The Terrible Two’s

Eric lay on his back gazing up at the ceiling, his soft brown eyes focusing on the fan as it slowly whirred around. He noted the full circles the fan made and how he couldn’t really distinguish one blade from the other. But, he thought, it doesn’t really matter which one is which because the fan only works with lots of blades. He kicked his legs happily in the air, content to simply watch technology at its best.
Downstairs, his mother hurriedly polished off her lunch – off-white filth covered with grease and fat, also known as fried chicken – and began to clean the house. It was Saturday, after all: the day specially designated as “pick everything up day” in the Mistson household. She raced underneath the roaring fan, only noticing the blades and their possible conundrums to stop and scowl. In her opinion, they needed to go even faster. Her sweaty hands anxiously pushed back greasy bangs from her eyes as she reached down to pick up a week’s worth of dirty socks. Halfway through the laundry, she stopped suddenly and rushed down the hall.
Eric was trying to decide what the best colors for fan blades would be (blue and yellow so that they mix in the air and make green? Or maybe yellow and red?) when his mother burst into the room blathering about the laundry. He just wanted her to chill out and calm down, but she wouldn’t stop talking. “—and I’m so sorry Eric, I know I said I’d come get you from your nap after half an hour, and I know it’s been at least an hour, but I just had so much to do and I couldn’t stop to think at all and I didn’t hear you cry, did you cry? I hope not, I really am sorry -” The loud voice was starting to hurt his head and she was blocking his view of the fans, so Eric stood up. He didn’t really understand the fuss; if he had wanted to get up earlier, he would’ve gotten up. It’s not like he was in a crib anymore, like they said he had had a year ago. “Mommy, I’m all okay. I’m hungry. Can we eat?” And, with the wisdom and clarity of thought only a two year old could possess, Eric calmed down his mother and brought them downstairs.

“I want a banana-na-na…” Eric giggled, “a banana! And peanut-butter, pretty please?” His mom brought the lunch over, a peanut-butter and banana sandwich, and Eric dug in. Eric noticed that his mom had given him a paper plate, which he knew they shouldn’t really use because then it went into the trash forever and was bad for the animals, but used it anyway; he didn’t want to bother his mom especially now because she seemed so busy. He watched her carefully, confused because her head was stuck in the freezer. She seemed to be scooping ice cream with her finger. “Mommy… I thought you said you didn’t want to eat any more ice cream?”

“Oh sweetie, you’re right, it just … it looked so good.” She licked her finger slowly, “but now I’m done.” Eric took another little sandwich piece and continued to watch his mother. She left the carton on the counter, lid still off, and wandered over to the living room to pick up some more clothes. Eric finished his lunch, squirmed off his chair, and carefully picked up his plate. He needed both hands to carry it to the trash can, and then had to stand up on his tip toes to put it into the trashcan. All the while, the ice cream his mother hadn’t even meant to eat sat on the counter melting.
“Hey, Mommy?” Eric spoke up, “Will everything be better when I’m older?” She looked at him, the mess she had left, the trashcan, and sighed. “Mommy, I want to be five! That’ll be so old and then maybe I can be a mommy too and that would be so cool, too…” Then Eric, the two-year old, carefully picked up the ice cream his mom had left on the counter, opened the freezer, and put his mother’s mess away. His mother glanced at him, sighing heavily: being two seemed perfect to her.


***this will certify that the above work is completely original.