Eugene and the little birdie

 

 

“Eugene, why did you go outside?”  

 

Eugene’s Mother asked as she stood in the back playroom doorway, a recent addition to the suburban house since Eugene’s baby sister joined the family of six.  Eugene quickly flipped around onto his knee and just barely looked over the top of the curved sectional couch

 

“What, Mom?” he said with all the surprise a sweaty, freckled face three and three-quarter-year-old could muster.  His mom, in a blue and white apron, stood there calmly wiping her plastic gloves on a damp dish towel.

 

“Why did you go out?”  She knowingly repeated. 

“I didn’t go out.”  He muttered so unconvincingly that he had to look away.  His lie was so transparent that it was like Saran Wrap, clinging to him and holding him rigidly as he waited for the reply to his wishful thinking.

 

His Mother, aware of the truth but wanting to play along, put the dish towel over her shoulder and walked around to the front of the floral ivy pattern couch to see the boy full on.  Eugene had grass stains on his bare knees and madras shorts, with the unmistakable marks of active summer sweat on his T-shirt.

 

He was told to stay inside on this bright sunny day as punishment for some other mischievous offense, which he had forgotten, but it was coming back to him now as his Mom looked at him with no expression at all.  She gave him the once over as he slid back down on the couch and looked forward.  He knew any more eye contact would certainly give him away, so he stared at the TV with his tattle-tale legs stretched out just barely past the end of the sectional cushion.  He noticed his brand-new Keds sneakers were dirty and had left a trail of distinctively shaped dirt clumps that marked the trail he dared to tread.  The window was not completely closed, and cold air still escaped.

 

“Eugene,” His Mom uttered.  In one word, she expressed so much.  He knew the full meaning and added some logical consequences to a compound infraction.  The evidence was clear; he was caught.  A fib was not necessary, a plea for mercy was not worth it, and the dirt on the floor and couch was still to be addressed.

 

Eugene said nothing and looked up at his Mom with his head still straight but turned to the side so only one eye would make contact as the other braced itself for what the first might encounter.

 

“Eugene?” his Mother said again.  This time, the single word meant, “How could you?”  Good question, he thought, as he tried to come up with an answer.  Then he realized he did not know which “How could you” she meant.  Was it that he disobeyed her first punishment?  Was it that he lied about going out?  Or was it the dirt on the new carpet and couch?

 

“What?” he said, not disrespectfully but curiously, to narrow down the possibilities.

 

“Eugene, I told you to stay inside. Why did you go out?”  His Mom stated.  Eugene felt some relief since she did not mention the carpet, but he still had no good excuse.  He knew this was one of those come-clean times that forced him to tell the truth.  So, he let it out with as much compassion-seeking whining as possible

 

“But Mom, all the guys were out playing.”   

 

Eugene had gotten out of trouble before by admitting his will power short comings.  It was worth a try.  As he waited for her reply, he kicked his heels together to release some more of the pent-up apprehension.  A few more molded masses of dirt fell to the carpet.  His Mom’s eyes followed the mud morsels down in what looked like slow motion.  Eugene knew he had unnecessarily planted more evidence and followed her eyes as they went from the couch to the window.  He knew he better say more and fast. 

 

Mom, they all came over to the window and told me to climb out.”  He said as the muddied waters and carpet stirred a new level of emotion in his Mom.

 

“Eugene, look at what you did to the floor and your sneakers? 

 

Eugene knew once a piece of furniture or a broken object was brought in, he was in big trouble.  His Mom picked up the light weight sneak and carried him to the patio door, where she took his sneakers and smacked them on the brick landing.  Dirt fell out from the remaining tread, only demonstrating how much fun Eugene had had.  

 

Eugene looked out as the other kids watched him and his Mom.  They knew he was no longer part of their game of hide and seek.  His whereabouts were nailed and were not going anywhere soon.  They ran off, not wanting to waste any more of this glorious August day and not wanting Eugene’s Mom to spread any of the blame. 

 

 

Eugene’s Mom told Eugene to make sure there were no grass stains on him or the sneakers, and handed him the damp dish towel and said 

 

“When you are clean, come in, and I will give you your punishment.”  

 

Eugene wiped as much green and brown enthusiasm off his scuffed-up knees and elbows as he could while he looked around the patio’s low three-foot-high wrought iron fence and small gate and remembered the days when a simple fence and easy-to-open gate were enough to contain him.  He barely played in the little army jeep he once rode around the patio.  The heat of the still summer air felt good, but the humidity of the pre-thunderstorm afternoon was creeping in, and the air-conditioned house seemed like a good place to be.  Eugene left the sneakers outside.

 

He went into the kitchen where his sister was being changed.  His Mom’s mood had changed, too, since she was looking at the latest bundle of joy, this one, happily, a girl.  

 

“Hi, Mom,” he said as though nothing had happened, hoping she might ease up since she was playing peek-a-boo with the little one.  

 

“Eugene, I don’t know what to do with you?”  She said without missing and peek or a boo.  “You disobeyed me when I told you not to go out, and you know Mr. Cutler told me if he saw you out, he would make you pay for the flowers. “ 

 

Eugene remembered that she had saved him from old Mr. Cutler and felt genuinely sorry about this latest dirty little mess.

 

Did Mr. Cutler tell you I was out? 

 

“No, Eugene, he did not.  Eugene began to wonder who told on him.

 

“Now, Eugene, you will spend the rest of today in your bedroom and tomorrow too.”

 

Eugene said nothing; he knew it could be worse, and even in his most mischievous mind, he did not want his Mom to be really angry.  

 

“Did you hear me, young man? Go to your room.”

 

“OK he said without a fuss, and then asked but can I have lunch first?” he asked in a - it would serve me right if you said no - tone.

 

Eugene’s Mom looked over to her red-headed little man, smiled, and said, “Of course.”

 

Eugene Mom put his baby sister in her high chair and gave her a juice cup.  Eugene played peek-a-boo with his giggling sister as his Mother made him a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich. This type of play helped the general mood.  Eugene ate the sandwich slowly and only got a bit of peanut butter on his sweaty shirt; he cleaned it off with one lick, but then left a jelly stain.  He looked away, hoping it would disappear.

 

 

He got up the courage and asked, “Who told you I was outside?”, not knowing that she saw from the kitchen window. 

 

“A little birdie told me.  Eugene thought about it and realized he was outnumbered; there were a lot of birds, and he cleaned up and went upstairs to his detention room, which was also his bedroom.

 

Days later, when his sentence was served, Eugene was outside throwing stones at a bird.  His Mom saw him through the kitchen window.  She ran out and yelled, “Eugene, what are you doing? Why are you throwing stones at the bird?” Eugene stopped the pelting and said, “That's the bird that told on me!”

 

His Mother laughed and said, “Eugene, the bird didn’t tell me I saw you through the kitchen window.”  Eugene looked at his Mom and twisted his head.  His Mom said, “You know you can’t fool me.”  Eugene did not react because he knew he was not done trying!

 

But at least the birds would tell!

 

The happy ending… for now!