Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story using the word/concept “pugnacious.” This week’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit Corgi Capers series, and it’s three days late due to a combination of Val’s wedding anniversary, the Fourth of July, and a real-life toddler, a 24/7 inspiration for this tale.
Pugnacious
By Val Muller
The car idled in the garage while Geoff ran in for the juice.
“Blue cup,” the terror chanted from the back seat. “Blue cup.”
“Yes,” Mel said. “Daddy’s getting the blue cup.”
“Apple juicy, apple juicy, in a blue cuppy, in a blue cuppy,” the toddler sang.
Mel went through the list – they had the bag of magnatiles, the bunny—the gray one with the blue socks, not the white one, not like last time—they had the sneakers packed away for whenever the dinosaur slippers proved to be a bad choice of footwear, they had diapers, they had pull-ups, they had underwear. They had forgotten juice, but Geoff was remedying that right now.
What worried her, though, was that the morning had been peaceful. Much too peaceful. Potty training that day with a 100% success rate. No accidents, no demands for pullups instead of underwear. The only issue had been the wearing of the dinosaur slippers instead of sneakers, and that was a battle Geoff and Mel quickly conceded, one not worth fighting. Other than that—peace. Usually there would be three meltdowns by now.
The pugnacious one was saving her meltdown for later – possibly during Billy’s concert.
The K-2 showcase would last maybe 25 minutes, tops. But Mel had a bad feeling the toddler was waiting for those exact 25 minutes to be her worst. And of course, Mel’s sister would wonder why Mel’s kid could not behave for a mere 25 minutes to see her cousin sing in the end-of-the-year chorus concert. Mel’s parents would think the toddler was a terror for ruining her cousin’s concert. It would end, like it always did, with Mel or Geoff outside at the playground, entertaining the toddler while the rest of the humans stayed inside and did civilized human things.
Mel sighed just as Geoff came back with the cup.
“That’s the teal cup,” Mel said in a whisper. “She said blue.”
Geoff said, “It’s blue.”
Darn men’s inability to distinguish the color palette, Mel thought. In the rear-view mirror, Mel caught the toddler’s eye reflecting in her baby mirror, looking through the rear-view mirror at the cup in question. Hers was like the great seeing eye of Mordor. It saw all, and it judged—oh, did it judge.
“That’s teal, dad,” the toddler said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Geoff said. “I guess daddy still doesn’t know his colors.” He paused. This could go south quickly.
The toddler shrugged. “You’ll be a big kid one day, daddy,” she said, then reached out for the cup. “Teal’s fine.”
Mel and Geoff exchanged looks of worry, then surprise, as the toddler took the cup and drank from it without so much as a glance at its color.
“Maybe she’s outgrowing the terrible twos,” Geoff said.
Mel doubted it. The terrible twos were a misnomer. They started before two, that was for sure, and they often went up to three, sometimes four years old. She had researched it. Something about brain development and small problems having the same impact as big ones. Something about asking for a hot dog, then crying because you are brought…a hot dog. Something about melting down if your dad brings you a teal cup instead of a blue one.
Only this time it didn’t matter.
Geoff backed the car out of the drive, and Mel turned on the radio. She immediately braced herself for an onslaught of toddler pouting. Usually, Mel couldn’t get the proper songs loaded in time to avert a barrage of squeals and demands.
Sting was playing on the radio.
The car was silent. There were no protests. Mel enjoyed the refrains of a grown-up song for once. She and Geoff exchanged glances. “Maybe she’s outgrowing—”
“Shhh,” Mel insisted. “Don’t jinx it!”
The drive to the elementary school was uneventful, all 45 minutes of it. Normally, there were numerous complaints, from screaming at Geoff to drive while stopped at a red light to demands to stop and watch birds.
But today—not a peep. She remained engaged with her teal-colored apple juice cup and her baby mirror.
By the time they pulled into the school, Mel let her guard down. “Maybe she is outgrowing the terrible twos,” she whispered. “Now let’s go watch Billy.”
*An hour later, Mel, frazzled, pressed the toddler’s rigid body enough to bend it into the car seat. “No, momeeeeeeeeeeey!” the pugnacious one screamed. “Ball! Ball!” A dinosaur slipper hit Mel in the shoulder as the buckle snapped into place.
As predicted, she had melted down just as the elementary school chorus teacher was introducing the show. Geoff tried to grab her and rock her, but it was too late. She had been napless, teal-cupped, and quiet for too long. She was bottled-up seltzer water, and she was heavily shaken.
Outside at the playground, a group of middle school boys had been playing basketball. They had never seen an angry toddler before, but her demands were no match for their preteen angst, and they did not give her the ball as requested.
The toddler went nuclear.
Her explosion sent her to the small kid playground, terrorizing the small children there. It took everything Mel had to keep her away from other humans and keep her away from self destruction.
The buckles snapped, Mel worked to put the dinosaur slipper back on the restrained toddler.
“You sure you don’t want to come for ice cream?” Mel’s sister asked from the parking lot, patting Billy on the head. “We told Billy we’d take him out for doing such a good job. He’s so well behaved,” she added.
“No, I don’t think she could handle ice cream just now—” The words had barely escaped Mel’s lips when the toddler went quiet.
She turned to Mel with a pugnacious look, all rage stifled for the moment. “I do want ice cream, and if I don’t have some, I will scream.” As if to punctuate her intent, she pushed her foot all the way into the dinosaur slipper and smiled like the epitome of innocence.
Mel looked at Geoff, and Geoff looked at Mel.
“Terrible twos,” they sighed and got into the car, hoping for a peaceful round of ice cream.
The Spot Writers—Our Members:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/
