by Rolli –
One of the questions on my last Language Arts test was “What is boredom? Define boredom in one sentence.” My answer was, “Boredom is when everything turns out like you expected.” Ms. Jules put a big fat X by my answer and wrote, “Incorrect. Boredom is an emotional state characterized by a feeling of disinterest.” When I read that, I experienced boredom. Because that’s exactly the kind of thing I expected she’d write.
When I stepped through Miss VeDore’s front door, I expected to see mice, spider webs, and bats flying out of the fireplace like sparks. What I did see, though, was a lot more exciting. Because it surprised me. When you’re best friends with a cavegirl, believe me, you’re not easily surprised.
On the outside, Miss VeDore’s mansion was crumbly. And dusty. It was like a cookie that looked just wonderful until you dropped it in a pile of fuzz on the kitchen floor.
On the inside, Miss VeDore’s mansion was lovely. It was clean and wonderful and fancy. Everything in it was wooden, antique-looking, shining. The walls—I’d never seen orange walls before, I don’t think—were covered in pictures and paintings. Next to the staircase a grandfather clock ticked. There was even a chandelier, though it wasn’t turned on. The whole place kind of reminded me of that “Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater” story or poem (I forget which), where the wife lived in a pumpkin house, only this was more like a pumpkin mansion. It was pretty neat. Definitely not what I expected.
As I looked around, I listened. I didn’t hear any more glass-shattering sounds. Actually, aside from the clock ticking, I didn’t hear anything.
Maybe Kabungo isn’t here at all, I wondered. Still, I thought I’d snoop a bit. Just to be sure.
There were three rooms on the main floor. The biggest one, the one I’d first stepped into, was a kind of sitting room. The other two weren’t as big, but they were still large rooms. One was full of shelves and shelves of old books. I glanced at the titles but didn’t see any of my favorite authors. It would still be amazing, though, having your own library, even if you didn’t like any of the books.
The kitchen wasn’t quite as nice as the other rooms. It looked a lot like my kitchen. There was a bowl on the table, full of fruit, and a bowl under it, full of cat food. I wondered where the cat was.
A breeze blew my hair. There weren’t any open (or broken) windows in the kitchen, not that I could see. I went back into the sitting room. There it was again. The breeze, I was sure, was coming from the second floor. I decided to investigate. I walked up the staircase.
Another surprise. The second floor wasn’t at all like the first floor. It was darker. And dustier. The wallpaper was peeling. There weren’t any big rooms, just a long hallway with lots of closed doors that I’m guessing were bedrooms. The breeze wasn’t a breeze anymore; it was just plain wind. It was pouring, and sunlight was pouring, from an open door at the end of the dark hallway. I ran my hand down the wall as I walked toward the door, but when I felt a cobweb, I pulled it back pretty quick (it was probably a world record).
I moved closer to the doorway. Closer. The wind grew stronger. I was in a lot of suspense (my spider was doing gymnastics). I was right beside the door now. I peeked around it.
I gasped. And I gasped again. I don’t double-gasp very often, only when I see something that makes me think I need glasses. No, whatever I’d expected to see, it wasn’t this.
On the other side of the doorway was a balcony, a veranda. On the veranda was a white table. And sitting at the table, drinking tea, eating biscuits and chatting, were Miss VeDore and Kabungo.
I’d never seen my cave friend looking so civilized. She wasn’t holding the teacup properly (she was wearing it on her finger, like a ring), and she was spilling a lot and drinking too fast, but still, I was impressed. I was surprised, too, that she could be so talkative. Maybe the key to friendliness is tea and biscuits. When I first poked my head through the door, she was telling Miss VeDore about Bun.
“Bun tiger no no night sleep tiger no run Bun no Bun bad tiger bad soft niiice.” (Between the words “sleep” and “tiger,” somehow, she swallowed a biscuit and half a cup of tea).
On the other side of the table Miss VeDore was sitting there nodding like she completely understood. Who knows? Maybe she did.
While I was spying on them, kind of wondering what Kabungo would say next, Miss VeDore looked up and said, in her whispering way, “Have a seat, dear. Have a seat. And some tea?”
Just because you’re spying on people doesn’t mean you’re invisible. I’ll have to remember that.
I stepped into the sunlight.
“Oh, Belly hi,” said Kabungo, smiling, her teeth full of crumbs.
“Why’d you run off?” I said, rubbing my elbow (I do that sometimes when I’m nervous).
“Thirsty,” was all she said, downing the rest of her tea and grabbing another biscuit. There were three left now. I wondered how many there were to begin with.
“It was I who ran off, dear,” said Miss VeDore. “To fetch…the refreshments.” She smiled a jack-o-lantern smile. I felt uncomfortable, but I sat down anyway. Miss VeDore poured out some tea and passed me a biscuit. I nibbled on it and felt a bit more comfortable. Biscuits are like that.
“Good baskets,” said Kabungo.
Miss VeDore only smiled. She sat there smiling, and Kabungo sat there eating, and I sat there wondering what to say. Adults are hard to relate to. There’s just not a lot of things you can talk to them about.
“Halloween’s coming,” I said, finally. I thought that was appropriate.
“Really?” said Miss VeDore, sounding surprised.
“In a couple weeks,” I said, sounding even more surprised.
Miss VeDore shook her head. “Sooner than you think,” she whispered. “Halloween is coming now.” She pointed at the doorway.
I looked behind me, rubbing my elbow again. I didn’t know what she was talking about. I couldn’t hear anything, or see anything.
Miss VeDore kept pointing – and staring – at the door. “Halloween,” she repeated, “is coming.”
I swallowed. I think I had goosebumps.
“Halloween…is…almost…here,” said the old woman.
I glanced at Kabungo. She was too busy wolfing down the last biscuit, though, to be paying attention.
“There!” cried Miss VeDore suddenly, standing up. “Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!”
When I turned to look at what Miss VeDore was pointing at, I’m not sure what I expected to see. Right away I decided that, if there was nothing there, and Miss VeDore was as crazy as everyone in town said she was, I’d just get up and run.
But there was something there – and it was stepping out of the shadows. It was…the raccoon. He trotted across the veranda like he owned it and hopped onto Miss VeDore’s lap.
“Where have you been, Halloween?” she said, petting him. “Silly boy. Getting into mischief?”
The raccoon squeaked. Kabungo finally looked up – I was worried how she was going to react – but all she did was rub the crumbs off her face and say, “Oh too full. Later kay?”
“You have a raccoon…named Halloween?” I asked, just to be sure I had this right.
“Isn’t he darling,” whispered Miss VeDore, stroking him.
He was kind of handsome, for a raccoon. His fur was pretty shiny. He even had on a green collar. Suddenly, I understood why there was cat food in the kitchen but no cat.
Miss VeDore gave her pet the rest of her biscuit. He held it in both hands and nibbled on it without spilling a crumb. Then she poured a bit of tea onto her saucer and let Halloween lap it up, just like a cat. I looked at Kabungo – there was either a tea-stain or a bit of biscuit on every inch of her clothing—and sighed.
We ended up staying a lot longer than I wanted just because I couldn’t think of what to say. Getting away from someone is like a magic spell, because you have to come up with the correct words. I tried saying that it was getting late, or that I had some errands to run, but Miss VeDore always just went on talking. So I gave it another try.
“Well,” I said, getting up, “we’d better pay for our pumpkins. After all,” (I glanced at the raccoon), “Halloween is here.”
“Hmm?” said Miss VeDore, looking puzzled. “Oh, no, no, dear. Not yet, no. Not for a couple weeks.”
I think we would’ve been stuck there till Halloween if Miss VeDore hadn’t left to get more refreshments. When the coast was clear, I slid some money under my teacup, grabbed Kabungo by the arm, and sneaked downstairs.
By the time we got back to the cave—I had to carry my pumpkin, because Kabungo’s (she picked one of the dishwasher-sized ones) filled the whole wagon—my arms were close to dropping off, like a snowman’s. I wanted to just dump her giant pumpkin at the front of the cave, but she made me help her carry it inside to show Bun. All the kitten said, though, was “Mi.” That’s just like a cat.
I was pretty hungry and tired by then. So I told Kabungo that I’d come back another day and help her carve her pumpkin.
“Wha?” she said.
Kabungo seemed to have forgotten what a jack-o-lantern was already. So I explained it again and retold her all about Halloween (the holiday, not the raccoon), and trick-or-treating, and costumes.
“Ohhh kay,” she said, tapping on the pumpkin and sniffing it. I’m still not sure if she understood.
So I told her bye for now and to think about what she wanted to be for Halloween while I was gone. I think she was too busy flinging the mouse around with Bun, though, to hear me.
That’s just like a cavegirl.
the end.
Question Time:
- What was Miss VeDore’s house like?
- What surprised Beverly?
- Who was named Halloween?
- What did Beverly and Kabungo do with their pumpkins?
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