Chapter Twelve

THE ANDERCHRONICLES

By Me, Ellee

[WARNING: The following story has been rated FNF*]
*Fiction NOT Fact

[Author's Note: Any resemblance to any one at all in this story is problematic, to say the least. Try to overlook it—he doesn't exist outside this story. Nooooo he does NOT!]

"The Anderface"

When I woke up the morning after Christmas, I realized all too well that the Magic of Christmas night was over. I wasn’t fooling myself; I was under no illusion. There WAS Magic the night before, but now it was gone. There was a different feeling in the air. However, I couldn’t quite put it into focus yet, but it definitely wasn’t Magical.

When I entered the breakfast room, Andy was already up and sipping a cup of cold Diet Coke while reading one of his usual eight daily newspapers. When he heard me come in, he put the paper down immediately, and looking up with a grin on his face said,

“You know what today is?”, the grin becoming wider as he spoke.

“Well, yessssss,” I answered, somewhat hesitantly, not knowing exactly what he was getting at, “uhhhhhh . . . the day after Christmas?”

“That’s right!” he said jubilantly, the grin now having reached maximum proportions. The Biggest Shopping Day of the whole year, AND the day when everybody exchanges and/or returns those Christmas gifts they:

a) wish they hadn’t received
b) don't want
c) can't use, and/or
d) find totally annoying

I swallowed hard. This was leading to something. He continued,

“Sit down and have some breakfast. It’s a special breakfast just for you.” The gleam in his eye was very disconcerting.

When I looked around the table, I could see that indeed it was special. There were waffles with whipped butter and whipped cream, raspberry syrup, bacon, little quiche tarts, fresh cantaloupe, giant strawberries, grapes, hot chocolate and Diet Coke. The question whirling in my mind was, why WAS there a special breakfast—just for me? I didn’t dare ask, or he might have confirmed what I was fearing. But I sat down anyway and tried to push that fear from my mind.

When I began eating, Andy went back to reading. While sipping on my cup of hot chocolate, something caught my attention just off to the left of Andy’s head. Riding on the shaft of sunlight streaming from the high kitchen windows were millions of little dust particles, which were only visible because they had caught the morning sun. I had read somewhere that these particles are like little ships carrying a cargo of all sorts of reprehensible bacteria, viruses and fungi as they sail through the air we breathe— nasty stuff like Hantavirus, Sars, Bubonic plague, H5n1 bird flu, Ebola, Anthrax, Black death, Flesh-eating viruses, and Angolan hemorrhagic fever, just to name a few of the more deadly ones. And I realized, at that very moment they were on a course headed straight for Andy’s nose, where they would be inhaled right into his system, and immediately take up residency, to begin their despicable little tasks of making Andy very sick. And I just couldn’t let that happen! Now could I?

But I wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Should I alert Andy to this problem? Or just keep quiet? I knew full well if I explained to him about these little ships and their deadly cargo sailing on the dust particles, he would think I was nuts. So after several minutes of careful consideration, I decided I was left with no other recourse than to redirect the flow of air AWAY from his nostrils—which, I did immediately by waving my hand violently in front of his face, causing the dust particles to be sucked into this new air current leading away from him, but all at once he grabbed my wrist, causing an immediate cessation of my urgent efforts and yelled,

“What are you doooooooing????

I knew I couldn’t explain, so I said, pointing out the window, “Oh, I was just trying to get your attention to . . . uhhhhh . . . show you what a nice day it is outside.”

“Yes,” he replied, “a very nice day indeed—for unloading that Christmas present you really don't want around!

Sensing his annoyance at my actions, I knew I would have to be on my absolute best behavior—no more irritating displays, or anything similar in nature. So, I just sat there—quietly—not moving—trying hard NOT to redirect any air flow, although I could still see the little cargo ships en route straight for the entrance of Andy’s nose. Andy was about to get infected with an entire shipment of nasty little bugs, and I had to sit there and do nothing about it!

As I sat stewing about the whole bug problem, I started thinking, if Andy really does get rid of me, like Henna-Happy-Harriet has said all along he would do—the day after Christmas—I wouldn’t be able to see this magnificent face every morning. It really hit me then. What if I couldn’t see the silver grey hair that reminded me so much of the snow-capped mountains of Kilimanjaro rising up from the Sarengeti Plains? Okay, I know what you’re thinking, but that really isn't such a stretch. If you study these mountains, you will notice the peaks, which, for millennia were completely covered with snow, but are now beginning to thaw [due to global warming —which by the way doesn’t exist....ha! pfft], allowing the dark basalt rock beneath to peak through. Now, if you observe Andy’s hair—well . . . what do you think? . . . looks like Mt Kilimanjaro, right? Well, I would be sad not to see that every morning.

Continuing my observation of this phenomenal countenance, you know what else I discovered? Situated just under Mt.K. are two horizontal furrows—the ones that look like two Arctic terns who have just taken flight somewhere over the Alaskan tundra. Well, those two furrows are still rather shallow, as if the farmer got called away to lunch and hadn’t finished plowing. Certainly nothing could be planted there, yet. Then there is the vertical furrow between his eyes—it brings to mind . . . well . . . an exclamation mark! I would certainly miss that, too.

Then I saw that fabulous high ski jump nose. I calculated that a skier launching from the bridge of this nose could pick up considerable speed by the time he had reached the tip of the nose, and would most likely sail on to Olympic glory.

And flanking either side of this ski jump were two Morning Glory Pools of 360 degree water—you know, like the one in Yellowstone National Park—same blue color, same HOT steaming looks, same depth, same danger if you were to jump in for a little swim.

And then, the grandest of all, situated just under the ski jump—the Grand Tetons with their majestic, high peaks jutting upward toward the heavens, and then plummeting sharply down, and then jutting up again, and then down again—like the letter ‘M’ for ‘mountain’ or possibly ‘mouth.’ And finally, the full and sensuous valley spreading out below those rising peaks. All of a sudden I felt feverish—I found myself wanting to do a lingual tracing of the mountain peaks and that valley spreading out below.

~ ~WHAT WAS I THINKING?~ ~

“What are you thinking?” he asked, breaking into my personal reverie.

His question caught me off guard and jerked me back to reality.

“WHAT?” I yelled, stunned. Did he KNOW what I was thinking? He must KNOW! Why did he ask THAT? “Uhhhhhhh . . . I . . . well,” I stammered, having no answer—at least not one I could give him.

“Are you ok? Your face is . . .” he began, leaning over the table to make a closer inspection, his face just inches from mine. He was EXAMINING MY FACE—every square inch of it!

“What about MY FACE?” I demanded to know.

“It’s incredible,” he continued, squinting his eyes to make a more thorough inspection, “It has taken on this . . . this . . . rosy . . . kinda . . . glow . . . well, actually . . . now . . . oh my word . . . it’s intensifying even as I observe! It is now . . . oh my gosh . . . it has transcended the rosy glow stage, and gone straight to vivid fuscia!”

His look was one of awe, as the distance between us narrowed when he came in closer, obviously wanting to be a witness to this developing transformation . . . this . . . this . . . phenomenon that was unfolding right before his very eyes! He was close, so close now my heart took a massive hit of adrenalin, and began pounding so violently, I was sure he would know that, too, and sure enough he did —once my neck had joined forces with my face in this ongoing betrayal!

“And look!” he gasped, “Your neck . . . !”

“What about my neck?” I snapped back.

“Something is happening to your aorta!” he exclaimed, reaching out with his finger to touch this vein in my neck that had suddenly gone berserk. And as he did so, his eyes flashed a look of astonishment, causing those blue Morning Glory Pools to ripple in concentric waves.

“It looks like some sort of spasm!” he said as he forced his eyes into an even tighter focus.

At that point if I could have disappeared completely, or melted into oblivion, I would have! I wondered if I looked like Sigourney Weaver at that moment, with an alien about ready to burst out of my neck! The warm touch of his finger against my errant aorta only served to make it all so much worse. So, brushing it away I yelled,

“DON”T DO THAT!!!!”

“But,” he replied, “your aorta . . . it’s going to explode!!!”

Which, I thought at that second would be a good idea, because then it would all be over and I wouldn’t have to suffer this embarrassment any longer. I had finally reached critical mass at that point, giving way to a total mental meltdown, causing me to drop the cup of hot chocolate onto the china saucer below, shattering it into a million little pieces, spilling the contents all over the white linen table cloth, staining it a dark brown and finally landing on the floor underneath the table, where Molly quickly lapped it up and sat there waiting for more.

It was all more than I could deal with when the hot liquid also spilled onto my lap causing me to rise abruptly to my feet before my chair had sufficiently cleared the table, resulting in the table and everything on it to go crashing to the floor, but not before the strawberry jam, the whipped cream, the butter, the Diet Coke, and the remaining fruit and tarts had slid onto Andy’s lap.

As I quickly made a mental assessment of all the damage after the last dish hit the floor, I saw that every dish from the table was broken, the table cloth ruined, Andy’s clothes stained, and the tiles on the kitchen floor shattered where the table had hit—in short, another horrible disaster which I knew would definitely show up on my tally sheet!

I can’t possibly describe to you the look on Andy’s face at that moment. The depth of those furrows on his forehead were now sufficient for planting; the Morning Glory Pools had become turbid and murky as anger arose; the Grand Tetons had suddenly flattened to a thin line on the horizon—the high ski jump, however, was not affected. But, the snows of Kilimanjaro started flying like a blizzard as Andy clutched at his hair, running his fingers through the rocks and snow trying to vent his anger on the mountains instead of on me. And when he pointed his finger toward my room and strongly advised me to, “Get ready, we’re going downtown to exchange one of my Christmas presents!”, I immediately sprang to action and did exactly what he said. I knew my minutes there with Andy were now numbered—DANG, they were probably in the single digits.

[Author’s Note: *crying inconsolably*]

Bye for now,
Love,
Ellee *still crying*