A Wicked Mood

I sit down at the kitchen table, and take a deep breath. Then I take another one, just to make sure I don’t lose my patience completely. I’ve asked Gideon six times to come eat lunch, but he ignores me and continues pulling toy cars out of his toy bin. Meanwhile, Audric is sitting in his high chair, yelling at top volume and urgently pointing his right index finger at his mouth, a clear signal that he’s hungry and I’m not moving fast enough to get food in there.

Gideon is hungry, too. I know this because of the crappy mood that he’s in and the listless way he’s dragging his toys around the living room floor. He was too busy playing at the park to eat a snack this morning, and now this is the end result.

There are days when this scenario or others like it are a piece of cake and I can redirect both of them to do what I need them to do simply by using a clever trick, a parental sleight of hand.

“You don’t want to take a nap now? Okay, you don’t have to. But let’s go into your room and check on Pinguino and Bow-wow (stuffed bedtime pals) to see if they need any help falling asleep. They seemed awfully tired to me a while ago, and I bet they could use a bedtime song.”

But today I’m tired and my redirection ends nowhere, so I resort to mild threats and raising my voice.

“Gideon, please come into the kitchen to eat lunch RIGHT NOW! It’s time to eat.”

“I don’t want to,” he whines at me, then turns to his cars and continues playing.

“Get in here right now!” I yell, and both boys turn to me, stunned into momentary silence.

“But I’m not hungry! I don’t want to eat!” he says.

“Fine, don’t eat. But you DO have to sit down at the table with me and Audric. It’s lunchtime.”

He looks at me.

“NOW!!” I yell, and both boys start to cry.

***

Elphabastasia peered into the simmering pot, occasionally dropping an herb leaf in or a spoon with which to stir. She was only half-watching the brew, however. The Tin Man and the Scarecrow were sitting on the floor in the corner of the tiny room, pushing various objects across the bare floor, and she was studying their movements to see which one of them would need attending to first.

The Scarecrow was sullen, his face drawn into a fixed stare that appeared to see only the things in front of him. The Tin Man was banging his fist on the floor, laughing loudly to get the Scarecrow’s attention then falling backwards and bursting into tears.

This happened repeatedly as Elphabastasia watched, and she was starting to wonder if maybe the Tin Man wouldn’t do better seated in a wooden chair high above the floor. At least then she could see him better, and keep him from interrupting the Scarecrow, who needed to be seriously immersed in his work at the moment. With a low mutter under her breath, she produced the floating chair, and whisked the Tin Man into it. He startled at first but then smiled deeply.

He trusted her and she knew it. Today, this gave her a slight advantage. She would attend to him first.

Tying her long, dark hair into a knot at the top of her head, she pushed up her sleeves and walked slowly to the Tin Man now seated in his high wooden chair. His long legs were dangling beneath him, and he nervously chewed the ends of his fingers as his eyes darted back and forth across the room. He was looking at Scarecrow, but there was no acknowledgment or assistance to be had from that corner of the room. The work was too serious.

Elphabastasia carried the brew in a smaller bowl in front of her, and she knew she only had moments to give it to the tin man before his metamorphosis began. She dipped the spoon into the bowl, and placed a small portion of its contents on his lips. His tongue darted out and licked his lips.

So he would drink the concoction, at least. What followed after was anyone’s guess.

The Tin Man finished all of the brew, and then, as she looked into his eyes brimming with innocence, he began to change. His lips curled back into his cheeks and his blue eyes grew dark and wild. He slammed his fists into the wooden chair, threw back his head and opened his mouth, bellowing an obscene string of sounds the like she had never heard before. She waved her hand in the air, again muttering under her breath, and with a sharp intake of air he was sent away to his turret. Her magic was powerful and he would be gone for a few hours, of that she was sure.

She turned her attention to the Scarecrow. This one was more formidable, though he hid it well. His work was almost complete he had announced just a few moments earlier, but he was likely to turn his attention someplace else if she didn’t think fast. He was wily, that one.

“Look at me now,” she urged and she pushed her sleeves higher up her arms. “Look at me as I pour out this brew for you to enjoy.”

“I don’t need it, witch,” he said. “I am powerful and big. I don’t need your concoctions. Save it for the other weaklings you tend.”

Elphabastasia bristled at his words, and felt her anger rising. She again muttered under her breath, and a light came on in the room. She dragged her pinky nail across her green skin until she could focus on the task at hand.

“You are a small man, Scarecrow. Most would say you are not a man at all, though I am less critical than that. For there are various states of being for all creatures, and you are but in one stage.”

“You bore me with your words, witch. Stop talking.”

“Listen to me now, little man. Or you will regret it.”

The Scarecrow looked up at Elphabastasia, and she was reminded of herself as a girl. She, also, did not like to be interrupted from her work.

“Alright, Scarecrow. You may have your work for a few moments longer. But then I must insist that you come join me at the table, so that we can share this experience together.”

“Share with you?! But you are a witch, and who knows what you may do to me if I share a meal with you.”

Elphabastasia smiled to herself, then she threw back her head and cackled gleefully. He was learning how to deny her. So little time to impart her wisdom before he was immune to her wiles completely.

And before she could stop him, he ran to the heavy iron door that held him inside, that protected them all from the darkness outside, and threw his body weight onto the handle. He hung from the latch until it opened, and then he pulled open the door. The darkness beckoned.

He looked at her over his shoulder, his straw-colored hair blowing softly in the wind, his hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment. And then he was gone.

Elphabastasia turned back to stirring her brew. The Scarecrow would be back soon, and when he returned, there’d be hell to pay.