If Only You Had Been There

Me from your perspective - This is the latest of a series of writing challenges sponsored by Allume. The object of this challenge is to write a snapshot about myself in third person.  This happened yesterday.  Enjoy!

 

She heard a faint clicking sound coming from the end of the hallway.  It seemed to be coming from the bathroom.  After a quick glance it was noted that the lights were off and door closed.  Everything was as it had been earlier.  It must’ve just been those strange random noises that are the dialect of this particular house.  Every house speaks its own language in pops and squeaks.  This one was particularly verbose.

The quiet and newly purchased magazine were calling her back to the place of rest and escape from the trying morning.  It was nice to forget about the spilled tea.  The defiant shouts of “no” were fading into the background.  The tense muscles were relaxing.  After reading for a while the notion of pampering made its way to the mind.  Ahh.. just a few moments to take care of that third person in the house, Self.  This would be nice.

After the masking and straightening were done it came again.  There was that click, but also a lower shuffling sound like a small chair being repositioned.  Not a chair, but a step stool.  With closer examination there was also a high pitched hissing sound behind it all.  Just beyond that closed door.  And then the giveaway, the light changing with shadows dancing across the threshold.  This was not good.

If observation of the situation had been more thorough the missing door knob cover would’ve been obvious.  The gleaming brass orb was completely exposed.  But the ear overpowered the eye and the mind raced with what would be beyond that whitewashed slab of wood.  There was water, but what else.  The potential combinations of potions and elixirs were mindboggling.

As the door opened the offender could be seen.  A corner of a closet concealed the inset sink and counter and all that had taken place.  He stood there white up to his elbows, and on his face, and in his hair.  The thought that this wasn’t as bad as she thought mistakenly ran through her mind.  A simple rinse in the gushing water would wash all offense away, but then the slickness.  This was not soap.  This was the thick crème from the tub.  This was the “dip dip” for the very dry skin that had been scooped and slathered on nearly every surface.  It was so outrageous that all there was to be done was laugh.

After the laughter came the dry towel wipe down of the boy and every fixture within his reach.  After the wipe down came the discussion.  After the discussion, she held the two softest little hands and arms that had ever been involved in such mischief.  And they stayed that way for the rest of the day, soft and full of mischief.