A Wayward Egg

February 25, 2014.Reading time 5 minutes.

“Mr. Creech, I suppose you know why you are sitting on the other side of my desk…again,” said Principal Conley gravely.

Virgil opened his eyes wide with feigned surprise and answered as innocently as he could, “No, sir.”

“It seems that an egg was thrown in a certain restroom – the boys’ restroom. This fact was brought to my attention by Harvey Heckles moments ago. As we speak, the egg is running down the porcelain tiles, creating a large mess that Mrs. Pritchett will be forced to clean up, unless I can find the guilty party.”

egg

“That’s awful, sir,” Virgil uttered, while managing a curse of the Heckles under his breath. “But why did you call for me?”

The principal felt it best to pause and let the absurdity of the question settle. He gave the doe-eyed trouble maker his best intimidating stare while rising to his feet. “Mr. Creech…did you or did you not bring one dozen eggs to school this morning to participate in a science experiment?”

“Why, yes sir,” the boy replied. “But me and Henry used ‘em all up.”

“You used them all?” countered the principal as he began to pace.

Without a flinch, Virgil answered, “All of ‘em.”

“I have it on good authority from Ms. Singer, that you only required eleven eggs for your experiment.”

“Yup, we used all eleven,” Virgil said with a merry feeling that this was working out quite well.

“Mr. Creech,” asked the principal sternly. “Do you know how many there are in one dozen?”

“You just said eleven.”

“No, I most certainly did not.”

“Not to be difficult, but you said we used eleven.”

“Correct…”

“So there must be eleven in a dozen on account of that’s how many I brought,” interrupted Virgil. “If that’s all you need me for, can I get back to class now? We’s got math lessons comin’ up. We just started division and I…”

“There are twelve in a dozen, Virgil Creech! Twelve!” screamed the man as he lowered himself and rested his hands on his knees to get a good look into the boy’s eyes. “So, tell me – what happened to that last egg?”

“Like I told ya before, we used the whole dozen.”

“What did you do with the remainder?”

“Usually I put it beside the answer. Only I get those wrong mostly because I’m not too good at division,” Virgil explained. “Ms. Singer says…”

“The remainder of the eggs, boy!” yelled the principal. “The scraps! The shells! The remnants!”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Principal Conley,” replied Virgil coolly. “I put the shells and stuff on top of the garbage can because I was afraid they would get to smellin’ if I dumped them inside and Mrs. Pritchett didn’t get to the trash ‘til tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you kind,” mocked the principal. “If you put them on top of the can, who do you suppose threw them against the wall?”

“I’m not telling you how to do your job,” began the boy. “But if I were you, I’d check out them Heckles twins. They’re an awful lot of trouble, especially that Horace.”

“Get out!” demanded the principal, pointing to the door. “Get out, now!”

“You want me to tell one of the Heckles to come down here? Like I said…”

The principal’s head fell into his hands in utter frustration. “Just Go!” he begged the boy.

Virgil promptly obeyed, letting go of a mischievous grin only after the door closed behind him.

♦

This story is a work of fiction.

The events described herein may or may not have happened to a particular blogger who may or may not have taken eggs to school for a sixth grade science experiment. Should this have been a real event, it is unlikely that the perpetrator had Virgil’s wherewithal to escape punishment, if any of this actually happened.

image credit: Jorge Barrios

The Colonel’s First Story, pt. 5

February 20, 2014.Reading time 2 minutes.

Today I submit the final installment of the Colonel’s First Story. I hope you have enjoyed it. To start from the beginning, click here: Part 1

The children all rose in a disorganized fashion and wandered back to their play except little Sally who stood beside him smiling, still holding her hand on his knee.

“What’s your name?” she asked with an innocent lisp that was immediately endearing.

“I, Sally, am Colonel Clarence J. Birdwhistle,” he replied.

“Why do you have such funny whiskers?”

Although her mother quickly shushed her, the question dripped of sugar and honey to the ears of the old man.

“Well, my dear,” he said stroking the side of his face. “They are traditional for a man of my age. It seems that it was just a few years ago when everyone had them. Sometimes it is difficult for a man to let go of things from their past.”

She leaned up, put both hands on the side of his face and whispered in his ear, “Mr. Birdsong. I still like monkeys.”

Having said what she needed to, she bade him farewell and left. He hadn’t the faintest desire to correct his name, and in the light of little Sally’s affection, even monkeys seemed more favorable to him at that moment.

*******************

As you can see, the Colonel is a worthy storyteller who, unbeknownst to even himself, has a wonderful way with children. He and Sally develop a very special relationship as the book continues. As fate would have it, Sally is the younger sister of Henry Lee, whose friendship with Virgil Creech is mentored by the old Brit. But that’s tale for a different time.

Thanks for taking time to read a story from the Colonel. I am excited to say that book number two from Portsong is in the final edit stage and should be ready in the Spring! Yes, the menace returns (along with a healthy dose of more stable characters like the Colonel) in Virgil Creech Sings for his Supper.