It's a Love Thing (2 page)

“
No way! I totally shot
him!” Frustrated, I smacked the stupid gun against the trunk.
Before I could refocus my aim, the enemy turned and shot me
dead.

“
Game over,” came the
sultry voice as my laser gun shut down.

“
Impossible. I still have a
life left.” But it didn’t matter, my battery died. I stomped across
the room and plugged it into the recharger before heading
downstairs for breakfast.

"Stupid Laser Wars," I complained to
no one. “Best video game on the market . . . Not! I’ve played, and
won, better games than Laser Wars. I’m so done with the game.
Totally done. Actually, I’m done with all video games. They’re a
complete waste of time.”

I made myself a bologna sandwich,
drinking about a cup of milk as I did. At least I think it was a
cup. Since I drank it straight from the carton it was hard to
tell.

To appease my mom, I grabbed a
two-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi to take with me. “See, mom. I don’t
have to fill up on ‘sugary garbage’ all the time.” I took another
drink from the milk carton and put it back in the fridge. I tucked
the pop under my arm and hurried back upstairs to play some Mario
Brothers until the laser gun had enough time to
recharge.

*****

“
Peter Mathew Pancerella!
If you are still in front of that television, you are in so much
trouble, mister!”

“
Oh, man, what time is it?
Why is mom home for lunch anyway?” I quickly shut off the TV in my
room. It was a decent size room, nothing to complain about really,
but the place was a pigsty ever since mom went back to work last
year. I wished she didn’t work so much, it really put a damper on
things around the house. Not only did I now have to clean my own
room—though thankfully, my parents seldom enforced that rule—I also
had to make my own breakfast and lunch. I even had to do my own
laundry. I glanced over at the overflowing wicker basket in the
corner and frowned. I'd forgotten to do it this week, which meant
I'd have to wear something dirty, again. Of course, I could spot
clean it. Maybe if I got lucky I'd find something dark colored and
I wouldn’t even have to do that.

“
Peter!”

“
Where the heck is my
clock?” I flipped over my book bag and shoved my tennis shoes under
the bed in the mad search for the clock. “There you are, you stupid
. . . 6:30! I’ve been playing Laser Wars for eight and a half
hours?” Certainly not my record, but embarrassing nevertheless. I
really needed to get a life. I yanked off my PJ bottoms and tossed
them in the laundry basket . . . well, close to the basket anyway,
and tugged on my jeans—my dark blue jeans. Thankfully, I'd slept in
my Anime shirt so I didn’t have to change that. I grabbed my
tattered copy of
The Cricket on the
Hearth,
by Charles Dickens, only because it
was on the required summer reading list, and thumbed through to
find my place.

Personally, I didn’t get all the
excitement over a little insect. These people seemed to think it
was the luckiest thing in the world to have a stinking bug on the
fireplace. Whatever! The dumb thing chirping away would drive me
mad. I’d hunt the stupid bug down and squish it. I only chose it
because it was a short read and we were required to read something
off the list before school started.

To keep me motivated, I made a deal
with myself this morning. I had to read three pages before I could
stop and play thirty minutes of Laser Wars. I would repeat the
cycle until I was done. Only that was eight and a half hours ago,
and I'd still only read three pages. Obviously, I needed a better
plan.

“
Young man, is that TV on?”
mom bellowed as she pounded on my bedroom door.

“
No, mom. I’m reading a
book off my summer reading list.” Personally, I didn’t know why the
rush. September was two months away.

She opened the door quietly,
apparently embarrassed by her assumption. “Sorry, son. I shouldn’t
have jumped to conclusions.” The look of contrition on her face
racked me with guilt. I sat up, ready to come clean, when her face
twisted into a sour expression.

“
Good heavens, Pete. When
was the last time you showered? This room reeks, and I know for a
fact you wore that shirt yesterday. There’s ketchup from last
night’s dinner on the front of it.” She shook her head and added,
"I do worry about you."

“
Hello, mom. It’s nice to
see you too. Did you have a relaxing day at the rest home?” My mom
worked at the Final Rest nursing home. Yup, that was actually the
name of it. Rather morbid if you asked me. She also took care of my
invalid grandma who lived a block away from us every morning before
work. I don't know how she did all that and still had time to cook
and clean for the family. Amazing woman, my mom.

“
Yes, dear.” She
exaggerated a smile. “Now answer my question. When was the last
time you showered?” My mom was quick witted, and it took a sharp
mind to fool her. My dad, on the other hand, was a sponge. I could
pull the same joke on him over and over again and he’d fall for it
every time. We shared the same first name and birthday, but that
was where the similarities ended. My dad, a mortician, was a little
stiff, no pun intended. I guess it comes from spending every day,
all day, with dead people. You certainly can’t sharpen your wit
around a bunch of lifeless bodies.

I had one sister, Jenny. Annoying, but
thankfully she worked at a girl’s camp this summer, and I didn’t
have to deal with her. Jenny's a health freak. She never eats
anything that has more than twelve percent fat, or didn’t have the
words whole grains listed as the first ingredient. In an effort to
enlighten me about my poor diet, she once pointed out where they
listed all the useless information on the packaging of my favorite
treat, Spongy Crèmes, moaning about all the chemicals and other
junk that she claimed would harm my body. Like I really cared. I
liked the spongy cake-like outside, and I loved the fake cream
filling inside. Seriously, what's not to like?

“
I’m waiting for an answer,
young man.” Mom stood over by the door, clearly not brave enough to
come any closer. And I thought there was nothing in the world that
could frighten her. She was a nice looking woman, for a mom. She
even dressed pretty good, again, for a mom. She had on some mom
jeans, not exactly in style, but at least she wasn’t in sweats,
unlike my best friend, Bryan’s mom, who always wore sweat pants.
She also had on a pink shirt with blue roses and small white rose
buttons running up the front. Again, sort of a mom look, but it
wasn’t stained, unlike my shirt. I tugged awkwardly at the dirty
shirt I'd been wearing for two days. Well, maybe three.

“
You look nice today,” I
said with a smile. She cleared her throat and began tapping her
penny loafers.

Okay, redirecting didn't work. What
did she ask me? Oh, yeah. “I don’t remember,” I said honestly,
tossing the book, which I'd now read four pages of, onto the night
stand. “I’ll shower after dinner.” She glared at me. “Mom, we are
having spaghetti for dinner, right? No sense in showering now and
taking a chance of splashing spaghetti on a clean shirt, right? I’m
only thinking of you. Far be it from me to add to your laundry,” I
declared honorably.

“
You do your own laundry,”
she grumbled. “Fine, after the dishes are washed and put away,
which is your job tonight, I want you in the shower, and you will
put clean clothes on, including underwear. Do you
understand?”

I nodded at her way too judgmental
statement as she left. “Clean clothes. You’d think I wore the same
thing day after day.” I scratched at the dried ketchup on my Anime
shirt.

After dinner, dad cleaned the kitchen
for me so I could make some headway into my cricket book, much to
my mother’s dismay.

“
Sweetie, the boy needs to
concentrate on his studies if he is going to succeed in life.” Mom
shook her head at my father's complacency and went downstairs to do
laundry. Dad was so easy to manipulate. I smiled and dropped onto
the sofa in front of the dormant fireplace, tossing my legs up over
the top.

"Pete, I do wish you'd learn to sit
like a gentleman. Dropping like that is hard on
furniture."

"'K, dad." I read the next four pages
of the bug book, still wondering why anyone would consider having a
bug in their home as lucky. Sometime later I heard my parents head
to bed. Now on page twenty, I felt proud of my accomplishment. By
page twenty-two I was fast asleep.

“
Ouch,” I mumbled at the
slight twinge in my side and rolled over onto my stomach. Something
thudded on the floor next to me. My half-asleep mind reminded me I
was reading a book. It must have fallen onto the floor. Oh well, it
was safe, it’s not like we had a dog.

A few seconds later I felt it again.
“Ouch.” This time the pain was more intense, and it hit me square
in the back.

I was having a heart attack! My mother
warned me this would happen if I didn’t start exercising and
cutting back on the junk food. I jumped to my feet and grabbed my
chest. I’m too young, this can’t be happening.

“
Please, God, don’t let me
die. I promise I’ll never eat Spongy Crèmes again!” I bargained
with God, as I struggled to get air into my lungs. “Oh no, my lungs
are now collapsing!” Or maybe I was panicking.

Then I heard it. A small
tinkling sound. A small tinkling
laughter
to be precise. I spun around
to find a six-inch girl—correction: a six-inch totally hot girl,
floating next to the fireplace.

“
If I had a nickel for
every time I heard that promise, I could retire,” laughed the hot
little mirage. She was dressed in an iridescent green gown that hit
halfway down her calves. She had the tiniest little pink shoes on I
had ever seen, and her . . . wings were a golden translucent color.
They sparkled when the light caught them. She held a small stick in
her hand, and a tiny shimmer of light emanated from the
tip.

Leave it to me to dream up
a six-inch babe. If I even tried to kiss her, I’d end up biting her
head off. Bummer. I lay back on the couch, kicking the stupid
cricket book out from under my foot. “No more bug books. I’ll read
the CliffsNotes tomorrow,” I promised myself. I turned back onto my
side and tried to imagine the six-inch girl as a
five-foot
-six-inch girl.
If I was going to dream of a hot girl, she might as well be a tall
hot girl.

“
Whoa, pungent boy. You’re
not sleeping on the couch tonight. We have a lot of work to do
starting tomorrow and I need you to be fully rested. Sleeping on
this lumpy thing isn’t going to cut it.”

“
Go away, bug girl,” I
muttered to my figment. “OUCH! Cut that out!” I complained, rubbing
my backside where another sharp jolt of something clearly stabbed
my butt cheek. I thought you didn’t feel pain in dreams. “This is
my dream, and I’ll decide where it is going to take place. And
there will be no more pain!”

“
Get up and go to your room
or I will zap you again.” She was a bossy little figment, to say
the least.

I sat up and stared hard at the
floating pygmy. “Listen, Tinker Bell, I’ll sleep where I want
to—Hey, don’t point that thing at me!” I demanded, climbing
backwards over the couch. Her wand was pointed directly at my
heart. My healthy heart, thank you very much.

“
Don’t. Call. Me. Tinker
Bell!” she spit out. She tried to zap me again, only this time I
was ready for her. I ducked behind the sofa. I felt it move a
couple of inches as the sparks hit it. That one would have really
hurt.

“
Fine. Stop zapping me.” I
was exhausted and needed to fall into a deep sleep. I’d promise the
figment anything if it meant sleep.

“
Up to bed, now. We have a
big day ahead of us. Move!” she ordered.

So done with this dream, I marched up
the stairs as she floated behind me. I watched her nervously over
my shoulder in case she decided to point the wand at me again. When
I got to my room, she smiled.

“
Now, wasn’t that easy?”
she asked sweetly.

“
Yeah.” Whatever,
pint-sized witch! I went inside and shut the door before my
imaginary friend could follow. No more Spongy Crèmes and soda for
lunch, I promised myself before falling into a—thankfully—dreamless
sleep.

*****

“
Pete. Pete. Peter!”
Someone shook me and I bolted up straight in my bed. I looked
around half expecting to see the miniature hot demon. Instead I saw
my mother.

“
Sorry, son. I want to
remind you to take a bath and clean this room while I'm at work,
it's disgusting.” I nodded at her request before dropping onto the
pillow. “I mean it, Pete. And no video games today. I want you to
finish the book you started last night.” She set the book onto the
side table next to my bed. “You left it downstairs on the floor,
young man. Is that any way to treat a library book?”

“
No, mom,” I muttered from
under the pillow.

“
Peter! Do not go back to
sleep. If you don’t do what I said, you’ll be grounded from video
games for a week, do you understand?”

“
Yes, mom.” I pulled the
pillow off my head and sat up. She stepped back and plugged her
nose.