PART 2 - JANIE'S WAIT

The dude who looks like a turtle in a suit, who may have introduced himself as the Principal or Superintendent or some such thing, blabbers on. I try my best to look interested out of what little politeness I've got left.

Resist, Janie... I think to myself. Must not charge stage and kill Principal.

“Before the presentations begin I just want to welcome all of you parents, family and friends on behalf of the Joshua Sutter School for Future Thinkers, into our humble little auditorium.” He chuckles appreciatively, as if to indicate referring to the massive stadium as small constituted a humorous remark. There were no courtesy laughs. The crowd including yers truly, had been waiting not so patiently since eight PM on this particular Friday night. It’s now eight thirty. The festivities are running late by a full half hour, and our mood is quickly escalating from mildly irritated to lynch mob. “Right…” he went on sadly. “Well I’ve been lucky enough to get some previews of some of the little presentations these very gifted children have prepared, and let me just tell you that you are in for a heckuva treat! See-“

“Boo!” someone in the audience who honestly isn’t me shouts.

“Umm…” Principal Whatsisface wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“You suck!” shouts another. A tomato whizzes by his head.

“What hurts the most is that it was my mother who just threw that,” The maybe Principal informs us, chuckling at his own joke and ducking under a second tomato as he’s creamed in the face by a third.

He lets out a very satisfying "Eeeep!" as he hits the ground.

“Start the show!” someone screams wildly.

“Yeah! Start the show pee pee breath!"

"Nice throw, babe!" says the dude to my left.

"Thanks dude!" I say to the dude, while grinning and giving a nod and two fingered salute to the guy who'd passed me the tomater. (Sometimes my family calls tomatoes "tomaters".) He gives a polite smile and head nod back, but doesn't stop handing out fruit. (Or are tomatoes a vegetable?) I then pass a nervous glance to the guy sitting next to me who I realize just thanked for calling me "babe." He is grinning a white toothy grin that makes me flinch and nearly pee myself.

“Hey baby,” mentions the dude. I give him a long look up and down. He’s cute in a from the eighties kind of way. Wearing a tie died shirt with no sleeves, and some acid washed jeans, and has a mullet hair cut, long in back and super spiky in front. It’s a brave look... I’ll give him that much, but that’s pretty much all he gets. “Wanna go make out in the back of my convertible?” he adds.

"Um no,” I inform him, in none too gentle tone.

“I can put the top up...” he says leaning in really close. His breath smells like pine tree air freshener. “If that’s your issue.”

“It’s not,” I inform again.

“Then what is, sugar lumps? I can change if you want me to.”

“Dude, I’m here to watch my little sister do a presentation. That’s it.”

“Me too!” He announces.

“No… you’re here to pick up chicks.”

He grins a bright white toothy grin. “Guilty as charged, baby! Let’s go do the nasty!”

“Listen... I don’t know how else to put this. I am only here in my capacity as a big sister. But if I weren’t. If I were here for myself. I would brutally... brutally... kill you.”

“Come on snuggle muffin, you wouldn’t be dressed up all sexy like that if you weren’t here to get laid.”

“What the hell are you talking about!? I’m wearing a freaking flannel shirt and a pair of baggy corduroys!”

“And I... in turn... am turned on.” He leans in real close.

“That’s it, I’m outta here.” I get up and make my escape to the back of the auditorium.

“Don’t leave mad, sweet thighs!” He calls after me. I speed up a little.

There are no more seats available, so now I’m standing in the back. The principal guy is running back and forth in the middle of the stage, avoiding bombardments of tomatoes.

“Stop!” he squeals. “Please stop!” But the crowd does not.

I yawn a loud mouthed yawn, blink a few times, unhappily, and look down to the source of the tugging on my sleeve. My annoying little smurf sized sister, Katie is staring up at me over the arm of my favorite yellow flannel shirt.

“Where’s mom, Janie?” She demands.

She’ll be here,” I answer with a shrug. I don’t break eye contact. Won’t give her the satisfaction. We blank stare back and forth for awhile. She eventually blinks first, establishing me as the dominant alpha female. I smirk, and she frowns.

“When’s she gonna be here, then?”

Shrug again. “Any second, squirt.”

“She’s late!” she squeeks. s if it’s news to me. “And don’t call me squirt! Fart breath!”

I shrug again. “Yer mom’s an important lady. She’s late sometimes. Get used to it, butt munchkin.”

“She’s your mom too, squid dingus. And she’s a scientist! How’s that important!?”

I briefly consider informing Katie that our mom is actually not just a scientist, but also secretly a secret agent with the C.N.F. (Counter Ninja Force,) but decide against it in the interests of not getting grounded. Besides... you never know who’s listening.

How are scientists important. I give a quick glance to the stage, as a stall for time. The Principal is on his knees sobbing loudly, as he is pummeled mercilessly by a never ending barage of tomatoes. "THE HORROR!!!" He screams up toward the ceiling, his arms outstretched. Katie and I chuckle appreciatively.

“Scientists give toothpaste it’s minty flavoring, monkey butt." I say, turning back to my sister. "Do you have any idea how horrible toothpaste would taste if not for science?”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever!” she announces. “She’d just better be here when my presentation begins, numb nuts!”

“And she will be, crack whore," I say rolling my eyes, back at her. "Now go get your presentation ready, while I go have a smoke, and call yer mom.”

“Why do you keep calling her my mom? If yer disowning her, than I don’t want her either, lame wad.”

“Fine, dip spit. Go get yer presentation ready, while I go have a smoke, and call that lady we know.”

“My presentation’s all set, suck pit. And Mom says yer gonna get lung cancer if you keep smoking all the time.”

“Well Mom’s not here. Is she, mini midget?”

“I don’t think whether or not Mom is around when you smoke, relates to you getting cancer and dying horribly in an iron lung. Limp wit.”

“I’m just saying that what Mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her. Will it, butt burglar?”

“I’m not talking about you hurting Mom right now, Limp Noodle. I’m talking about freaking lung cancer. Mom says lung cancer kills three million people a year. The most common way to get it is from the carcinogens in your tobacco smoke. You get shortness of breath, chest or abdominal pain, coughing up blood. And only about one in every ten people diagnosed with it, survive the next five years of their lives.”

“Nobody likes girls who quote their mothers, slug humper.”

“Nobody likes wrinkled up old husks of a people who need to be hooked up to machines to live either, carpet sniffer. I mean think about it! When I’m forty and yer fifty, I’m gonna be out there climbing Mount Everest, and yer gonna be all hooked hooked up to a bunch of machines, breathing for you and keeping you alive in a crappy little hospital room. It’s gonna suck major ass to be you, sis. That's all I'm saying.”

I sigh. “You’re not gonna let me have my cigarette in peace, are you?”

“Not really, no," she answers, smiling with arms folded.

“Taint sniffer,” I growl at her through clenched teeth.

“Ass pirate,” she growls back.

We stand there watching the first girl “Molly Fitzwallace” demonstrate her solar powered jet pack. She flies herself straight up into the ceiling, her head crashes through the plaster, and she hangs there from her head for awhile. Katie and I chuckle appreciatively.

“Amateur,” Katie mutters.

I nod, watching her dangling from the ceiling by her head, with a slight smile on my face. “You didn’t sabotage that poor girl’s jetpack, did you?”

She looks up offended. “Yeah right I need to sabotage these lame-os jetpacks to get first prize. I got this competition wrapped around my finger. You just watch.”

“I thought there was no first prize.”

“There isn’t. They call it a ‘cooperative competition.’ Everyone wins and gets a crappy trophy at the end no matter what. Can you imagine anything gayer? It’s so the losers with sucky projects can all go home with gay little trophies and pretend they did something of significance, instead of wandering off with no prizes and all go jumping off cliffs in mad droves, like they deserve. Losers.”

“Yes everyone who’s not as smart as you deserves to die,” I say with a yawn.

“Well maybe not die...” she says with a shrug. “The point is that my presentation’s gonna make all these lame-os feel like the inferior lamers they are.”

“Uh huh, glad to hear your scientific achievement are motivated by such noble ideals. My sister the mad genius.”

She looks up grinning at that, and I realize I’ve misspoke.

“Well genius is a bit of an overstatement...” I correct myself. “Mad dumbass is more like it.”

“You can’t take it back! You said I'm a genius!”

“Dingus. I said dingus,” I correct her.

“I’m a genius!” she shouts. Fists raised high over her head.

“Crap I’m never gonna live this down,” I mutter.

“My sister thinks I’m a genius!” she calls out to the folks around us.

My cell phone begins to emit the melody to Everclear’s Pretty Fly For a White Guy. Katie's eyes go wide.

I flip it open, “Yo Dad.”

“Ask him if anything’s wrong with Aunt Sally!”

My eyes shoot open wider than hers. “You brought Aunt Sally here!?”

“Of course I didn’t bring Aunt Sally here!" she says, grinning at me like the idiot I am. "I just named my project after her.”

“Oh“ I say. My face contorting in distaste. It must be the most horribly destructive project ever.

“Whatsup Dad?” I say into the phone. Then add “Are you outside?”

“He’s not outside is he!? He’s sposed to be backstage with Aunt Sally!”

Halfway across the city from us Dad (a short, but lanky potbellied and very Caucasian dude in a do rag, and baggy jeans with one of the legs rolled up,) is riding along on a skateboard, holding onto the bumper of a speeding red Cadillac. My toddler sister Lanie is riding atop his shoulders clinging tightly to Dad’s do ragged head for dear life.

“Yo yo, what’s da hizzappenin’z mah gizzizzle?” Dad enquires into the phone.

“I have no idea what you just said,” I inform him. I add: “Are you outside?”

“Shheeeyeeaaah... it’s type boggle, I’m tellin’ you. Da babysittrizzle she finked and she fizzled out down da water spout, like. So’s Ah had t’drop on by on da flizai and pizzickle up the tyke wit’ da mike.”

I frown, squinting. At the age of 17 I have three PHDs in Linguistics and one of them in Ebonics, but I still have no idea what the heck Dad is saying half the time.

“I think Dad said he had to go pick up Lanie,” I inform the quickly panicking Katie.

“What about Aunt Sally!?” Katie, screams in my face whilst shaking me back and forth.

“What about Aunt Sally?” I ask dad, holding the phone to one ear and prying Katie off me by her forehead with the other.

“Oh that biahznatch? She’s fine all down da line! PEMDAS protects itself with a wealthy parliament of armaments.” Dad releases the Caddy and rolls up to the curb at ninety miles an hour. Hopping onto it and speeding along the street toward the school.

“Sounds scary,” I mutter. Then look to Katie. “Dad activated Aunt Sally, and she’s protecting herself.”

“What if she kills all my friends!?” Katie shouts into my face while shaking me back and forth again.

“Katie wants to know, what if Aunt Sally kills all her friends?” I ask into the phone.

There is a long silence. “I... didn’t think of that...... to da hizzat...”

“Dad says maybe you better go deactivate Aunt Sally right now,” I say giving my sister the most serious look I've ever given her or anyone.

“Damnit!” Katie shouted and ran off down the aisle of the auditorium. “Tell Dad I’m gonna kill him!” she shouts back to me as she runs.

“Katie says she loves you, and to get here as soon as humanly possible.”

“Ah’m onnit like a rubba bonnet on fire without ire! I should be der in five on da jive! How late am I, honey pie!?”

“I guess you’re not that late. This thing’s taking forever to start up, and compared to Mom, your golden. She hasn’t even called and Katie’s getting antsy.”

There’s a short silence. Then Dad says “I miss much on da clutch!?”

"Well the Principal was bombarded with tomatoes, and the first girl accidentally rocketed herself into the ceiling head first, and now she’s stuck in it. They’re a putting a trampoline under her till the fire department gets here, and going on with the show."

There is another short silence. Dad swerves around an old lady, and keeps on skating. Lanie hold on tight for dear life, trembling miserably. I speak again.

"The accident was a little suspicious actually... I think Katie might be up to old tricks.”

Another long silence, then Dad says: "Wizzell! I should be der in four at da door! Ah gotses ta fly on da hizzizzai!” and he skates up and hops over the roof of a cab.

“Right, k see you when you get here then,” I say rolling my eyes. “Love you too, Dad.” Then hang up with a sigh.

On stage, a boy who had been demonstrating the flamethrower he’d invented, suddenly explodes into flames, and goes running around the stage on fire until a bunch of teachers come running up and put him out with a bunch of fire extinguishers. Yeah... Katie’s definitely up to old tricks.

PART 1 - MOM'S LANDING

...

The belly of the 747 lowers onto the runway with a deafening roar I imagine. Tho I can’t hear it from within said belly. The bouncing of the plane, as landing gear hits ground is enough to churn my stomach just a little bit further. No one’s happier than I am upon the moment where the plane doesn’t explode into a zillion pieces.

I adjust my glasses, grinning madly, unbuckle my seatbelt, and hop up. “Thank freaking God!” I announce contented like.

The flight attendant is on my butt like yellow on yellow rice. “Ma’am,” she spits in no-nonsense fashion. “I’m gonna have to ask you take a seat.”

“No you dun unnerstand! I gotta get off this death trap as soon as humanly possible!”

“Sit!” she commands, complete with finger point.

I sigh and do as ordered.

“Seat belt fastened!” she further demands, finger still pointing.

“Why!? We’re rolling on the ground at like two freaking miles per hour! We’re not gonna crash at this point!”

“Ma’am... don’t make me beat you.” She strokes the handle of her Stewardess-nightstick.”

“Come on! I’m not hurting anybody by packing up my stuff a little early! Why are you being such a doo doo head? Seriously.”

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am,” she explains whilst popping me in the head with the stick. It hurts. Bright yellow canaries are flying around my head chirping away, or they would be if that kind of thing happened in real life.

“Ow!” I rub my forehead, and quickly fasten the belt.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she mutters coldly, and walks on, whilst sheathing the nightstick.

“Fascist!” I call after her, and undo the seatbelt as soon as she’s out of sight. “Did you see that?” I nudge the guy next to me, (a bald chubby business man,) jerking a thumb at the retreating stewardess. “That was completely unnecessary!”

“Well you know they can’t be too safe these days! What with the ninjas and all.”

I shrug. “Do I look like a ninja to you?”

“Well I suppose not, I mean anybody could be a ninja. You can’t be too careful, but you’re not even Asian...”

“Actually not all ninjas are Asian,” I explain with a sigh.

“Really?”

“Yeah, lookit Chuck Norris.”

“Oh right,” he says nodding.

“Of course he’s one of the good ones,” the man says with a shrug.

I shrug back, and sigh again, holding my churning stomach.

“Whassamatter? Dun like flying?” he says grinning.

“Whatever gave you that idea,” I mutter glancing down at the fifteen filled up barf bags sitting between my legs. (According to FAA Airplane regulations stewardesses are apparently only obligated to take as many as three barf bags away for you.)

He chuckles at sight of the dozen plus three barf bags. “Don’t even worry about that. It happens to the best of us, and for the record... it gets a lot easier with time.”

“No it doesn’t,” I mutter, watching out the window. The plane rolls to a halt, and I hop up. I open the overhead compartment and open my bag to stick my video game magazine into it, and I accidentally drop a Nobel Prize onto the business guy’s head, as he’s getting up.

“Oh crap! Sorry!” I announce attempting to snatch up the award before he can get to good a look at it.

He gets to it first and starts to hand it to me. “Oh no problemo, hereya go. This things pretty heavy. You’d better be careful with that, little lady-“ he pauses, examining it. “Whoa! This is a Nobel Prize!”

“Um... yeah! I guess it is...”

“This is yours!? You won a Nobel Prize!?”

“Just the one...” I say smiling, my face turning slightly red.

“Wow! What’d win it you for!”

“Ummm...” I take it from him and examine it. “This one’s in molecular biology.”

“This one!? You have more than one!?”

“Um, no. Just the one,” I say pulling the bag out to stuff the prize back in, and accidentally drop the other six onto his head.

Crap, I think to myself. I hope I get all this clumsiness out of my system before my daughter’s presentation.

My Very Educated Mother
Just Stomped Umpteen Ninjas

-A Children’s Story
By Joshua Sutter.

... To be continued: