Sunday Scribblings, "Toys"

The prompt over at Sunday Scrbblings is “toys.” With me, it could have gone to the darkside. I chose to relive some childhood nostalgia. This is a reprint from the archives:

Side Affects May Include, But Not Limited To…
I blast out the front door, the screen slams (even though I’ve been warned about that a bazillion times) and skid to a stop.
My dad is sprawled in mother’s swath of wax begonias; her victories, the pizzazz series, the ambassadors, even the challengers. He’s got a tall glass of iced tea balanced precariously on his chest; sweat droplets collect on his bare skin, cling to his going-gray hair.
His feet are muddy; creamy dirt has squished through his toes and the air is heavy with the smell of soil, water, broken petals. He’s wearing a pair of tortoiseshell Wayfarers and that dreamy smile he sometimes gets when the bottle of special tequila is allowed out of the freezer.
His tan chinos are rolled to the knees; muddy handprints dot the thighs, bizarre camouflage amidst the broke and bending begonias. Bits of decorative bark cling to what’s left of the clippered hair above his ears.
“Dude, what the hell,” I say, more a question than a statement. “Mom is seriously going to pitch a fit.”
He bends his head forward and tries to take a long pull of the iced tea; ice and tea make twin streams around his chin and pool in the hollow of his Adam’s apple. He snorts, laughs and wipes a hand across his face that leaves a smear, like sludge lipstick.
The Wayfarers are cocked awkwardly on his face; he sticks his tongue out at me. He smiles, yawns dreamy.
“Hey, oh, I’ve got something for you,” he says and waves a drunken hand from a drunken wrist.
He shakes a bit and the small, waxed canister falls from his front pocket.
A token of youth.
A can of red-capped Play-Doh.
“Take a whiff,” he says. “You will seriously not be disappointed.”


Tumblewords: said...

Well rendered memory - I had to open a jar of Pla-Doh to sniff, even though I'm sorely tempted to swig tequila.

George S Batty said...

What a great memory or bad memory. No one knows but you.. It vivid and you paint a great picture. Whether the memory is good or bad the writing is great and makes me feel as if I lived it myself.

gautami tripathy said...

Love the decriptions here. Certain childhood memories..good or bad always stay with us.

wrath of nature

missalister said...

I love your voice! Your description of the narrator’s old man here is like watching a movie. Not that my imagination’s lazy, but I do so like the occasional royal treatment. Rich details served to me on a platter. Play-Doh rouge, Mam’selle? Mais qui : )

Cathryn said...

Great writing, especially the focus on the odor of the dirt to the whiff of the Play-Doh. You do an amazing job of creating conflict in description.

I think you did head to the dark side.

Life without Clots said...

descriptive, i can see and smell it...

Dee Martin said...

the boy taking care of the man who is carrying the toy to share with the boy.