Image provided by: Clackamas Community College; Oregon City, OR
About The print. (Oregon City, Oregon) 1977-1989 | View Entire Issue (May 30, 1979)
|lThat’s simple,” Bobby declared, “I’ve jen her make that a zillion times. ” “Well, if that’s the case, you can make feakfast for Mom, and I’ll do it for us,” Jen- ssaid. “But what it Mom wakes up before we nish. I should be a surprise,” Bobby added. “Go to her room and reset the alarm for 2:00, by that time everything will be ready,” Iny ordered. Bobby sneaked by the mantle, the vanity, nd finally to his mother’s clock. He felt like a |ective. <His stance was low and crouched, is eyes squinted, darting back and forth, onstantly checking for clues to his mother’s ondition-. Bobby wag a little too professional jr'nis own good, however, and set the clock Jenny stood and took authority. “Go to the wash room, fill the bucket with water and mop this mess up, I’ll make the orange juice and toast.” Jenny walked somewhat dejectedly to the regrigerator, took out the orange juice, and opened it slowly. She poured the water and orange juice in the blender, and set it to high speed. “Brothers!” she thought loudly. Only a second after she put the toast in and set it on dark Jenny heard a splash and a crash from the wash room. Bobby lay sprawled on the wash room floor. ^His pajamas were a soaking red, the elephants “I slipped,’’ Bobby said in his defense. Jenny put her hands on her hips and glared at Bobby impatiently. “Brothers!!” she screamed in her mind. orll:00. Jenny , was leaning against- the . kitchen Nearly in rage, Jeriny helped her little, loor, methodically counting the eggs; “Ten, ¡even . . . Hey Bobby!” “Yea,” he said as brother up . . . “Oh no, I forgot the orange ie sped to the kitchen bursting through the , juice and toasts,” she said., Jenny let go of binging door. “Did- you know that there Bobby’s damp pajamas, sending him to. the ie.. . twelve . . . eggs . . to’“.La carton,” |said choppily, while outspread on the -kit-, fen floor. Bobby’s eyes were wide in sur-< rize as she wiped the last bit of yoke off her fheadiM “I think you’d better make Mom’s eggs crambled this morning,” she steamed at her f “O.K.” Bobby agreed innocently. Jenny grabbed the only surviving egg and iled it at Bobby’s hehd. He closed his eyes ; nd ducked as it colored the kitchen door. floor once more. Bobby began to cry. As Jenny entered the kitchen she detected the srnell. of smouldering toast. Sharp flames danced on the ceiling; the orange juice had foamed over the counter an$ raced unheeded to the kitchen floor. The juice mixed with egg yokes, whites, arid shells. Jenny was standing frozen in a puddle of. trouble. The frightened six-year-old didn’t move, her eyes held steadfast at the toaster flames which were singeing the kitchen drapes. s corner “Bobby!” she screamed, “get the fire ex tinguisher!” Her brother was just rising and wringing out his pajamas when he saw billows of smoke pouring from the kitchen doorway. A slimy orange ooze creeped from beneath the crack of the door. “A monster!” Bobby thought, “I’ll kill him,” he said. Bobby yanked the fire extinguishe from beside the upstairs banister, and pulled the pin, as his father had showed him. “Stay cool,” he thought to him self. Bobby earnestly slammed open the kitchen door, and, like heli on slippers, slid across the creamy linoleum floor. With one arm tightly clutching the red extinguisher, he turned to Jenny and shouted, “Where’s the monster?” “The fire, you dummy,” as Jenny’s shaky fìnger pointed to the .toaster. Bobby pushed thè lever, and sent foam over dishes, drapes, and the blender', which needed an overhaul. The backward force pushed 40 pound Bobby into the arms of his sister. Jenny held tight, as they both fell to the floor. A white, hazy smoke descended on the two youngsters who lay sopping in their con coction. Jenny looked to her bother, her hair and nightgown as wet as her brother’s elephants, and smiled. “Ÿou saved my life,’Î V Jenny said as she reached out to hug her little brother ... “Sisters,” Bobby thought . . JSisters Carol’s alarm rang, and she opened her éyes. She stretched and felt better. “My hangover is gone,” she thought Drift of White Dogwood Drift of white dogwood polka dots illume dark firs seasonal delight. Vera Joyce Nelson Why? Life is like a candles Blown by the wind» it struggles so hard. To stay alight" > But soon it may give in. And when the darkness falls Who knows wMhhfthirigs lie? There is no reason left, . To ask the question why.* So live like the candle , And burp when you can. Too soon That wind will come ' And For when the darkne Who knows where gs may he? There willbq® res To ask the question Keep life’s wick sho id clean So the fuel may ; Throughouiits short summers night RS When ...... the wind Blows long and cool Youwill give in. Whenthe darkness tog.sp'cmial§5 Who knows where things Arid you’ll have no reason left To ask the question . . . why . Spock McCaleb Wng-summer 1979 page 5