Whistle a Happy Tune

16 Jun

6.30am: I woke to the twittering beaks of calmness. A dawn chorus of complete and utter inaudible noise. I could hear the distant silence beyond the silence. Perpetual tranquility rolled like tumbleweed over my duck-down duvet, filling me with a sense of apprehension and generating an uneasy breeze which tickled the tiny hairs on my face (teeny tiny ones, the non-testosterone-fed type. OBVS).

A shiver rippled down my spine. Goosebumps appeared on my bumpy geese. I felt agitated, uncomfortable, on edge. I raised my head from my pillow, peering owlishly like Mr ‘wot-no’ Chad (only with a much smaller and cuter nose) over the edge of the duvet. I looked all around me.

For a moment, I was unsure of where I was. I was confused. Was this my bed? My house?

I crept tentatively down the stairs, my heart lurching with each creaking step. My head could make no sense of what was happening. I suddenly felt like a visitor in my own life. An onlooker. I glanced down at my hands. They seemed to be mine. But without a Bacardi glass, it was hard to tell.

With bated breath, I shuffled to the end of the hallway, caressing the floor with my bare feet, desperate not to make a sound. I could hear a clinking sound, or was it a clunking? I wasn’t sure. It sounded a bit clinky and clunky.

A whistle. Was it a whistle? Yes, I could hear a penetrating whistling sound. It was shrill. Harsh. Tuneless. My catatonic brain couldn’t deal with its piercing invasion. I winced.

I paused, too scared to exhale. I stood there. Frozen. I needed to exhale. I really needed to un-bate my bated breath. I exhaled. Thank God. I regained my composure – and my breath. My heart was now pulsating so violently – probably from quasi-asphyxiation – I could feel it in the back of my throat.

Curiosity drove me forwards. I felt an innate fear swelling inside me. A tsunami of terror gripped my entire body. I was afraid to see what was clinking. What was clunking. What was whistling behind the white, wooden door.

I placed my trembling hand on the cold wood, not before noticing there was a strange blue crayon mark. It looked like the letter P.

P? P? Was it a code? I mentally noted that a bit of elbow grease would whip that off in no time. No time at all.

I pushed the door. It glided smoothly and effortlessly, like a diaphanous ghost entering the room.

Clink. Clunk. CLINK. The clinking or clunking continued to reverberate in my ears. Whatever – or whoever – was making the noise had not detected the unvoiced, wooden, ephemeral intruder. I closed my eyes, and mustered up all the courage I could, then took one careful and graceful step onto a huge pile of eggshells.

I strained my eyes open.

Seated at the head of the dining table, was what looked like a small boy. My small boy. My small, fully-school-uniformed ( including spade-sized shoes) boy eating his non-hemlock-laden Weetabix, inelegantly made by his own mammoth hands.

I beamed. Still wondering if I could be in some form of parallel universe, I gave him a bear hug and an undoubtedly noxious kiss.

He grinned and fired his opening salvo at me:

Mummy, look at me-I’m dressed-I’ve even got my shoes on-I’ve had my breakfast-I’ve put my jumper on myself-I’ve brushed my teeth-I’m ready to rock-n-roll-Are you proud of me?-Has my x-box game arrived yet?

6:45am: The cynical sun rises.

Day 4 or 5 (I’ve lost count) on loop. Immaculate, impeccable behaviour.

Day 1 or 2 (I’ve lost count) of one hidden Xbox game.

Sssshhhhh! I’ll ‘fess up tomorrow. I promise.

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3 Responses to “Whistle a Happy Tune”

  1. Threebecomefour June 16, 2012 at 21:42 #

    ROTFLMAO!! Brilliant and wonderful writing as well. Great post! How long are you going to hold out on him?

    • Claire June 16, 2012 at 22:17 #

      I gave it him this afternoon…regretfully. :)

      • ellen gantley June 16, 2012 at 23:25 #

        lets see what happens i hope the little one still keeps calm x

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