| General Fiction posted June 11, 2024 |
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A modern, juvenile Ohmie story
Wash Behind Your Ears
by Wayne Fowler
“Ohmie, where are you?”
“Over here.”
“Where’s here? You’re supposed to be helping unload and then helping your father set up the tent, remember?”
Nine-year-old Ohmie entered the campsite dragging a fallen log five times his size. “Look, Mom. Firewood.”
Ohmie’s mother, Samantha, offered an exasperated sigh. It had been a tiring seven-hour drive to the river and bluffs country. Ohmie hadn’t given his parent a single minute of peace, using the back seat as his army tank, his get-away car, his spaceship, what-have-you. If Ohmie wasn’t play-acting he was playing with Fido, the family’s mixed-breed mutt. For the ten thousandth time, Samantha wondered what life would have been like had Ohmie been born a quiet, doll-playing girl.
“Where’s Fido?” Samantha asked.
“He wanted to chase the chippies,” Ohmie replied as he attempted to man-handle his log.
“Oh-mie, he’s supposed to be leashed. And he is your responsibility, remember? That was the deal.”
“He is leashed.” Just then Ohmie dived behind his log screaming loud make-believe gunfire noises. “Duck, Mom. Head for cover. We’re being attacked by Klobons!”
“Ohmie! Get Fido this minute.”
“But…” One glance toward his mother and Ohmie ran a zig-zag pattern out of the campsite yelling at the top of his lungs for Fido. “FIDO! RUN FOR COVER! ATTACK! IT’S THE RUSSIANS…I MEAN THE KLOBONS!”
“Ron!” Samantha called to her husband who startled her, approaching from behind and drawing her into himself.
“Aw hon. It’s been a long day. Let him burn some energy. I’ll help you. And as soon as we’ve eaten I’ll take him for a hike while you rest up for tonight.” Ron nuzzled Samantha’s neck. She knew exactly what he had in mind, but didn’t bother the moment by telling him to forget any such notion. There was no way that romance would happen on an undependable air mattress on the ground, and with Ohmie in the same tent. But the idea of an hour, or so, of peace and quiet offered a calming promise. Instead of setting up camp, she began preparing their meal of premade turkey sandwiches, potato salad, and chips. Within minutes the picnic table was set.
“Ohmie!” Samantha yelled softly in her effort to comply with park rules.
Clang, clang.
“You brought the triangle?” Samantha asked Ron.
“Fido will respond to it and bring Ohmie along.” Proud of himself, Ron restored the only treasure he was able to salvage from his family’s tornadoed farmhouse.
“Wash up, Ohmie,” Samantha said as Ohmie approached, dragging along behind the shepherd-size dog.
“Mo-om. We’re camping.”
Samantha’s stern look as she held out a bar of soap and a face cloth told him compliance on this one would be small potatoes, gaining him victory over the next battle.
“You don’t have to go to the restroom station. You can use the faucet over there.” She pointed to the frost-proof water station between campsites. “Just be sure you shut it all the way off.”
A moment later, as Ohmie returned to the campsite, with the washcloth barely wet, Samantha looked to see that the faucet was still running. “Ohmie, the faucet.”
Ron looked over at the faucet and began toward it.
“Ron!” Samantha said.
Ron caught her eye and remembered all their conversations having to do with Ohmie’s training.
Ohmie glanced from one parent to the other and sauntered back to the faucet, using both hands to shut the flow.
Throughout the night Ohmie, who gained his nickname after advancing from his electronics kit to nearly burning the house down with electrical experimentation, tossed and turned, flinging his arms and legs as if doing battle. Samantha barely slept. Two days later, trudging herself into their home, Samantha trance-like ambled to her bedroom, oblivious to Ohmie’s or Ron’s questions as to where she wanted this and that and what was for supper. At the first opportunity, she would inform Ron that all future camping excursions would be father-and-son affairs.
“Be sure and wash your ears,” Samantha said into the bathroom door as Ohmie bathed that evening. Not hearing a response, she figured he was too busy play-acting something or other. Cracking the door, she knocked, poking her head inside, but not far enough to threaten Ohmie’s privacy.
“Mo-om. I’m naked in here!”
“I have changed your diapers, young man,” a line Samantha had used often. “Did you hear me say to wash your ears? Do I need to come in there and do it for you?”
“Yeah, I mean no.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma-am.”
“I’m going to inspect when you come out, and if they aren’t clean you’re going to take another whole bath.”
“Mo-om.”
“Don’t mom me, young man. If your ears aren’t clean, then other places probably aren’t either.”
“Okaa-ay,” Ohmie squalled remorsefully as he looked at the lines of dirt between his toes.
+++
In bed that night Samantha’s eyes popped wide open. Ron had seen to Ohmie’s tucking into bed. She’d wished him a good night, but nothing more. She rose from bed, Ron was already sound asleep.
Seeing the light from beneath his door, she tapped telling him to turn off his light and go to sleep.
“At the end of the chapter, okay?”
Samantha opened the door to witness Ohmie laying in bed zooming his plastic model airplane about.
“It’s ‘Twelve-O’clock High. I’m doing a re-enactment,” Ohmie said, anticipating his mother’s challenge.
“Lights out!” She didn’t dare say more for fear whatever she said would not induce sleep.
“Oo-kaaay,” Ohmie said, reaching and turning out his bedside lamp.
After closing his door, Samantha reopened it. “I love you, Ohmie.”After half a second she reclosed it.
“Mom?”
Again, Samantha opened his door.
“But I love you.”
Samantha heard him chuckling after reclosing the door.
+++
Ron was awake when Samantha returned. He’d turned on his light as an assist for her return to bed.
“Honey…” Samantha began.
Ron replied before Samantha voiced her thought. “He’s nine years old and in tenth grade, Sam. We’re doing the best we can. You’re doing the best you can. No one could do better. There’s no guidebook. Dr. Spock himself couldn't do better. Look. In two weeks we take him to space camp, and then it’s Vacation Bible School, then your brother is coming for a week. School starts soon after that. We’ll survive.
“Thank you for a great camping trip. You were wonderful.” Ron drew Samantha into an embrace. She snuggled her head onto his chest.
“It’s too bad the Johnsons wouldn’t let Billy come along like we’d planned.”
“Yeah. But after the little mishap in the garage… Billy getting blown up…”
Samantha playfully slapped at Ron’s side. “He didn’t get blown up. Just lost some hair, his eyebrows, is all.”
Ron chuckled at Samantha’s lightheartedness over Ohmie’s failed chemical experiment.
“Would it be terrible of me to let you drive him to space camp? I’ll stay here with Fido.”
After a pause, Ron said “Sure. I was looking forward to spending the week at the beach with you. Just us, but…”
“Compromise,” Samantha said. “I’ll fly down Monday or Tuesday. You can pick me up at the airport and we can all come home together. It can be my birthday present. The neighbors will take care of Fido after I leave.”
Ron swallowed hard, crossing his eyes, wondering if he’d forgotten her birthday. He was sure he hadn’t but was also aware that he’d yet given any thought to her birthday. "Deal," he said.
Samantha rolled to her side of the bed. “Sometimes... If Ohmie was your raincoat, I’d give him a good shake and hang him on a hook.”
Ron chuckled at the prospect, wondering what sort of hook it would take.
“Ohmie, where are you?”
“Over here.”
“Where’s here? You’re supposed to be helping unload and then helping your father set up the tent, remember?”
Nine-year-old Ohmie entered the campsite dragging a fallen log five times his size. “Look, Mom. Firewood.”
Ohmie’s mother, Samantha, offered an exasperated sigh. It had been a tiring seven-hour drive to the river and bluffs country. Ohmie hadn’t given his parent a single minute of peace, using the back seat as his army tank, his get-away car, his spaceship, what-have-you. If Ohmie wasn’t play-acting he was playing with Fido, the family’s mixed-breed mutt. For the ten thousandth time, Samantha wondered what life would have been like had Ohmie been born a quiet, doll-playing girl.
“Where’s Fido?” Samantha asked.
“He wanted to chase the chippies,” Ohmie replied as he attempted to man-handle his log.
“Oh-mie, he’s supposed to be leashed. And he is your responsibility, remember? That was the deal.”
“He is leashed.” Just then Ohmie dived behind his log screaming loud make-believe gunfire noises. “Duck, Mom. Head for cover. We’re being attacked by Klobons!”
“Ohmie! Get Fido this minute.”
“But…” One glance toward his mother and Ohmie ran a zig-zag pattern out of the campsite yelling at the top of his lungs for Fido. “FIDO! RUN FOR COVER! ATTACK! IT’S THE RUSSIANS…I MEAN THE KLOBONS!”
“Ron!” Samantha called to her husband who startled her, approaching from behind and drawing her into himself.
“Aw hon. It’s been a long day. Let him burn some energy. I’ll help you. And as soon as we’ve eaten I’ll take him for a hike while you rest up for tonight.” Ron nuzzled Samantha’s neck. She knew exactly what he had in mind, but didn’t bother the moment by telling him to forget any such notion. There was no way that romance would happen on an undependable air mattress on the ground, and with Ohmie in the same tent. But the idea of an hour, or so, of peace and quiet offered a calming promise. Instead of setting up camp, she began preparing their meal of premade turkey sandwiches, potato salad, and chips. Within minutes the picnic table was set.
“Ohmie!” Samantha yelled softly in her effort to comply with park rules.
Clang, clang.
“You brought the triangle?” Samantha asked Ron.
“Fido will respond to it and bring Ohmie along.” Proud of himself, Ron restored the only treasure he was able to salvage from his family’s tornadoed farmhouse.
“Wash up, Ohmie,” Samantha said as Ohmie approached, dragging along behind the shepherd-size dog.
“Mo-om. We’re camping.”
Samantha’s stern look as she held out a bar of soap and a face cloth told him compliance on this one would be small potatoes, gaining him victory over the next battle.
“You don’t have to go to the restroom station. You can use the faucet over there.” She pointed to the frost-proof water station between campsites. “Just be sure you shut it all the way off.”
A moment later, as Ohmie returned to the campsite, with the washcloth barely wet, Samantha looked to see that the faucet was still running. “Ohmie, the faucet.”
Ron looked over at the faucet and began toward it.
“Ron!” Samantha said.
Ron caught her eye and remembered all their conversations having to do with Ohmie’s training.
Ohmie glanced from one parent to the other and sauntered back to the faucet, using both hands to shut the flow.
Throughout the night Ohmie, who gained his nickname after advancing from his electronics kit to nearly burning the house down with electrical experimentation, tossed and turned, flinging his arms and legs as if doing battle. Samantha barely slept. Two days later, trudging herself into their home, Samantha trance-like ambled to her bedroom, oblivious to Ohmie’s or Ron’s questions as to where she wanted this and that and what was for supper. At the first opportunity, she would inform Ron that all future camping excursions would be father-and-son affairs.
“Be sure and wash your ears,” Samantha said into the bathroom door as Ohmie bathed that evening. Not hearing a response, she figured he was too busy play-acting something or other. Cracking the door, she knocked, poking her head inside, but not far enough to threaten Ohmie’s privacy.
“Mo-om. I’m naked in here!”
“I have changed your diapers, young man,” a line Samantha had used often. “Did you hear me say to wash your ears? Do I need to come in there and do it for you?”
“Yeah, I mean no.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma-am.”
“I’m going to inspect when you come out, and if they aren’t clean you’re going to take another whole bath.”
“Mo-om.”
“Don’t mom me, young man. If your ears aren’t clean, then other places probably aren’t either.”
“Okaa-ay,” Ohmie squalled remorsefully as he looked at the lines of dirt between his toes.
+++
In bed that night Samantha’s eyes popped wide open. Ron had seen to Ohmie’s tucking into bed. She’d wished him a good night, but nothing more. She rose from bed, Ron was already sound asleep.
Seeing the light from beneath his door, she tapped telling him to turn off his light and go to sleep.
“At the end of the chapter, okay?”
Samantha opened the door to witness Ohmie laying in bed zooming his plastic model airplane about.
“It’s ‘Twelve-O’clock High. I’m doing a re-enactment,” Ohmie said, anticipating his mother’s challenge.
“Lights out!” She didn’t dare say more for fear whatever she said would not induce sleep.
“Oo-kaaay,” Ohmie said, reaching and turning out his bedside lamp.
After closing his door, Samantha reopened it. “I love you, Ohmie.”After half a second she reclosed it.
“Mom?”
Again, Samantha opened his door.
“But I love you.”
Samantha heard him chuckling after reclosing the door.
+++
Ron was awake when Samantha returned. He’d turned on his light as an assist for her return to bed.
“Honey…” Samantha began.
Ron replied before Samantha voiced her thought. “He’s nine years old and in tenth grade, Sam. We’re doing the best we can. You’re doing the best you can. No one could do better. There’s no guidebook. Dr. Spock himself couldn't do better. Look. In two weeks we take him to space camp, and then it’s Vacation Bible School, then your brother is coming for a week. School starts soon after that. We’ll survive.
“Thank you for a great camping trip. You were wonderful.” Ron drew Samantha into an embrace. She snuggled her head onto his chest.
“It’s too bad the Johnsons wouldn’t let Billy come along like we’d planned.”
“Yeah. But after the little mishap in the garage… Billy getting blown up…”
Samantha playfully slapped at Ron’s side. “He didn’t get blown up. Just lost some hair, his eyebrows, is all.”
Ron chuckled at Samantha’s lightheartedness over Ohmie’s failed chemical experiment.
“Would it be terrible of me to let you drive him to space camp? I’ll stay here with Fido.”
After a pause, Ron said “Sure. I was looking forward to spending the week at the beach with you. Just us, but…”
“Compromise,” Samantha said. “I’ll fly down Monday or Tuesday. You can pick me up at the airport and we can all come home together. It can be my birthday present. The neighbors will take care of Fido after I leave.”
Ron swallowed hard, crossing his eyes, wondering if he’d forgotten her birthday. He was sure he hadn’t but was also aware that he’d yet given any thought to her birthday. "Deal," he said.
Samantha rolled to her side of the bed. “Sometimes... If Ohmie was your raincoat, I’d give him a good shake and hang him on a hook.”
Ron chuckled at the prospect, wondering what sort of hook it would take.
 Recognized |
Picture courtesy of freepik.com
Ohmie is a name derived from his experimenting with electricity: watts, volts, amps, and 'ohms'.
Ohmie is a child prodigy, as established in previous posts.
Shaken-baby syndrome is nothing to make humor of. I meant no connection.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Ohmie is a name derived from his experimenting with electricity: watts, volts, amps, and 'ohms'.
Ohmie is a child prodigy, as established in previous posts.
Shaken-baby syndrome is nothing to make humor of. I meant no connection.
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