The Blog family had a very busy day. It was Friday, November 13th and it was sunny outside with a few clouds.
The smallest member of the Blog family was little Markie Blog. Markie liked to be referred to as Mark because he felt it was more manly. Mark was six years old.
Mark’s mother, Susan Blog, had recently broken three of her toes when she dropped a load of eight text books on her right foot. Susan Blog was a compassionate teacher but was finding life to be a struggle with broken toes. Of her new found toe related issues, Susan thought driving was the most difficult.
Mark loved the idea of driving. He particularly liked the sound of a car’s motor upon starting. The rev, he thought, was an indication of the car’s strength. To Mark, his mother’s car sounded very strong. However, despite his love for automobiles, little Mark knew he couldn’t drive because of his age. To compensate for this fact of life, he had to settle for playing with his remote-controlled car in his room or mimicking his mother’s actions as she drove both he and his sister to and from school.
The accident happened just after school, prior to four o’clock in the afternoon.
Susan Blog had been so overcome by the pain in her right foot that she forgot to offer her co-worker a ride home. As a result, Mark sat alone in the back seat while his older sister sat up front.
There was still daylight peaking over the tree-tops when it happened.
The vehicle itself was in pretty good shape. Although it had lost a tire one time, Mark had helped his father put a new one on and now you couldn’t tell the difference in the vehicle’s steering.
Being well into autumn, some coloured leaves were still hanging from the trees while others were making their descent. It was these falling leaves that distracted Susan just before it happened.
When it happened, Mark let out a painful scream.
With a loud bang, the windshield cracked and splintered in-front of little Mark’s eyes.
His mother, scared for her son’s well being, struggled from her seat, made her way to Mark’s door, and forced it open.
Mark’s belt was still fastened around his waist, his shirt was still tucked into his jeans, and his shoes, velcro, were still fastened to each foot. Mark’s face however, was buried in his hands and he was crying very loudly.
“What happened?” Susan asked.
“I tried to drive it under the bed but the bed broke it,” Mark replied between sobs.
Susan hobbled over to her son’s bedside and inspected the remote-controlled car.
Mark’s sister opened her door across the hallway and entered Mark’s room. “What happened?” She asked.
“Oh it looks like the windshield broke on Mark’s car when it hit his bed frame,” Susan said. Mark was still crying, though a little less than before. Susan put a comforting hand on Mark’s small shoulder.
“Don’t be such a baby Mark,” his sister said.
“Lucy,” his mother retorted, “what did I tell you about saying mean things?”
Blog Family Story #2: A Short About Saying Mean Things
The Blog family had a very busy day. It was Friday, November 13th and the sky outside was a smoke coloured grey.
The eldest of the Blog family children was the adorable but unkind Lucy Blog. Lucy felt she was the most popular person in her grade which, she figured, would lead to a career in politics. Indeed, she wanted to be a proper lady but at heart she was very much a fire starter. Lucy was nine years old.
With another school day passed, Lucy was now buckled into the front passenger’s seat of her mother’s car. The ride was silent as her little brother Mark played with a pocket-sized toy truck in the back seat and her mother drove tight-lipped, preoccupied by the pain in her right foot. Lucy felt bad for her mother who had managed to break three of her toes last week. However, despite her mother’s affliction, Lucy found her thoughts drifting to an event that occurred earlier in the day.
In her dimly lit fourth grade classroom Lucy sat with the other pretty girls in the front right hand corner. It was here that they wrote insulting notes regarding the ugly girl’s ugly teeth or the poor boy’s poor clothes. A favorite subject of the charring notes that Lucy authored was the stupid boy’s stupid brain. Behind the teacher’s back such notes were passed and celebrated from O’ Canada straight through until home-time.
It was just after the day’s first recess, while the teacher was writing out multiplications of some number, that Lucy passed a real scorcher of a note. The other pretty girls enjoyed the insulting quip and passed the note back so that Lucy could dispose of it. Prior to disposal however, Lucy noticed a message scrawled on the back of the note from one of the girls. The message read, “Your notes are nasty Lucy, be careful your tongue doesn’t turn into a match and you burn your wooden teeth out!” Lucy laughed to herself, stuck her tongue out at the girls, and then proceeded to smile as if to show them that both her tongue and teeth were perfectly normal.
As Lucy’s mother now pulled the car into their driveway, Lucy concluded it was Sasha who wrote the unpleasant message on the back of her note.
Once inside, Lucy put her bags away and helped herself to some chocolate chip cookies while her mother sat and watched the orange and red leaves falling outside the kitchen window. Lucy wanted to help her mother some how but felt she needed to call Sasha. Without delay, she scurried down the hall with cookies in hand.
Just as Lucy was about to dial the phone however, she heard a kafuffle across the hall. Curious, she opened her door and walked across to her little brother’s room. He was crying on his bed.
“What happened?” Lucy asked.
“Oh, it looks like the windshield broke on your brother’s car when it hit his bed frame,” her mother said.
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“Lucy, what did I tell you about saying mean things?”
Lucy laughed, “My tongue is never going to turn into a match mother. That’s an old wives’ tale and I’m never going to be a wife because I hate boys!”
“Laugh all you want Lucy, I just don’t want you to set your talker on fire.”
Back in her room Lucy called Sasha and the subject of the note followed closely behind her friend’s ‘hello. ‘
“I didn’t write it!” Sasha protested.
“Don’t lie Sasha, I know you’re just a stupid wanna be.” Poor Lucy. While she was correct in supposing her tongue would not turn into a match, the wives’ tale rang true regarding the fire. It was a matter of keeping the mouth moist and with all of her insults Lucy had dried her mouth out. Like many people in this world, she was born with a match for a tongue (although such a thing is completely undetectable). So when Lucy pronounced the sounds /t/ and /d/ in the word ‘stupid’, her tongue was set ablaze because of the friction created between the match-stick-muscle and her dried and rough Alveolar Ridge.
Well, Lucy’s tongue lit up and, as it turns out, her teeth were made of wax. With her molars melting and smoke bellowing out of her nostrils, she couldn’t help but cry. Alone in her room, her tears couldn’t stop the flames, so she sat in pain until the match burned out and all the wax cooled. With sealed and calloused lips, she screamed a muted scream and ran to her mother’s side.
In an expecting tone, her mother proclaimed, “That is why you don’t say mean things.”
Keegan Tremblay is a University of Waterloo English student who actually spends time writing, and doesn’t just say that he does. His writing has recently “gone digital” via http://keegantremblay.wordpress.com/, where the ongoing “Blog Family” stories are published. We’re happy to present the first two stories in the series at the Boar.
Stay tuned to Keegan’s homepage for more, and be sure to check out Keegan’s book, which he is publishing — 140 characters at a time — on Twitter.
