Mr. Oddley's Toy Shop, Page 2

  Then Molly and Tim walked in, each holding a pair of anti-gravity shoes (strap-ons with springs fastened to the bottom). They put them on and bounced. Wow, did they bounce! They bounced up to the ceiling and bounced off the walls. They bounced over each other and did head-over-heels flips. The only problem was that they couldn’t stop bouncing. “Help,” they cried, “help!” Mr. Oddley stuck his head into the room. “Land on your toes,” he said. “The springs are on the back on the shoes... and you now have 5 minutes left” Molly and Tim landed with a thud. It worked!

  Now, in spite of the fact that a moment ago they were two out-of-control, horror stricken, human pogo sticks, they were over it and anxious to buy these fabulous new toys. In fact, everyone was happy with their find. Brett and Chris bought the toys they had said they would, a Yo-Yo and an airplane respectively.

  At the back door they all stood waiting to pay. Mr. Oddley looked frazzled by all the activity and fumbled with the change. Basically, he looked very, very stressed. Tim had an idea.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Oddley,” he said, “Do you need any h-h-help in the shop? For a couple of hours a day? I could w-work after school. And on Saturdays.”

  Mr. Oddley looked at Tim like that idea had never occurred to him, but was, in fact, a fabulous idea. “Oh my,” he said. “Oh my, yes. That would be most helpful. When can you start?”

  “M-m-monday at three o’clock?” Tim responded, phrasing his answer as a question.

  “Then Monday, it is, ah...”

  “It’s Tim, sir.”

  “Well, see you then, Tim Sir,” he said as they shook hands.

  They all left the toy shop, the ABC kids said their goodbyes, and Tim turned to Maggie and Molly and quipped, “Hey, I thought job interviews w-w-were supposed to be hard. That was a piece of cake.”

  “Yeah, but I think Mr. Oddley now thinks your name is actually Tim Sir,” said Molly. “So can I call you Sir Sir?”

  “Oh shut it,” said Tim, not at all annoyed, but he was left wondering if Mr. Oddley was indeed, as Molly had earlier mused, oddly enough. And if this was just the tip of his oddness.

  Molly did shut it for about 15 seconds. But she was not about to let this go, and all the way home she and Maggie kept bugging Tim by calling him Sir Sir and Sir Tim Sir and Mr. Sir.

  Finally, Tim put his fingers in his ears and started humming to drown out their voices. So mature!

  Chapter 4

  Back in Maggie’s yard, the kids were playing with their new toys. Maggie with her flying disk, and Molly and Tim bouncing about on their antigravity shoes. Bernie kept leaping up, trying to snatch something, anything out of the air. Finally he managed to grab hold of Tim’s jacket, which was not the wisest move, and up he went soaring high into the air with Tim frantically trying to shake him loose. Then the two of them came crashing to the ground. Bernie landing on his tail and Tim landing on his... uh, tail. Molly quickly stopped her own bouncing and ran toward them in a panic, sputtering, “Oh, my goodness. Are you OK? Are you hurt?”

  Tim looked up and smiled, a little sore and ready to be soothed by his girl friend (yes, as strange as that sounds, they were a couple), but Molly ran right past him and practically smothered Bernie in hugs and kisses. “Are you OK my little puppy?” she asked, as she stroked his fur. “Don’t worry. Mommy is here.”

  “Little p-p-puppy? Mommy is here?” snorted Tim. “Your big goof of a dog almost k-k-killed me!”

  “Oh, Tim, you’re fine. Please don’t exaggerate,” huffed Molly. Then she turned back to Bernie and asked, as she scratched his ears, “Is my little precious OK?” Oh boy, Bernie was euphoric. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth as he immersed himself in Molly’s love. But something about his tail didn’t look right. It was wagging side to side like a windshield wiper and not in big circles like it normally did.

  “My goodness,” gasped Molly. “Your tail’s broken. WE NEED TO TAKE YOU TO THE DOCTOR!” Bernie did not like the sound of that and made a doggy whine that sounded strangely like Oh, no!

  Maggie put her arm on Tim’s shoulder. “Sorry, old boy,” she said. “The relationship between a girl and her dog is a very special one... so you’d better get used to it.”

  “Yeah, well, I t-t-think...” But he never finished that sentence. He did, however, start a new one. “Hey, did you hear that? I thought I heard a s-s-squeak.”

  Maggie tilted her head in a listening sort of way. “Yes, I hear it. It’s coming from over there,” she said as she pointed to a hastily arranged pile of heavy logs that were waiting to be chopped into firewood.

  Everyone ran over to see, all the while Molly complaining that Bernie needed to get medical help fast or he might lose his tail.

  And then they saw what was making that squeak. Two large yellow unblinking eyes were peering up at them from deep within the wood pile. And a moment later, with scratching sounds and more mewing, a pair of large green eyes also appeared. It looked like Bernie’s tail would just have to wait. There were two kittens, each less than a foot in length, mere babies, stuck in between the logs. One small movement could cause a shift in the wood and then... Forget it, no then, they would simply not allow anything bad to happen. They had to do something, and fast.

  And really fast, because to everyone’s horror, as one of the kittens moved, the logs groaned ominously. Everyone gasped. No damage. The kittens were OK. Molly tried to coax the kittens out by making a series of puckering, mouth sucking, sibilant cat catching sounds, but they did not move, apparently happy where they were. More ominous creaks, and then Maggie took charge. “Tim,” she ordered, “Get some small rocks and sticks. Different sizes. Hurry! And Molly, find us some string. Fast!”

  A puzzle appeared on their faces and a question mark appeared over their heads, because they had no idea what Maggie had in mind. But the two did as they were told, running furiously about in search of those items.

  A few minutes later, Tim, huffing and puffing, came back with a heavy armful of rocks and branches. He dropped them gently to the ground. “Good job,” said Maggie. “These will work great.”

  But Molly was not having much luck. She could not find a single piece of string anywhere. She looked up, looked left, looked right, looked down, looked back up again... whoa girl... back up... No, I mean down...look back down. She stared at her shoes. She was wearing shoes with laces. Duh, laces are string! she said to herself, as she pulled one out and ran back to her friends.

  Maggie started carefully jamming the rocks and sticks into the spaces between the logs, making it impossible for them to roll or shift. Good, but the kittens still seemed too comfortable or were simply too afraid to come out. In fact, with Maggie sticking her hands so close to them, they were now trying to slink further into the wood. And that’s where Molly’s string came in. Maggie wiggled and jiggled it just above the logs. And it was like a moth being drawn to a flame, a bee being drawn to a flower, a... oh, never mind. I think you understand what I’m talking about. Cats are helplessly drawn to string and wiggling things in general. They can’t help themselves. And so, mewing and squeaking, they crawled out of the logs and started leaping and swatting at the shoelace.

  Tim and Maggie each grabbed a kitten!

  Maggie’s little guy was fine with that. She scratched his head and he immediately started purring. Tim’s little monster, on the other hand, immediately started scratching, biting, and hissing. Tim yelped and dropped him. He landed on his feet, as the cat mythology says they should, and started to run for cover. However, in his confusion, the little guy ran straight into Bernie, who sniffed him curiously with his great big wet nose, practically inhaling him. The kitten seemed OK with that and started purring. You could almost hear what they were thinking. This is the smallest dog I’ve ever seen, and wow, what are they feeding that cat!

  Best to get them into the house now, thought Maggie, as she motioned everyone to follow her. She was still holding kitten one, and kitten two was following close behind Bernie. Tim came next, whining pathetic
ally about his scratches, with Molly right behind him, shaking her head and calling him a wuss. A moment later this bizarre little parade disappeared through Maggie’s back door.

  ***

  Mom was outnumbered. And frankly, she had been blind-sided. Her three favorite kids in the world had appeared with huge smiles on their faces and with a chorus of “Hi Mom” and “Hi Mrs. Golden.” This was enough to send her into full mom mode, thinking of what she could feed these wonderful young people who had come into her home just to say hello.

  And yet... something was off. Their smiles too smiley and toothy, their eyes open a bit too wide. OK, they had managed to fool her for a moment, but the moment was over.

  “Spill it you guys,” Mom said with her hands on her hips, the classic mom pose to intimidate young people. “You’re not fooling anyone here. What are the three of you up to?” Her eyes met each of theirs in turn. They looked way. It couldn’t have been any worse than being in school and being interrogated by their Principal. Tim broke first.

  “They’re r-r-really little,” he exploded. “I’m sure they don’t eat much.”

  Mom’s face softened. She smiled. She knew immediately what this was about. Quite frankly, she had been expecting this moment for some time now. And it was fine.

  “OK, where is the little guy or girl?” she sighed.

  With that, Molly whistled and in pranced Bernie carrying one kitten by the scruff, with the other one weaving between, through, and around his legs.

  “Oh, my,” said Mom. “These guys are adorable.” Then she reached out to take hold of the little one flitting about Bernie.

  “NO!” said everyone in unison.

  Mom gasped, quickly pulled her hands away, and looked to the kids for an explanation.

  “Kitten two is a sweety,” said Maggie, “But he doesn’t like to be picked up.” Tim rolled up his sleeves and showed Mom his scratches.

  “Oh, dear,” fussed Mom. “Maggie, get a clean damp cloth, antiseptic spray, and some bandages... and Maggie, we can’t keep a cat like that!”

  “No, no, Mom, Kitten one is, er, my cat,” she said. “Kitten two is...”

  “A m-m-menace,” muttered Tim. “He’s...”

  “My cat!” said Molly with conviction. Then she turned toward Kitten two and said, “Yes, you’re my wittle kitty, aren’t you?”

  Well, wittle kitty answered by swatting at her with his switchblade claws. “OK, this might take a little work but he gets along great with Bernie.” And with that, Bernie gave the kitten such a big sloppy kiss that he was knocked off his feet. He bounced right back up purring contentedly.

  “So Mom, can I keep him?” asked Maggie hopefully, as she lifted a wet-necked kitten from Bernie’s jaws. “I’ll feed him every day and clean his litter box, and brush him regularly.”

  “No, you won’t, but yes, you can keep him.” Maggie twirled the cat above her head and shouted yippee. “But Molly, what makes you so sure your parents will say yes to your little guy?”

  Molly put her hand on her chin and said, “You have met my Dad, haven’t you?”

  Mom smiled. “You know Molly, I think you’re right. Your Dad’s a real softie. As soon as he sees this little guy, no contest, he will be the newest Morgan.”

  Mom paused for a moment. “But guys, I think the first thing we need to do is bring these little ones to the Vet for a checkup. And while we’re there, Molly, maybe she should check out Bernie’s tail. It just doesn’t look right. A little bent, maybe?”

  Molly shot Tim a withering look that said: See, I told you so!

  Chapter 5

  Everything checked out fine at the vet. The kittens had their checkups and shots, were washed and de-fleaed, and were deemed good to go. Bernie did have a slightly sprained tail which would heal in a couple of weeks; and that was good news, because believe it or not a broken tail on a dog can potentially become a big problem. The Vet bandaged it nicely, and Molly put a great big blue bow on it. So now, the big topic of conversation was what to name the cats. Kitten one and Kitten two were too boring. Sounded too much like some characters from Dr. Seuss. Besides, these adorable little guys deserved more distinctive names. Names with pizzazz.

  Tim had lots of great ideas, or so he said. Molly told him to run them up the flag pole, and see if they fly.

  “How about Samson and Delilah?”

  “They’re both boy cats.”

  “Oh, then how about Dora and Diego?”

  “What don’t you get about both boy cats?”

  “Oh, right, so how about Winnie and Piglet”?

  “That’s just stupid. OK, Maggie, how about eeny, meeny... miny, moe?” asked Molly.

  Maggie stared at her. “You mean we should pick a few names and then decide by doing an...

  Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,

  Catch a tiger by the toe.

  If he hollers, let him go,

  Eeny, meeny, miny, moe?”

  “Uh, hey that’s cute, but not exactly what I had in mind. I meant name one kitten Eeny Meeny, and the other Miny Moe.”

  “I can guess who’s gonna be the meanie!” said Tim sarcastically. “He traced big capital letters in the air with his finger: M-E-A-N-I-E.”

  “That’s M-E-E-N-Y, you wuss,” snapped Molly.

  “Again w-with the wuss.” Tim started back. “You...”

  “Fine. Enough!” snapped Maggie. “OK, my kitten is Miny Moe, and Molly, yours is Eeny Meeny. Now will the two of you stop bickering?”

  They did, but the three continued on their way home in stony silence.

  Chapter 6

  On Monday, after school, Maggie and Molly walked Tim to the toy shop. This was the very first day of the very first real job he had ever had... and he was a little nervous. The girls kept telling him he would be fine. Everything would work out. There was no need to worry. Oh, they threw every cliché and tired expression they could think of at him. And after about 20 minutes of their bolstering bombardment, he almost believed them. In fact, they almost believed them.

  But then, what they saw when they arrived at the store knocked their socks off, knocked their thoughts from their heads and left them speechless. There was an infestation of people swarming outside the shop. And there was a news truck with reporters interviewing kids holding their new toys. And there was a Policeman trying desperately to control the crowd. And they could see Mr. Oddley, just inside his shop, flapping around like a chicken without a head.

  So, apparently the plan to let only ten kids into the store at a time had broken down. Kids were funneling into the shop in a mad frenzy. Squeezing, pushing, yelling, and poor Mr. Oddley had gotten swept up in this terrible tide, and looked like a salmon trying to swim upstream.

  Maggie and company fought their way through the crowd, with Tim in the lead yelling. “Step aside. Let us pass. We w-w-work here. Coming through.”

  Mr. Oddley looked relieved to see Tim and his friends approaching, as if they were here to save the day and rescue him from certain doom. And perhaps they were.

  “I’m ready to work sir,” shouted Tim, above the din. And my friends can help too, if you’d like.” Maggie and Molly exchanged surprised glances, then nodded to each other and to Mr. Oddley. Of course they would help.

  “The first thing I think we need to do sir,” suggested Tim, “is to close the front door again.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Mr. Oddley, “But how? How?”

  Molly cleared her voice. “Excuse me sir,” she said meekly, “but I think I can help.”

  She turned to face the mob and an amazing transformation took place. Molly appeared to grow taller, larger, tougher, more formidable. But, of course, Molly was still Molly and had not changed at all. It was all about attitude. And her attitude was... I’m in charge here!

  So, with a mighty roar she laid down the law. “OK, people, back outside. That’s right, behind the door. Yeah, you! Now! And don’t make me have to tell you twice!”

  It worked! And after a moment or two enjoying th
e newly acquired calm, the air was filled with whoops, hollers, and high-fives.

  They needed a game plan, which would be easy. Now that there were four of them to work the shop, they would be able to move kids through quickly and efficiently. Mr. Oddley would man the front door. Maggie would attend to the tryout room, and Tim and Molly would work the register and let people out the back door.

  They worked until 6 pm, worked until the crowds and the daylight faded to a memory. And there they were, tired but pleased, standing in the glow of their accomplishment. They had pulled this day out of the fire, and it felt good.

  Mr. Oddley shook each of their hands, thanked them profusely and paid them a little something extra for all their hard work. Then he asked Maggie and Molly if they would like a permanent job at the shop. They told him they would need to ask, but thought their Moms would be OK with it.

  After the kids left for home, Mr. Oddley pulled down the shades, walked across the shop and unlocked a door half hidden in the shadows. Then he slowly hobbled down a flight of stairs into the basement where, with a hand, he shielded his eyes from the eerie purple glow that flooded the room.

  “So much to do,” he muttered. “Dear me, so much to do. Dinner will have to wait.” The toy maker sighed as he put on his Hazmat suit and got down to work.

  Chapter 7

  Tuesday morning classes moved painfully along like a lecture on the commercial use of toenail clippings. I mean, really, would anybody care? No. And this morning, Maggie, Molly, and Tim didn’t care about anything except getting back to the store. And, sitting at lunch, it looked like the afternoon was not going to be any better. The cafeteria clock appeared to be in a coma. TICK.......... TOCK.......... TICK..........TOCK.

  But then, something, or rather someone, came along to break up the monotony—Robert Nockis, the class clown, the village idiot, the fool’s fool. And unfortunately, also the super-jock of their little school. Robert never went anywhere without his entourage. A half dozen or so Robert wanna-bes that hung on his every word and laughed at all his lame and cruel jokes. And, of course, there was Daphne—a beautiful girl always by his side who seemed to have the brains of an artichoke. (No offense to any artichokes out there who might be reading this.)