He sucked up all the peas off his darn tootin’ plate!
Then without gazing up, he switched to his potatoes,
finishing his supper like someone who knows
that there’s no neat solution to the mess we are in,
so there’s plenty of time to enjoy your din din.
Chapter 2
As I contemplated the wisdom of his ways,
my eyes saw some gook in its dry, dormant phase.
It was on Ryan’s elbow, like a dry, bloody scab.
If it stayed dry a while, it’d be easy to grab.
But his elbow, pressed firmly on the top of the table,
was close to some water, which if touched, would enable
that dried gook to grow moist and escape like the rest.
My mind raced as I schemed how best to catch our guest.
My mother and father took their plates to the sink.
Ryan reached for his glass to take another drink,
and some orange juice splashed down on the way to his lips.
When his elbow returned, it would land in the drips!
So I grabbed my own glass and I furiously slurped
until my glass was empty and I could put it to work
in the most brilliant invention any 10-year-old can master:
my vile-stinky-gobs-of-gook Mud Gullumper catcher!
All my muscles were tense, primed to work at great speed.
For I had to be quick to catch gook once it’s freed.
My eyes scanned back and forth, between elbow and face,
as I tried to predict the right time and right place
my brother would plop his elbow in the drips.
(And it would surely be soon if he’d stop taking sips!)
Then a droplet of orange juice, on the rim of his glass,
slid down to his hand, and it slowly went past
his thumb knuckle wrinkles, now sticky and ginger,
slithering down his arm, horror’s moist harbinger.
The drip reached his elbow. The gook sucked it right up.
The gook leapt to the table, and I slammed down my cup!
“Are you OK?” called my mother, rinsing soap off a plate.
“Oh sure,” I smiled calmly, “Hey, dinner was great!”
But I wasn’t “OK” – I had gook in my cup!
The glass magnified him, so I could see him close up!
A yellow-brown mound, with a tinge of dark green
on the surface that gave it a powerful sheen,
from oily-type film glistening on the goop.
It kind of resembled a squirming dog poop.
But its eyes were like saucers as it twisted around
The poor thing was in a terrified panic deep down!
‘cause it knew it was trapped, but it didn’t know how.
It kept lunging forward as it had done up ‘til now.
It splotched to the top, then fell down in a mass,
leaving faint prints of its struggle all over the glass.
My sisters and Ryan slowly gathered around
gawking at the cup that I fought to keep down.
But that gook was so feisty, I had to use both hands,
and still it wobbled and shook underneath my command!
Each time it lunged forward, it dragged me a bit.
It kept lurching toward Sam ‘til I could no longer sit
in my chair anymore, so I held it down standing.
My puckered face revealed this task was demanding
–but no one would help me! I clenched my teeth tightly.
Sam and Grace bounced away startled-bunny-like-sprightly.
The sound of chairs moving signaled running away
to my mom at the sink, so she piped up to say,
“Please bring me your dishes, if you’re done with your meal.”
My cup tipped; the gook fled. Gracie let out a squeal.
“Oh no!” shrieked my mother, “do we have mice again?
Those traps are just worthless! I set down over ten!”
“A mouse?” my dad glanced, turning ‘round from his place.
“That’s what set Greta barking,” he spoke with a blank face.
But even when blank, his forehead was etched
with deep wrinkly lines only children can sketch.
He pounded on flaxseed in a mortar and pestle,
“Eat Mom’s peaches for dessert, if you’re not yet full.”
I hung my arms down and sunk in my seat
defeated, exhausted, and thoroughly beat.
I was so disappointed that the gook got away.
I just frowned at my sisters, with nothing to say.
Ryan left quickly, after cleaning his plate,
and he ran up the stairs in a very quick gait,
two steps at a time, with the greatest of haste
as if he believed that he was being chased.
“He’s too old for this, Jules. When’s it going to stop?”
Dad griped, filling his mug from the coffeepot.
He winced from the heat, when he took a small sip.
Mom replied, staring off, gently biting her lip.
“He’s a twelve-year-old boy with a great imagination.
So what if his life is filled with animation?
I won’t be the one who insists that it ends.
The pressure will eventually come from his friends.”
My sisters and I cocked our heads to the side,
scrunched up our noses, confused and surprised.
Did they really not see the mud scoot ‘cross the floor?
It was such a commotion, how could they just ignore
that the mud Ryan brought home just raced ‘round the room
climbing up to the highest place it could assume.
It chased us upstairs! It clung to the curtains!
These things aren’t imagined. I knew it for certain.
Chapter 3
Once the house was settled, after my nightly chores,
I kissed my folks goodnight and climbed upstairs once more.
When I checked on my sisters, safely tucked in their bed,
little Sam’s hand beckoned above her bedspread.
“What is it, Sam? It’s past your bedtime.”
“I’m trying to figure out how that mud climbs
up the stairs when it’s wet. I can’t figure it out.
But I’m sure it’s something I’ll have nightmares about.”
“Think about something else in your dreams tonight.
Perhaps our eyes were tricked by the sparkling light
of the brightly lit moon shining through our windows.
Sometimes our brains animate complex shadows.”
“In your cup!” Sam retorted, “you had one in your cup!”
“I don’t know what I had. I was so wound up
after Ryan’s story, maybe it was a delusion.
I’ll have to think more before I make a conclusion.
But go to sleep now, the house has settled down
I’m going to bed too, once I don my nightgown.”
After calming this sibling, then off to another.
I decided to have a brief chat with my brother
about this gook that ran rampant until it was dried.
I’d a hunch they were worse than what he had implied.
Ryan dashed to the bathroom and flicked on the light.
I barged in behind him and shut the door tight.
“I’m peeing!” he squealed, re-zipping his pants.
“Can’t you hold it?” I whispered. “Just give me a chance.
The Mud Gullumpers,” I started, “from where do they come?
Did they really emerge from the smelly pond scum?
Does this odd little animal, or creature, as it were,
threaten our live
s, or pose us danger?”
“Oh Bits,” he laughed softly, “all of that is for cover.
Were it not for the drama, I’d get in big trouble
for coming home late, night after night.
Mom and Dad would start yelling; we’d get in a fight.
So I start the theatrics to distract them a bit.
Don’t worry your poor little head over it.”
“What?” I barked bluntly. “You’ve got to be kidding!
I saw by the sink when that ugly brown thing
escaped with great haste as you washed your own hands.
It was clear you saw something you did not understand.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he consoled tenderly.
“It sounds like I scared you with this fantasy.
But I assure you I was just escaping Dad’s wrath.
Now just run off to bed so I can take my bath.”
“You’re a liar!” I seethed through a tightly clenched jaw.
“I fought them in here, so I know what you saw.
You brought home some creature that raced down the halls!
It dashed under furniture and can climb up the walls.
Not resting until it can go no higher.
I might be frightened, but I know you’re the liar.”
“You’re obviously tired!” chided my brother.
“Brush your teeth. Go to bed. When you wake, you’ll feel better.”
And he turned off the light without answering my plea.
“They’re all over the house!” I whispered quickly.
He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the hall.
Then he urged, “Go to sleep. Get your rest. Please don’t stall.”
He slipped into his room, softly closing the door,
leaving me all alone in the hallway once more.
The house was so quiet, as I lingered a bit.
I heard mother’s long needles clinking as she knit.
But I was sure Ryan was up to mysterious stuff.
He had turned off his light and stayed quiet long enough.
Plus, I knew he was dirty, so he wasn’t asleep.
Ryan clearly had secrets he wanted to keep.
So I went back downstairs as quick as a flash.
I told Mom I’d forgotten to take out the trash
And without looking up, she mumbled,
“Mmm…hmm, sure.”
I scooted past her and out the front door.
“Ah rats!” a voice rang through the warm autumn air.
I peered down the dim street to see who was there.
Ryan’s friend Jon dragged a trash can out.
On the curb, the can tipped, so he let out a shout.
He sprinted after trash eddying down the street,
stopping small bits of paper with each stomp of his feet.
I watched him a while, since his movements looked silly.
Lots about him and his family seemed odd to me really.
They had moved here from China early last spring
-six thousand seven hundred eighty miles, from Beijing.
And people who come from so far away
should be unlike us here in the USA.
Because even my cousins, who live north, sixty miles,
have some diverse words and odd clothing styles.
So if you think about that, then it’s easy to see
Jon’s at least 113 times different than me.
Some of those differences are quite apparent,
like his dark hair, and eye shape, and those things inherent.
But other things are subtler, and you just have to wait
‘til an opportunity arises to reveal the odd trait.
I snuck ‘round the back of the house, and then stood
looking up at my brother, surely up to no good.
He sat near the window, all alone in his room,
with a unusual interest in the almost-full moon.
I hid near the bushes for a better sight
of my brother’s odd gaze, so prolonged in the night.
He was looking straight up, yet his expression was such
that I don’t think he was using his eyes very much.
The sourwood tree underneath his window
reflected his light as a red autumn glow,
and the crinkling leaves of a dry maple tree
filled the air with an eerie anxiety.
About ten minutes passed, he was silent and still,
his hands resting palm-up on his windowsill.
Then his gaze floated down from the moon toward the stream,
eyes intense - penetrating the dead-end scene.
That look in his eyes, I could not comprehend,
as if he’d been betrayed by his very best friend.
Now I’d been out too long, so I turned to go back,
dissatisfied with the few measly facts
I had managed to find on this oddest of nights
when the Mud Gullumpers’ existence had come to light.
As I walked to the front, along the side path,
a small paper scrap glistened in our bird bath.
I picked it out, shook it moist, and smoothed out to read
some small symbols in red ink that had started to bleed.
I figured the symbols were probably Chinese.
Though languages were hardly my expertise,
I was so intrigued by the exotic scripts
used in Russian, Egyptian, and even Sanskrit.
A book of mine had over a hundred pages
about writing systems and their approximate ages.
I’d copy words down in a special notepad,
and I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really not bad!
For my birthday this year, Dad gave me ten dollars.
I used it to buy new ink pens in twelve colors.
I knew one of those would match the red ink here.
So I pressed the scrap dry to keep the mark clear.
A light flicked on next door, in my friend Pam’s room.
Must be late, if she’s ready for bed, I assumed.
I tossed pebbles gently up toward her window.
They clinked slightly louder with each measured throw.
Through the curtain appeared a small, dark shadow.
Pam opened the window, and inquired, “Hello?”
The moonlight cast shadows that allowed me to trace
the pale features that made up her freckly face.
Her quizzical brow slid to round, healthy cheeks.
Braces glistened through lips as they parted to speak.
Her brown hair looked black in the dim evening light.
She looked kind of creepy, much to my delight.
Pam was a tomboy, though less so than me.
One year older, and taller, but more prone to flee.
When the going got tough, she would not stand her ground,
she was always the one who got pushed around.
She might walk away, even if she was right!
Pam would do anything to avoid a fight.
“Hey Pam,” I whispered, “it’s just me over here.”
She leaned out of her window ‘til her smile was clear.
“What are you doing?”
“Spying on my brother.
But I have to go in, or I’ll scare my mother.
I’ve something to tell you, so don’t go to bed.
Once I get inside, hose-a-phone me instead!”
The hose-a-phone was like a phone. It was a private line
that we had hung quite carefully between her room and mine.
It started a few months ago, during school vacation.
Playing in the pool one day, we came up with our creation.
I stood in the low end, a garden hose end to my ear.
Pam talked in the other end and I could clearly hear!
&nb
sp; We thought this just amazing, to talk from far away,
while everyone else in the pool could swim around and play
above our twisted garden hose, snaking all along the bottom.
Pam whispered many secrets, and I still always got ‘em.
Toward the end of summer, we decided to design
a hose-a-phone that really was a permanent phone line.
We dug a trench deep in the ground between our two windows,
then strung the hose from room to room and let it droop below.
We topped the hose with clumps of grass we had dug up before,
and twisted vines around the part up to my second floor.
Pam’s side was much simpler because she had a tree.
We tucked the hose along the trunk and it hid it skillfully.
Most every night since then, after we are in our beds.
We lie down on our pillows, a garden hose up to our heads.
We laugh about the crazy things that happened recently,
and if we have a problem, aim to solve it decently.
Once upstairs, teeth brushed, and my folks kissed goodnight,
I rushed under my bed sheets and turned off my light.
Pam saw my signal, and within seconds, a moan
came gurgling out of my own hose-a-phone.
I sunk in my pillow, sheets up to my nose,
and told Pam to hold on to her end of the hose.
“Put it up to your ear, and I’ll do the talking.
Just wait ‘til you hear of the creatures I’m stalking!”
I told Pam that Ryan brought Mud Gullumpers home,
and they zip to the highest places they can roam.
My sisters and I found they dry out in heat,
and once dry, they are harmless and easy to beat.
“I caught one in my cup, and held it for a bit.
I told Ryan we saw them, but he just denies it!
But I’m on to him, Pam! So before it’s too late,
let’s head to the creek to investigate.
Let’s do it tomorrow,” I implored urgently.
“If we go when it’s hottest, we’ll explore it safely.
The fate of the world surely rests in our hands!”
Eleven grim syllables shattered my plans.
“I’m off to my grandma’s first thing tomorrow.
I’ll be back Sunday night, but Monday we can go!”
The Mud Gullumpers Page 2