Week 37 Gum CHEWY. 452 words I was allowed to buy a treat with the 1c change from a quart of milk. Today I picked a Black Cat bubblegum. The first few chews sent a burst of licorice-flavoured sweetness into my mouth. Soon I was practicing smoothing the wad over my tongue to poke out and blow. Sometimes I got a bubble. Other times, disappointment. I stopped off at the park on the way home and perched on a swing, kicking off idly and practicing my bubble blowing. “Can I have some chewy?” A small girl stood facing me, an expectant look on her face. Ella-Marie’s little sister. I shook my head and held my hands out to show they were empty. “Sorry, I haven’t got any more.” She pointed to my mouth. At school some kids would pull out a long string of gum from their mouths until it snapped and pass the sticky blob to their friend. The two would then chew happily. I winced. “No. You shouldn’t take food from someone else’s mouth.” “Awww, go on.” Changing the subject often worked with little kids. “I’ll push you on the swing.” I didn’t have to ask twice. I pushed her for ages and once my arms got tired she begged me again. “Go on, give us some chewy.” I ignored her and went to climb the Faraway Tree instead, the upper side of its branches worn shiny by generations of kids trying to reach the top of the king of the park. She followed me. “Go on. Please,” she begged. I slid off and went to the monkey bars. Shadow like, Ella-Marie’s sister did too. “Pleeeease.” It was nasty of me to chew in front of a little kid like that. But passing it from my mouth was out of the question. I looked around for a bin, but there was none. “See how long it takes you to go across the money bars,” I said. As she took up the challenge, I discretely spat my gum in the dirt at the base of the Faraway tree between two gnarly roots. My black treat, still shiny, was now speckled with grains of sand. Then I sped to the bum-burning slide and acted as if I had been there all along. After a while Ella-Marie’s sister clambered up the slide and shot down its gleaming surface, her mouth chomping up and down. As she landed beside me I caught the distinct whiff of aniseed. “Um, where did you get that gum from?” I asked in the desperate hope she had suddenly remembered a long forgotten piece somewhere in her pocket. A dimple appeared and with a twinkle of pure satisfaction, she pointed. Straight to the Faraway tree. ©Jo Antareau This story is completely true. Only the names have been changed. Mainly because I can’t remember the kid’s name. But her look of triumph has stayed with me forever.
Posted on: Sun, 23 Nov 2014 10:54:13 +0000
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