the top of the messenger’s right wing.”

“And you plucked it out, didn’t you,” the boy’s confidence in his grandmother was unwavering.

“No, no, no, it was not that simple,” the grandmother admitted. “As soon as I turned towards the bird to get the feather, the wretched thing ran away.”

“Ran away?!” the boy was astonished. “Whatever for?”

“Whatever for, indeed,” sighed the grandmother in agreement. “But it bore no good to dwell on that question as there was a more pressing matter to attend to – catching the darn bird. So, I quickly redid the laces on my magical sneakers to activate my superspeed and super-jumping, and off after the bird I went.”

“I will be honest with you; it was quite an undertaking,” the grandmother confessed. “Birds can fly fast and high, and there are only so many jumps from one tree to another that are not exhausting. At one moment, I thought I’d got it, but the mischievous thing got away at the last moment, flying off to a tall building, and then stared back at me mockingly, while a single purple feather from its tail that I was holding in my hand, taunted me further. It was becoming clear to me that catching a bird by chasing it was a futile endeavour. I needed to think of a clever way of catching it.”

“You are so clever, Nanny,” the boy beamed proudly.

“Mah,” the grandmother attempted to reject the praise. “It’s experience rather than being very clever. I had dealt with birds before, so I had some idea of effective ways to catch them.”

“And what was that?”

“Shiny little stones,” came a rather surprising answer.

“Shiny stones?” the boy could hardly believe it.

“Oh, yes,” nodded his nan. “Shiny birds like shiny things, they are drawn to them. So, I redid my laces again to initiate the navigation, and after spelling shiny stones with my foot in the sand, the magic sneakers started taking me in the right direction. They took me to a far, remote corner of the beach, secluded from people by a high cliff. So, I had to use the super-jumping function again to jump to the beach. And there, hundreds and hundreds of shiny, sparkly stones were lying around. I grabbed a few handfuls, as many as my pockets could carry, and jumping back on the top of the cliff, ran back to the building where I’d last seen the rainbow bird.”

“Where did you put the shiny stones? Next to the building?” enquired the boy.

“I did not. It would have been too much in plain sight. I decided to put them on a string and hang the string on a tree closest to the building. But not before I placed a trap nett on the canopy which would activate as soon as the stones were touched.”

“Nan! You really think of everything!” The pride was so clear in the boy’s voice.

“Experience, my boy, experience,” reaffirmed the granny again. “It paid off. It did take some time, but finally, as the sun travelled over the horizon, its rays began to reflect against the stones, and the bird was attracted. I could see it fly off the building, and as it approached the tree, I prepared myself. As soon as the bird pulled on one of the stones with its sparkly beak, the trap activated, capturing it in the net, and I jumped quickly and pulled out that one feather I had been instructed to take. Can you imagine what happened next?”

“What?” The boy had no idea.

“The bird turned into a crystal ball. What do you say to that?”

“A crystal ball?!” the boy could hardly believe it. But he firmly believed in his nanny as well as in every story she had told him.

“Yes, a crystal ball,” the grandmother repeated for good measure. “And it swirled and spined inside, colourful tresses intertwining, as if calling to me. I did the only thing that seemed logical – I placed both of my hands on the crystal ball, and the tresses began to morph, solidify, until an image of a many-tailed dog appeared in it.”

“Ooooh!”

“I was hoping for that. I paid extra attention to every detail of the image, as small as it seemed, in hopes of understanding where the many-tailed dog was.”

“And where was it?” the boy needed an answer.

“In the most improbable of places.” The answer was purposefully enigmatic. “Fancy a guess?”

“Oh, no, I’m sure I’d never guess,” the boy admitted. Grandmother’s stories were always so spectacular that they exceeded his imagination.

“Well, then I shall tell you,” his granny was obliging. “The many-tailed dog was right in front of me.”

“What?!” the boy’s disappointment at such a trivial revelation was unmasked. He had expected an incredulous rescue story, yet the many-tailed dog had somehow appeared completely unceremoniously.

“I know,” agreed his nan. “Imagine my surprise when I understood that the sought-after dog was really sitting in front of me, in the tree canopy of all places, and I was looking at it through the crystal ball.”

“I would have expected a more exciting rescue mission,” the boy finally admitted out loud.

“As would I,” confirmed his granny. “However, sometimes we search and search for something, only to discover that it is right in front of us, we were just looking the wrong way. It doesn’t always have to be complicated.”

“Hm.” The boy remained unconvinced. In his child’s mind, a mind that had known grief so early in life, simple stories held little interest, they were too reminiscent of the hardships of the ordinary life. It was the excitement, the unknown, the exhilarating, the complicated adventures full of turns and twists that brought the much-needed escape from sadness.

“I can understand you,” the granny consoled him. “I like excitement as well. But, you see, just as you find it difficult to believe that sometimes there could be a simple solution, there are a lot of people, even kids, who would find it difficult to believe that extraordinary adventures, such as mine with the magical sneakers, were real.”

The boy slowly nodded. There was part of him that understood his nan, but a part of him remained yearning for extraordinary.

“Though it was quite magical how the many-tailed dog suddenly appeared out of thin air, don’t you think,” the grandmother remarked, as if understanding his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, you are quite right,” agreed the boy.

“And I’m sure,” pressed nan further, “you will agree with me that pushing girls to the ground or hurting them in some other way, just because they don’t believe something you say, is not the best way to handle the situation.”

“Yes, nan,” the boy’s head bent in regret.

***

These three words were given to me by my friend A.V., who loves trainers so much that she could wear them with every outfit, a sentiment I personally do not share as I am more of a high-heels kind of girl. But I can definitely imagine her being that very cool granny who has adventures with magical, or ordinary, sneakers, and tells a good tale.