Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. late again by RD Larson (primary phonics books TXT) 📖
- Author: RD Larson
Book online «late again by RD Larson (primary phonics books TXT) 📖». Author RD Larson
© RD Larson 2008
Late Again
By
RD Larson
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. I’m late again.” Meg jiggled the baby up and down against her chest, her huge boobs swinging with ample milk as she stirred the stew.
“I thought you couldn’t get caught when you were nursing,” I said, feeling my eyes sticking out of my head. The word fertile
spun, reeled, and twisted through my mind.
“Well, I don’t know; maybe it’s not true.”
“You’re nursing TWO of them,” I said, livid with her.
“Don’t call them THEM. They’ve got NAMES. We named the baby, Nora and James, just had his first birthday, and so did Rebecca -- not her birthday but it’s her half birthday -- two and a half and Nell is three and some, and Sam is nearly five. You’re their father. You should KNOW.” Meg glared at me as the baby just looked at me, clueless as they all are.
“Meg, it smells in here, like -- I don’t know -- urine and sour milk. Moreover, My God, they are everywhere. It’s like a litter of puppies all different sizes,” I shouted at her silly, happy face.
“Mom had nine of us kids and it didn’t faze her.”
I stood struck dumb by her misconception, pardon the pun. “Meg, you all had different fathers. No one man had ALL of the responsibilities.”
“Mom always laughed and said nothing’s so bad that it doesn’t come out in the wash.”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with you whitewashing another pregnancy.”
“It’s not all MY fault. If you’d stay away from me . . . “
“Don’t tell me you could get a job to help out. A nanny or a sitter would cost more than you’d ever make.” I knew I was better educated and wanted to stump her. “So it’s my entire fault now. Who has to work three jobs to keep a roof over our heads? Hydra?”
“Hydra?” Meg shook her head in disbelief. “I would never, ever, name any baby of mine HYDRA. It sounds like a place for dogs to pee.”
She had STUMPED me. I stood silent wanting to killer her and kiss her all at the same time.
“Name it what ever you want. But I’m having THE SURGERY before this one is born.” I sent my balls their death warrant. Oh, I knew not really. Just limiting access. After all, I did ask our doctor. Three babies ago.
“Oh, no, not fixed? You wouldn’t get fixed, would you, Charlie? I wouldn’t like you near so much then.” Meg dropped on to a kitchen chair. The baby wobbled a bit so I grabbed it -- er, her. Nell? No, Nora.
I knelt by Meggie and Nora, my head at the baby’s feet and under her double-decker boobs. I am failing -- failing to communicate to her impenetrable brain. I wallowed in her soft lap, smelling her woman scent and, angry about my own shortcomings, I held her thighs against my face and wept.
Publication Date: 12-30-2009
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