Catch Jim Reed’s Red Clay Diary podcasts: https://youtu.be/jYi1myLSbvg
or read the transcript below:
THE CASE OF THE NOISY TELL-TALE CELLOPHANE PACKAGE
Six-year-old Jimmy Three peeks through the inch-opened air lock to see if the coast is clear.
Actually, there is no coast nearby, it’s just Jimmy Three’s comic book/movie/adventure novel term, a term that sounds infinitely more dramatic than, “Jimmy Three peeks through the inch-opened door of his bedroom to see whether anybody is in the hallway.”
The coast, er, hallway, is clear. No-one stirs. Not even a mouse.
Looks like the enemy, er, Mom and Sister, are elsewhere right now, Mom in the backyard garden, Sis reading a movie magazine in her room.
Jimmy Three stretches his legs to step over the floor furnace, the grating of which always produces creaking audio evidence of the presence of the invaders, er, six-year-old boys.
He arrives at the doorless kitchen entrance and scans the horizon, er, cabinets and walls, to see if the Resistance is nearby. So far, he has the tiny area to himself.
Jimmy Three spies the prize on a top shelf, the prize he must noiselessly approach if there is any possibility of gaining it.
He drags a step stool slowly, making sure the metal contraption makes minimal audible creaks, and stops below the Grail, er, the cookie package, then begins to slowly ascend three steps till he’s within reaching distance.
The other enemy awaits, this enemy being the packaging. It’s one thing to sneak past alien lines and approach a target, it’s quite another thing to figure out how to muffle the sound of Cellophane.
Cellophane is a great invention. It keeps the bag’s interior fresh and crisp, it clearly displays what’s inside, neatly rowed and beckoning. But it is very, very noisy.
Jimmy Three reaches up and carefully lifts the Grail so as to minimize that unmistakable crackling that seems inevitable. He pauses to see whether Mom or Sister are about. So far, so good.
Resting the cookies on a lower surface, Jimmy Three begins the safe cracking, er, the attempted package invasion. He turns his ear toward the sealed opening and meticulously employs fingers of both hands in trying to pull apart, in silence, the stubborn cellulose material.
Cracksnapple! He pulls too hard and the package announces to the world that a theft is in progress in the small village. He cringes, squeezes shut his eyes, waiting for any sound from policing agents, er, family.
“What are you doing?” Jimmy jumps a few inches but manages to keep his balance on the stool. Sister Barbara is standing there, hands on hips, movie magazine hugged between elbow and chest. Jimmy Three sputters and does not have an effective reply to voice. After all, the evidence is clear. What he is doing is unmistakable.
He holds his breath for Sis’s usual reaction to his infractions—a shout-out to Mom.
There is only silence, Sis frozen in contemplation of the situation, Jimmy Three frozen and waiting for incarceration or worse.
“Well, are you going to share?” Sis finally says. Jimmy Three sputters again, hands over the cookies. Then, he resumes breathing, not a moment too soon.
Together, the two siblings silently conspire, each retrieving two cookies. Jimmy Three sort of reseals the package and returns it to its nesting place, Barbara munches as she returns to her room, the step stool is replaced with the sure knowledge that at least one enemy will never know that infiltration has occurred.
Jimmy Three returns to his comic book, the part where Billy Batson yells SHAZAM! whenever a crisis must be tamped down.
Jimmy Three knows that he will never have the resources that Billy has, but at least he has two cookies to save his day
© Jim Reed 2020 A.D.