Esmerelda had a way of sucking on gumdrops then flinging them onto the wall with a straw. This particular day, she was enjoying the mosaic she was creating—dahlias and posies by a bright shining sun, a gondolier, and a Spanish tapas spread—when Mother entered, dodging a speeding green blob, to announce a certain visitor.
Doctor CrumbKeeper, the man who collected scrapes and scraps falling from plates and platters, was coming to perform an exam. “Trig or Physics?” said Esmerelda. “An exam on you,” said Mother. “Dear me. I have never been so interesting.” “No one’s interested in anything but your offspring.” “Oof, Ma-ma. It’s getting late.” “In more ways than one.” “Let’s run out into the lights instead.”
For ages, Esmerelda toyed with the idea of floating into the giant bug zapper and joining the Great Beyond. Her mother didn’t share in this specific morbid fantasy and thought her daughter’s humor deficient.
Doctor CrumbKeeper rolled up with his rolled-up sleeves, loosely fitted pants, and a stethoscope that only made it to the top of his grand belly. He entered and stood before Mother, steadying himself upon his small black physician’s bag.
“You’re here for Esmerelda,” said Mother. “I’m here for them all,” said the doctor, for he felt like he was the sole savior to all the ladies of the land, particularly the ones not happy with marrying princes who had crab bodies.
“First a treat,” said Mother, gesturing to the spread placed directly in the entryway. The woman knew the outcome would be far better with a physician well-fed. Doctor CrumbKeeper gobbled down four herrings and a mustard tarte. “My, I think you’re ready,” said Mother. She escorted the doctor to the dainty flower wilting with the book Moby Dick.
“Book down, head up,” Mother said, and the doctor proceeded to poke, prod, prop, plop, and pick. With pursed lips, he checked under each and every petal. Totally offended, Esmerelda’s anger grew. “Done! I’m done!” “You’re barely eighteen,” said CrumbKeeper, “You’ve got plenty of birthing to do.” “What do you mean? I’m a flower, not a goat,” said Esmerelda.
Mother drew back and shed a glassy, cold tear. “She’s in good health. Just in need of a little fertilizer,” said Doctor CrumbKeeper. Mother started to twitch. “Make her listen!” she said, “Her life, her soul, her whole attitude forbidden!” “What are we forbidding?” said a small voice from around the corner.
Father, the man, the gnat, the flea, the louse. (No one was sure which creature he was.) What a surprise to see him because he never came to these petal-lifting visits. The sounds and smells must have scared him out of hiding.
“Finally joining us for a decision,” said Mother. “I’ve been here all her eighteen years,” said Father. “To participate.” “Of course! I have a lute and a flute and a bat and a ball and a clacking cat named Duff.” “Whoa-ho! Look at you! Quite the nurturer. So impressed. May we all bow and exclaim what a dad!”
The doctor, realizing the treats stopped there, scooted by the couple and made his way out. The woman continued at her husband: “She must marry, you see. We can’t keep her here.” “I see, but the pig prince has moved on.” “What’s this?! I hadn’t heard.” “It’s in the papers. At the fold.” “Damn. I never read the crease.”
So, Esmerelda was saved that day, but only until four p.m. when her mother found Duke Nodding-Ear freshly eligible after an unfortunate accident involving Duchess Nodding-Ear and a sip of Cyanide in place of beer.
Kelsey Austin is a New Jersey playwright and prose writer. She holds an MA in Literature: Theatre and Drama from Essex University. Her plays have been developed through residencies and staged readings across the United States. Kelsey’s short fiction is featured in The Closed Eye Open and is forthcoming in Half and One. Her creative non-fiction can be found in Wild Roof Journal.