I Need a Kid…Get Me a Kid!
Now it’s time to find a love story for 2021. It’s no mystery! Just open your heart and look! But, first, let’s go back to the second Saturday in the first month of the New Year. The crystal ball did its thing in Times Square. We threw 2020 into the dumpster and lit a match. And now everything’s groovy. Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy…
Except that my neighborhood looks like a ghost town. It’s the lost city of Atlantis, but without the water. The Emerald City absent the Munchkins and the Wizard. Where is everyone? Most especially, where are the children? Waaaa!!! I’m a teacher without a classroom, collateral damage in the war against COVID, and I NEED A KID TO PLAY WITH!
Being with a kid for me is like being on the beach in Fiji, sharing a Margarita with Guillermo the masseuse. And he’s Jewish.
Looking ahead to the unfolding winter, this is what I see. I will still be pushing Fluffypuss and Peekaboo in their stroller, going ‘round and ‘round the block, wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’ that Amazon Prime will deliver someone for me to talk to.
I need a love story for 2021!
Will I Catch a Break?
Now here I sit, on a neighbor’s stone wall, Fluffypuss and Peekaboo cuddled close in their home-away-from-home-on-wheels. I sip lukewarm coffee from a used – I mean vintage – cardboard container selected from my private collection. (I have about 50 of them in two Walmart shopping bags.)
I use each container twice after the initial quaff to satisfy my need to be thrifty and cosmopolitan. (As a New Yorker, I refuse to be seen with a to-go thermos. They are for people who think driving to CVS for toothpaste is a normal way to live.)
The girls and I did our first lap around the block with nary a soul in sight. Not even a dog walker. My tush is cold and damp because it rained last night and the stone wall is wet. I’ll wait five minutes more for a human being of any age, political affiliation or gender identity willing to speak with me about anything. Even mulching. And, if that person happens to have a kid along, that would be as close to a miracle as I’ve ever experienced.
More sipping and sitting as I surreptitiously survey my surroundings. The cats are quiet and I feel a creeping despair akin to when CVS doesn’t have small boxes of M&Ms. Only those five-pound bags which I couldn’t possibly take home because I would wake up in the middle of the night, tiptoe down to the pantry, and eat every single one of those evil little fat-makers.
And since I never learned to throw up on demand, I would have to starve myself for two days. But that would be a relapse back to my earlier life when binging-and-starving was a “thing.” Sadly, it’s not a “thing” now and I never do anything unless it’s a “thing.” It is time for me to clasp despair to my bosom and ready myself for lap two around the same block I’ve been stalking since March 2020.
Yes, I could easily walk up and down other streets, but I need a comfort zone where I feel that things are familiar and safe. In the same way my daily to-do lists add reassuring structure to my pathetically rudderless existence now that I have no work, soirees, restaurants, museums or kid love stories in my poor little sordid and meaningless life.
Do You Believe in Magic?
Wiping away a tear, I happen to look to my left. From literally out of nowhere, I see, about 100 feet away, a woman and a little boy. They are examining a pile of leaves, rotting and stinking from so much rain and unseasonably mild weather, thanks to global warming and our city’s sanitation engineers, two months late with leaf pick-up.
Yes, civilization crumbles right before my eyes.
The magical appearance of a mother and her kid lights up the happy place in my brain. My neurons do a tap dance as I discreetly arrange my brown and gold paisley mask on my face and position the stroller in the middle of the sidewalk. This will force the oncoming duo to stop, at which point I will spring my trap. A conversation from which it will be desperately difficult for my victims to escape.
Is this a love story for 2021?
Suddenly the kid breaks free from his mother’s grip and comes hurtling down the street, his head turned sideways. As he approaches the stroller with collision force, I reach out and grab him, holding tight to his jacket and pulling him to a dead stop. My finely-tuned teacher reflexes have kicked into action as I prevent the kid’s head from exploding like a seedless watermelon from its impact against the stroller’s handle.
The little boy looks up at me, startled, and I reinforce my death grip on his jacket until his mother joins us.
Stunned Silence From All Parties
Boy: “I’m Ziggy.” (His enormous grey eyes pierce my heart like arrows of love.)
Me: “Hi, Ziggy. I’m Amy.” (Play it cool, girl.)
Ziggy: “What’s them in that?” (Pointing to the stroller)
Me: “Oh, them’s in that are my babies, Fluffypuss and Peekaboo.” (I am such a mom.)
Ziggy: “I wanna pet them. Open it.” (Sticking a finger in the space between the stroller’s lock and hood and poking F-Puss in the eye. Meow…)
Me: “If I open it, Fluffypuss and Peekaboo will jump out and run away and it will be your fault. But, when we’re able to visit one another’s houses, you and mom can come play with them.” (I mentally pencil him in for June 4th.)
Little Boys Do Love to Talk About…
Ziggy: “Hey, you! Lady! You wanna know what? Morgan takes out his penis and talks to it.” (Kid, you can’t shock me. I’ve had two-year-olds tell me to go f&%k myself.)
Mom: “Ziggy, that’s not nice.” (This sounded way automatic as if she’s said it 100 times.)
Me: “Whose Morgan?” (Maybe it’s the dog)
Ziggy: “My brother. He’s six. I’m four.” (I’m two.)
Me: “What does Morgan say to his penis?” (The devil is alive within me.)
Ziggy: “He pretends his penis is Marshall from Paw Patrol and tells it there’s a ‘mergency.” (I’m going to post this on our online neighborhood bulletin board.) https://pawpatrol.fandom.com/wiki/Marshall
Me: “And what does Marshall the penis say?” (Wait for it…wait for it…)
Ziggy: “Ready for a ruff, ruff rescue!” (He thinks he’s the greatest joke teller in the whole wide world.)
Me: (I restrain myself from barking.)
A Sleepover is in My Future!
Mom: “I’m Gabrielle. And you’ve met Ziggy. My youngest. I have two more. Would you like to have him? Until he’s ready to go off to college?” (OMG, she’s serious.)
Me: “Sure. He can sleep in the basement.” (And do the laundry.)
Ziggy: “I picked up the house and under there was a pirate treasure of gold moneys and stupid dead babies from the forest where it rained a lot but you couldn’t go swimming ‘cause the water had a giant penis – “ (This topic brings out the best in him.)
Mom: “Ziggy! Stop!” (Is that rosacea or is she blushing?)
Ziggy: “Do you wanna have a sleepover at my house? I have raisins.” (I live for raisins.)
Me: “Yes, but can we schedule it for some time this spring? I’m very busy doing nothing.” (I will wear my blue sequined house slippers.)
Ziggy: “Is spring tomorrow? Can I let the cats out? Can I push the stroller? Can I eat your nose?” (He is turning me into 100% love mush.)
Me: “Spring is in six months. You cannot let the cats out because they will run away and get eaten by the coyote casing our neighborhood for dogs, cats and little boys to devour for lunch. You cannot eat my nose ‘cause it’s the only one I have and I really like it. You can, however, push the stroller with me.” (I am going to secretly crazy glue his hands to the handle so he does have to live in our basement, albeit permanently attached to the stroller.)
With Gabrielle’s approval, I position Ziggy at the stroller’s handle, put my hands next to his, and position myself behind him. We begin our walk, my legs splayed like a crab, with Gabrielle directing us away from raised sidewalks, muddy puddles, and large branches apt to catch in the stroller’s wheels.
A Love Story for 2021
We walk around the block and up steep and shady Bayview Street where Ziggy and his family live. Fragments of his little boy chatter wend my way in the cool winter air as I try not to trip. Fluffypuss and Peekaboo cuddle together, observing the world safely through their netted windows, and the sun shines bright and warm.
A beautiful little boy has invited me to a sleepover. I am happy. I have a love story for 2021!
Update: Two days later, I went to the eye doctor and on the check-in counter was this sign: “Please put your used pens in the basket.” What did I see? “Please put your used penis in the basket.”
Fantastic!!! Your sense of humor is delicious. I’m sending it to my writer friend.
Delightful!
Nice writing style & Funny.
That’s high praise coming from a highly successful New York stand-up comic!!!
Delightful! Little children are always full of surprises and get us back to the important things in life.
So glad you enjoyed the story. It’s all true! Except I changed the names! Yes, kids are spectacular & surprising.