Boys and Their Toys

The thunderous rumble of a modified car engine. The appearance of blinding lights slowly filling the window as the car came close. The smell of burnt rubber wafting in through the open door. All sure signs that her brother had come for a visit.
"Yay! Mum! Uncle Danny's here!" Her youngest told her excitedly on his way to the front door, so he could be the first to greet him. Her breath caught in her throat as her only daughter rushed past her in a blur to join her little brother. It was only when Ben, her eldest, showed up beside her in a rare venture from his room that the smile she'd been holding in finally emerged.
"Did I hear Uncle Danny pulling up outside?" He asked.
"Yep," she answered, unable to keep the smile from her face.

By the time she reached the front door, her youngest two, Elise and Morgan, had already run off down the drive, waiting to greet their uncle the very minute he got out of the car. Ben was only a little way behind them, wanting to seem cool, but not able to suppress his excitement.

Morgan and Elise gave a cheer as her brother finally emerged from the car at last, a smile quickly forming on his lips at the sight of them.
"Uncle Danny!" Came the excited chorus.
"Hello!" He said, "how're my favourite kids in the world?"
"Good!"
"Good to see you Uncle Danny!" Ben called as he approached, leaning in for her a bear hug.
"How's it going Mate?"
"Not bad."

Next, Danny squatted down, expertly completing the secret handshake he'd formulated with Morgan. Sideways high five, fist bump, a strange firework motion, a high five down low before finally ending with a high five as high as Morgan's small little arms could reach. Danny rose only part way before easily scooping a giggling Elise into his arms. "How's my princess?" He asked as he led the way back toward the house, spare arm round Ben's shoulders. Morgan reluctantly held Ben's hand as they made their way back toward her, a consolation prize compared to the chance to hold Danny's hand.

"I was hoping you'd come by again soon," Ben was telling his uncle as they walked through the door. Conversation ceased as Danny released Ben and leaned over to peck his sister in greeting, bending lower to place Elise back on the ground after he'd done so. "Hey Scarlet," he said. "How's my little Sis doing? These crazy kids not driving you too wild are they?" He asked teasingly.
"No, no. We're fine here," she said, waiting until she knew the kids were out of earshot before continuing. "I'm glad you came for a visit though. They've missed you, and I've  barely seen Benny for weeks." Danny raised an eyebrow. "He only ever really comes out when you're here. They love you, you know Danny. You're a bit like their idol."
Danny laughed nervously as they entered the kitchen. He leaned against the counter while Scarlet bustled round. Finally, she found a few cans of coke, which she set down in front of Ben and Danny.
"Uncle Danny, do you think we could work on my car a bit while you're here?" Ben asked, his eyes lit up hopefully.
"Sure thing Buddy! Is that alright with you Scar?" He asked, peering over at his sister.
She nodded. "Fine by me." The two of them picked up their cans and headed outside.
She turned on the carport's lights and stood by the window, watching them a moment. It took the two of them to
remove the cover from the car before they set their cans on the bench, lifted the hood and set to work.

She hadn't even noticed Morgan had gone until she spotted him approaching them. He reached up and tapped his uncle's calf, the highest part he could reach. Danny turned around, his face lighting up.
"Hey Little Man!" He said cheerily, hoisting him into his arms.
"Uncle Danny, can I help too?"
"Sure!" Danny set him down on the bench beside their drink cans, pushing them aside so Morgan wouldn't knock them. "Do you think you could pass us the tools?"

At the feeling of a tug on her shirt, Scarlet finally looked down to see Elise. "Mummy," she said,  "why do they always want to be outside with the car?"
"I'm not entirely sure sweetie," Scarlet said, "it's a guy thing I guess."
"What?" Asked Elise, still confused.
"Boys honey," said Scarlet. "Boys and their toys."

A Dog's Lament

The moment the door opened, the dog raced toward them. He jumped higher and higher, bouncing his legs on the stomachs of his owners as if they were springboards and his back legs springs. He bounded ahead of them when they began to move, leading the way into the house.

 Inside, there was more excitement, more jumping around, more hyperactivity. As his owners watched on, laughing hard, he zoomed around the house, circling them a few times before stopping at last, panting heavily. He collapsed into a flat position on the floor, breathing quickly, desperate for the  return of air.

The dog waited until the older woman left them alone before sitting in front of the girl. As she reached out and stroked his soft, wiry fur, the dog began to speak. A long, involved series of groans and moans, intermixed with a few odd growls here and there. He was telling her a story. A story that seemed sad and tragic and filled with woe. This was the dog's lament.

It was fine at first. There was sunlight and clouds and the sky was blue. There was warmth in the air and lots of smells and exploring to do. But then, there was nothing new. It started to get darker and colder, and I couldn't get inside no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't get to you. I couldn't find you anywhere. And then, it got darker and colder and I was all alone. It felt like the world was freezing over... Then, it was pitch black and I couldn't see anything. You still weren't here! You left me! All alone! In the dark and the cold. I didn't know if you'd ever come home again. I though you'd left me forever! 

As the girl listened to the dog, trying her hardest not to laugh at the humour in her dog's serious recount of his sorrowful tale, she imagined him sitting on one of the tree stumps in the yard, howling his tragic story to the moon.

But, as the family settled in for the night, together again, all was forgiven. The dog lay down atop the blanket under which the girl sat and licked the air contentedly. He took one last look round, then, satisfied nobody was going anywhere, finally he dropped his head gently onto his front paws and closed his eyes. With his people. All together again. Home at last.

Contradiction

"Oh, he's a real rough guy that one," they'd say, "deviant delinquent with no morals. What does he think he's doing, exposing our children to such... Such unpleasantness?" Put simply, Artie Rose's pictures were considered rather scandalous. Folks in the small town where he lived couldn't handle something so outrageous as the human body, depicted as a form of artwork. How could they, when they could hardly even face seeing themselves without the clothes that usually covered them.

So, Artie was labelled. Odd, deviant, sick, delinquent, were all terms that came to be associated with Artie Rose. The recluse he was, Artie didn't know for a long time that these labels had come to be assigned to him. Although, in his defence, the labels hadn't come for a while. Before that had been the whispers. Before that, he'd just been ignored. Thought of as the odd, eccentric but most likely harmless guy who lived by himself on the edge of town.

The public image of him in the early days he had known about, but as the years went by, he kept to himself more and more. After that came the whispers, not an utterance of which ever reached Artie's ears. The labels came after his art started to become more visible. Especially in the small town Artie called home, no one had ever seen anything like the pictures he painted. So, he became even more isolated than he once had been, subjected to staring and people crossing the road to avoid him on the few occasions he did decide to venture out.

That was until one day, the sound of a knock at his door made Artie jump at least a foot high in the air. He paused a moment to compose himself before he erased, brushing his hands down his dress shirt and pants to remove all traces of creasing. "Hello," said the young woman when Artie opened the door to reveal her. A pretty young thing, not too much younger than himself, he guessed, with a smile bright as the sun shining above.
"Hi," said Artie, his grip on the doorframe tightening as he swayed a little with nerves. "Can I help you?"
"Are you Mr. Rose?"
Artie nodded and the girl's smile widened. Her cheeks increased in colour as she spoke again,, "I'm sorry, Mr. Rose. I'm Kitty. Kitty Picton." She extended her hand to him, and once he shook it, returned it to her side. "I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Rose. I've come about your ad in the newspaper." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, shook it out and held up the newspaper clipping for him to me.
"Well," said Artie a little breathless. "It was quite a while ago that I placed that." He said slowly as the pieces gradually sorted themselves out inside his head.
Kitty's face fell. "You've already got someone, haven't you?"
"No, actually. You've been the first person interested," said Artie, "and you must have come a long way!" He stepped aside and opened the door a little wider, beckoning her with a finger. "Please, do come in."

"I'm sorry," Kitty rambled as Artie led her through the house. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long, and I came without announcement... I had to wait till I turned eighteen and I could run my own life."
Artie stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Kitty, wide eyed. "You're eighteen!?"
"Yeah," she said, unconcerned. "So?"
"You're so... Young."
"You're not so old yourself, Mr. Rose."
"Artie," he said, "and thank you. But I'm possibly old enough to be your Dad."
"No one would guess."
Artie said nothing, instead gesturing she take a seat opposite the one he'd settled into himself.
Kitty did as she was asked, leaning forward in her chair, hands clasped together. "So, this modelling thing."

That long while ago, Artie had placed an advertisement seeking a model for one piece of artwork. But, he and Kitty bonded so closely over the weeks it took Artie to do that one picture that Kitty stayed and kept working with him. That was when Artie started to become a little more than just the odd but harmless guy living alone on the edge of town. His pieces featuring Kitty made Artie a little more infamous in his small hometown, and as his newest series of paintings began to circulate, labels such as 'deviant', 'sick', 'twisted' and 'corrupt' became attached to the name Artie Rose.

"Artie, darling, you know people are talking about you, right?" Kitty asked him one day on her return from an outing into town.
"They are?" Artie asked, mouth agape in horror.
She leaned down, brushing her arms soothingly as she moved to kiss him on the crown of his head. The worry lines on her forehead creased with concern. "You didn't know?" She asked, her voice soft. Artie shook his head wordlessly.  "Oh honey, I'm sorry."
"It's ok," he said after a moment. "Kitty. It's ok. You and I, we know that it's art, right?" Kitty nodded as he went on, "even if the rest of the town doesn't believe it. Even if they think I'm a delinquent, you and I... We know... It's art to us. Works of beauty. The most beautiful woman I know celebrated as all women should be."
Kitty blushed. "Well," she said. "You're quite the contradiction, aren't you?" She asked, finally taking a seat beside him.
"Hmm?" Asked Artie, not quite comprehending.
"Contrary to what all the townsfolk think, you're the sweetest man I know, Artie Rose. You've treated me like a goddess right from the start. That's hardly deviant at all!" Artie reached for her hand across the table and she took it, squeezing gently." You're a contradiction." She said again with a bright smile. "The best kind of a contradiction."