Stories from a Crazy Person's Diary!

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Arriving at the battleground, I surveyed the damage.

Then I was hit on the side of the face with a wooden spoon.

My sharp gasp and excellent reflexes caused a standstill in the chaos.

I took in all the casualties in that one moment.

Spilled soup, a broken bowl, a dripping child crowned with carrots and peas, and a stricken teenager (Ann) holding her brother by the wrist.

I raised my wooden spoon high before the bickering could start up again.

“Silence!” I commanded. I walked imposingly over to Ann.

Pressing my wooden spoon in her free hand, I whispered, “Use wisely.”

Ann stared at me as I backed out of the kitchen.

As soon as my feet had left the tile, the noise erupted again like the aftershock of an earthquake.

I looked around the front room. The Woods were nowhere in sight.

I decided to head to the living room to get some backup.

In the living room, I spotted my Dad attempting to engage Uncle Greg in a conversation.

I went up to him and stood very close, fixing my eyes on him. I proceeded to stare intensely at his face. My eyes bored into him until he finally turned and recognized my existence.

“Excuse me,” I said.

My dad smiled politely at Uncle Greg, and both of their eyes turned to me.

“Yes, Eve?” he asked.

“There are two minor crises that need attention.” I said, “A soup fight in the kitchen-“A loud bang and a wail confirmed my report.

Uncle Greg’s eyebrows flew to the top of his head.

He turned to my dad.

“Pardon me,” he swung around and walked very quickly towards the kitchen. “KIDS!!” He bellowed, tripping over -ahem- someone’s hastily removed snow boots.

I walked over and put them away so the accident would not occur again.

I went back to my patiently waiting dad.

“So?” he asked.

“Also,” I said, “I wanted to tell you that the Woods arrived and are somewhere inside.”

“What!?” he shouted, then muttered, “Already?”

He then looked at me.

“Did you say somewhere?”

I nodded, and he slapped his forehead.

“I’ll go find them, you, you…” he lost his thought as he hurried off to find his self-inflicted work of mercy ‘somewhere’ in the house.

Humming, I slipped over to the second living room, where the moms were discussing decluttering.

I got my mom’s attention and gained custody of a small portable radio.

Then I went to sleeping quarters on the second floor I shared with Cecilia Green.

Curling up on my cot with a soft blanket, I flicked on the radio.

Setting it to the Christmas channel, I gazed out the window and watched the snow fall as Bing Crosby sang ‘White Christmas.’

My eyes drifted lazily as the warm blanket and cozy atmosphere started to lull me to sleep.

A loud blaring noise cut through the music on the radio, blasting the serenity to pieces.

I sat straight up and stared at my radio. I knew what that sound meant since I live in Oklahoma.

It was a severe weather warning alert.

The blaring stopped, and the announcer went on.

“Warning,” the radio crackled. “Severe snowstorm is expected to hit the city of Denver, including the surrounding cities. People are advised to stay indoors and preserve energy. Roads will be undrivable; eight feet of snow and temperatures of ten degrees below zero will be expected. The following cities are expected to gain the brunt of this storm. Denver, Vail, Boulder, Aspen, and Glenwood Springs. The storm is expected to last over the 25^th…”

The announcer’s voice faded with the siren.

I stared at the radio before tearing downstairs.

* * *

“Mom!” I shouted, entering the second living room with a bang.

All the moms stopped talking and turned to look at me.

My mom glared at me, “Eve, what are you doing?”

“Mom,” I gasped, “I was listening to the radio, and the most terrible thing has happened!”

My mom glanced back at the other moms before responding.

“Yes?”

I held up the radio that I had grabbed in my haste to tell them the terrible news. “A severe weather warning came through while I was listening,” I explained, flicking on the radio.

“It will come through again soon, listen.”

The moms listened silently as the warning turned on. Their faces grew considerably long when the announcer began listing the cities.

The alert faded once again, leaving the whole room silent.

I flicked the radio off before it could play ‘Let it Snow.’

The moms looked at each other.

“It’s probably just a false alarm.” Aunt Hannah said optimistically.

Aunt Angelica nodded, “We could leave early and beat the snow.”

I looked out the window behind them and moaned. Outside was like a wall of white. The storm had already broken.

The moms all turned and moaned in unison.

The back door slammed, causing us all to jump.

A little bundle of snow entered.

“Benjamen!” gasped Aunt Hannah, rushing over to her little four-year-old and scraping the snow away from his face. “What on earth were you doing out there?”

Removing his hat to reveal his hair frozen in little spikes, she stared at him with a shocked expression.

“Daddy,” Benjamen explained. “He was mad at me, he not help me. Tell me go do it yourself.”

And with that statement, he crossed his little snow-caked arms in a hurtful manner,  showering his mother with a spray of melting snow.

Aunt Hannah rose in indignation.

“Honey!” she bellowed in her screechy voice, “GREG!”

Uncle Greg appeared out of nowhere. His face was flushed, and he held two toddlers in each arm.

Aunt Hannah surveyed him, and Uncle Greg looked back at her angrily.

“They were having a horrific fight in the kitchen, soup and broken bowls everywhere! This young man,” he pointed to the sulking Benjamen. “Hit me in the face with a wooden spoon!” He displayed a bruise on his left cheek.

Aunt Hannah crossed her arms and raised her chin.

“Is that reason to send the child out into the middle of a blizzard?”

Uncle Greg glowered, “Blizzard? What blizzard? All I know is that he wouldn’t apologize to Lily, Ann, or me, for that matter. Then, when I tried to talk to him, he refused to listen and insisted on me taking out some mail or something. Right then, the Cracy’s twins started to have a war with the soup pot, and I told Ben to go away and never go back into the kitchen-“

“-you told him to mail the letters himself, did you not?” Aunt Hannah asked.

“Wha…I can’t remember. How am I supposed to remember?” Uncle Greg objected. He shifted one of the toddlers as she started to slip out of his grasp.

“Our four-year-old Benjamen,” Aunt Hannah said, her low vice slowly rising. “Was outside, and from what I learned from you, walking down our driveway. In a blizzard-“

“-what blizzard?” poor Uncle Greg wailed.

“Let me finish-“ Aunt Hannah said, but she didn’t get to finish, because right then, the power went out.

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