The Chronicles of Marr-nia (Short Stories Starring Barbara Marr) (4 page)

“Thanks.”

“A sick gorilla with only one arm!” laughed Amber.
 
The two of them were on a roll in the back seat, laughing away at their own jokes.

“Fine!
 
I get it.”

The three of us piled out of the car, the girls still giggling, and we stared at the monstrosity.
 
Yikes.
 
It looked worse than bad.
 
What was I going to do?
 
Howard would take one look at this and the next thing I knew, he’d be doing his Ricky Ricardo imitation.

I took off to the gardening shed.
 
“Come on girls,” I said.
 
“We
gotta
fix this fast.”

“We?” they groaned.

“I’ll buy you ice cream after.”

They’d do just about anything for ice cream.
 
I had me two helpers.

“We only have a couple of hours before Daddy gets home, so started clipping.”
 
I handed them each a pair of small hand clippers.
 
“Don’t point them at each other.”

Down on my knees, I started with my own set, clipping away at the grass.
 
The girls followed suit, but seemed confused.

“What exactly are we supposed to be doing?” asked
Bethany
.

“Evening it up.
 
Clip . . . clip where it looks uneven.”

She didn’t look convinced, but started clipping anyway.

So there we were, a half-hour later, crawling around on our grass snipping at errant blades of grass.
 
My hands were cramping and my knees ached.

“I want my ice cream now!” whined Amber, as she fell back on her poor little bottom.

I was ready to give up and accept my fate.
 
I’d failed, and Howard would freak.
 
That’s when Callie walked up with an angel.
 
His name was
Brandon
.

“Mom.
 
What are you doing?” Callie had that annoyed tone in her voice that only a teenager can have.
 
Her friend, Brandon stood next to her.
 
He looked amused.

“Fixing the lawn.”

“Mommy mowed it,” said Amber, “but as you can see, there were problems.”

“You want me to fix that for you, Mrs. Marr?”
Brandon
offered.

“You can fix this?”

“Sure.
 
Mow lawns every weekend in my neighborhood.
 
I usually charge thirty dollars, but for you, I’ll do it for free.
 
You look like you need it.”

I did need it.

Even though he protested, I paid that wonderful
Brandon
forty-five dollars and bought everyone a round of ice cream.

When Howard came home, he smiled and said, “Wow.
 
Great job.
 
Better than me.
 
I think you should mow the lawn from now on.”

Uh oh.
 
Didn’t see that coming.

Now I know what you’re thinking.
 
You’re thinking I paid
Brandon
thirty dollars every week to come by and mow my lawn on the sly.
 
Well, I’m sneaky, but I have my pride too.
 
So, no.
 
That’s not exactly what I did.

I paid him, alright.
 
Paid him to be my instructor.
 
My Top Lawn instructor.
 
We had our own
Top
Lawn
School
.
 
He showed me the quickest and easiest way to start the mower, how to navigate a smooth and clean landing onto the lawn, steering the machine just right to cut in perfect, seamless lines.
 
In no time, I was at the top of my class.
 
Okay, I was the only one in my class, but I was getting all A’s, baby.
 
All A’s.
 
And one grand day, I graduated.
 
I was on my own.
 
Me.
 
Marr-
verick
.

On graduation day, he gave me my official Top Lawn baseball cap.

“Gee, Viper, you shouldn’t have.”

Brandon
acted his usual uncomfortable teen-boy self. “Um . . . I didn’t really. You made it, remember?”

“Let me have my fun.”

He shuffled his feet back and forth.
 
“Mrs. Marr?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have to keep calling me that? Now that we’re done, I mean?”

“Viper?”

“Right.”

“It’s your call name. We all have call names in
Top
Lawn
School
. You’re Viper and I’m Marr-
verick
. You don’t like it?”

“Not really.”

“Shoot.”

He was such a nice, polite boy.
 
Nearly a man, really.
 
He shuffled a little
again,
looking at his feet uncomfortably, then up at me.
 
“Well, if it’s really important to you . . .”

I gave him a friendly punch. “I’m just teasing.
 
Thanks for teaching me the ropes.
 
Callie’s in the house if you want to see her.”

He turned to walk away.

“Hey,
Brandon
.”

Turning back, he looked worried.

“You can be my wingman any day.”

He smiled.

I stood, admiring my work.
 
Fresh-cut, clean lines.
 
Only a golf course could look better.
 
I had become a pro.
 
It was my turn to smile.
 
And as I did so, Howard’s Camry pulled into the driveway.
 
As he climbed out and walked my way, I wondered if I should tell him the truth about my whole lawn mowing experience.

As he stood next to me, he took a look at the lawn, then at my hat.

“Top Lawn?
 
What’s that about?”

I hesitated.
 
Should I?

Naw
.

“It's classified.
 
I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

He rolled his eyes.
 
“Have your fun.”
 
He stepped out onto the grass and surveyed my work.
 
“Nice, I must say.
 
And it’s a relief having one less thing to do around here.”

Now I HAD seen that coming.

I shook my head and turned toward the house.
 
“Follow me, Mr. Man,” I said, an evil grin on my face.
 
“I’m going to teach you how to use a washing machine.”

“The Road to Shangri-La”

A Barbara Marr Life-of-a-Mother Short

By Karen Cantwell

“The Road to Shangri-La”

Shangri-La.
 
A harmonious valley; an earthly paradise; eternal happiness.
 
Every mother has her Shangri-La.

Mine is like that commercial – you know the one.
  
The kids are flying kites in the park on a crisp, sunny day while the parents lie back on a blanket with identical isn’t-life-perfect smiles on their faces.
 
Then the kids drop their kites and come running to their Barbie and Ken parents, jumping on them while everyone laughs.
 
Love is abundant and emotionally stirring music plays in the background.
 
I never quite understood how all of that relates to the athlete’s foot cream they are advertising, but I don’t care.
 
I want to be just like them.
 
Happy.

My name is Barbara Marr, and I’m a hopelessly optimistic mother in search of her Shangri-La.

*****

“Howard, let’s do it,” I said that Friday night.

He smiled. “Sure.
 
You get the girls to
bed,
I’ll pour two glasses of wine and meet you upstairs.”

“No, the Cherry Blossom Festival.”

The smile disappeared and Howard rolled his eyes.
 
“Bar-
arb
,” he whined.
 
“Why do you always do this to yourself?”

“Come on!
 
It’ll be fun.
 
We’ve never gone.”

“There’s a reason for that.
 
It’s called ‘Ten million people descend upon
Washington
,
DC
.’
 
You know I hate crowds.”

“No, look,” I showed him the paper, “they tell you how to avoid the crowds.”

“There’s no way to avoid the crowds at cherry blossom time.”

I shook my head and showed him the newspaper article I was reading. “The trick is in when you arrive at the Metro station.”

“The Metro?!”
 
He stood up.
 
“No.
 
No Metro trains.
 
No Cherry Blossom Festival.
 
I’m putting my foot down.”

The room went silent.

The kitchen clock ticked and then it
tocked
.
 
Tick, tock.
 
Tick, tock.

“Howard.”
 
I took a beat.
 
“How long have we been married?”

“Fifty years?”

“Seventeen.”

“Right.”

“In those seventeen years, what happens every time you put your foot down?”

He sighed.
 
“You win?”

“Good.
 
Now that we have that settled, we’ll need to pack some supplies.
 
We should be at the Metro station by seven a.m.”

“Any chance we could still put the girls to bed and
enjoy
some . . . wine?”

“Let’s see how tired I am after I get the supplies together.”

At midnight, Howard was asleep and I was still following the instructions in the “Weekend” article on how to pack so you’d save time and money.
 
Backpacks with water bottles, energy bars and
Ziplock
bags filled with popcorn.
 
Antibacterial
wipes,
sunscreen and baseball hats to keep the sun off our faces.
 
For lunch, to avoid the high cost and low quality of the fast food, I made sandwiches:
 
turkey for Howard and me, BLT minus the B for Callie, since she was going through a vegetarian phase – added some cheese for protein.
 
Hummus, cucumber, spiced beef and
tzatziki
sauce for
Bethany
– another phase.
 
And PB&J for Amber, crusts cut off.
 
One
Ziplock
baggie full of grapes another full of carrots, and voila!
 
We were healthy and fed for lunch.
 
Of course, what lunch is complete without a little dessert, right?
 
The article was emphatic on this: to avoid the lines at the
popsicle
and ice cream vendors, pack your own special treat: frozen bananas.
 
Luckily, I had a batch of ripe ones sitting on my counter.
 
No
popsicle
sticks though, so I used wooden kabob skewers instead.
 
I’m so smart.
 
And I couldn’t forget the kites.
 
I stuffed everything except the frozen items into five backpacks and crawled into bed at one a.m., tired, but excited for the family adventure that awaited us.
 
My Shangri-La.

Howard groaned when I cuddled up next to him.

“You done?”

“Yup.
 
We’re ready to go.”

“Do the girls know?”

“Nope.
 
I decided to surprise them in the morning.”

He rolled over and mumbled something about surprises not being any fun, then quickly fell into a heavy snore.

*****

“What?!”
Callie screamed. “You made plans without asking me?
 
I’m going to the movies with Emily and Brandon today.”

Bethany
rubbed her eyes. “I can’t go. I have homework.”