by S.J. Armato
“Hi Margaret,” shimmered Robert, with all the warmth of a frozen fish stick. “Did you miss me?”
Maggie glanced up and was about to return the greeting, just because she had been brought up to be polite (she really couldn’t stand the guy) when he interrupted her.
“No, no, Maggie, I’m talking to Margaret.” He rolled his eyes in a you’re such a loser kind of way and his buddies laughed and snorted at his wittiness. Then he squatted down right next to Molly, cleared his throat, and said again, but this time louder, “Hi Margaret. Did you dream about me last night? Hmm? Hey, don’t be shy.”
Molly turned her head so they were eye to eye, flashed a sugar-free smile and calmly said, “Go away Robert, you’re breathing on me and your breath stinks.” Then she pinched her nose to emphasize her disgust, and went back to her lunch.
Robert was taken aback, but only for a moment. He was not going to be bested in front of his fans.
“Do you call yourself Molly because Margaret is too hard to spell? Hey, you forgot, didn’t you? You forgot that your real name is Margaret! And here you are sitting with your best buddy, Maggie... who is another Margaret. Too weird! Ha, ha, ha... the weird sisters.”
(Note: I’ll bet you didn’t know that Molly, as well as Maggie, are both nicknames for Margaret. You did? Oh, OK, well, read on then).
Tim had heard enough and was about to give Robert a little piece of his mind and a big piece of his fist. He was starting to stand when Molly put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Please Tim, and you too Maggie, let me handle this. I need to work this out on my own.” Tim grumbled but sat back down. Maggie nodded.
By now a crowd had gathered, and a sneering Robert cracked his knuckles and went into overdrive.
“So, I can call you Maggie or Molly, right Margaret? And I can call your buddy here Maggie or Molly, right Margaret? But how can both of you be Maggie or Molly? Are you the same person? Hey, show me some ID. One of you must be a clone.”
Everyone was laughing at Robert’s torturous tirade. Molly was on the ropes. She was speechless. Her unfailing wit was failing her big time. She was a laughing stock. Her friend Maggie was a laughing stock. She needed to land one good verbal punch. But she couldn’t think of one thing to say.
Robert Nockis closed in for the kill. Like all predators, he could smell fear. He smiled a wicked smile and began to speak, “Marg...”
But Molly cupped a hand over his mouth to silence him. And with a sly smile of her own, a smile that sent chills down Robert’s spine, she said loud and clear, “Robert Nockis, will you stop being so Rob-noxious!”
The crowd gasped. Rob-noxious... it was brilliant. A twist on his name that everyone in the crowd, friends or otherwise, could appreciate as truly defining him.
Oh, crowds are so fickle. Molly was their new hero, and they started chanting: Rob-noxious, Rob-noxious, Rob-noxious, Rob-noxious!
Even Robert’s followers looked away from him. They mumbled tough break, catch you later, gotta go wash my hair, and moved quickly away from the smoldering flames of his anger and shame. He knew he had been beaten, and beaten badly. Molly’s clever word attack would forever haunt him, and he knew that also. His new name would spread like wildfire. He would forever be known as Rob-noxious.
He was furious and frightened, and he ran home blubbering, his tears evaporating instantly before the white-hot volcano of revenge forming in his mind.
Daphne ran behind him. She had not been paying attention to anything other than filing her nails. Words bored her. She did not understand why Robert was upset, but she ran after him because she thought that was what she was supposed to do.
She had to spit out her gum, though; because she couldn’t manage the complex sequence of breathe, chew, run, breathe, chew, run, breathe, chew, run, without choking. At least that’s what she said.
***
The rest of the day flew by as Molly’s fame spread throughout the school, with Maggie and Tim themselves becoming minor celebrities by association. Even a couple of the teachers gave her a thumbs up in the hall. It was her 15 minutes of fame. Tomorrow she would go back to being that quirky kid who hung out with those two other quirky kids. Neither popular nor outcast, she occupied that middle ground most kids occupy... basically invisible.
Funny, that in spite of the fact that everyone tried so hard to move themselves into Robert’s orbit, no one really liked him. They just wanted to be illuminated by his star power. Not that he actually cared, but instinctively he realized that a light is only visible when it reflects off of something. So, as the shining star he was, he very much needed his circle of planets basking in his glow.
Finally, the school bus announcement came squawking over the speaker system. Everyone put on their jackets and filed out into the courtyard. School was done for the day, and for Maggie and her friends, it was time to go to work.
Chapter 8
At Universi-Toy headquarters, Hugh Merless paced anxiously about the board room. A big fat unlit cigar hung from his thin cracked lips like a smelly old pacifier.
“So what have you clowns found out about this Oddley character?”
Seated around a large oval table, and squirming uncomfortably, sat six... uh... well, clowns. Orange hair, big floppy shoes, big red nose. The works. Merless insisted his team dress this way at work. After all, this was a toy company, he reasoned. His people should immerse themselves in their work. He had a clothes-make-the-man kind of attitude. He himself, however, wore an expensive three piece designer suit and Italian shoes.
Clown one shuffled his feet, cleared his throat, and in a tiny tinny voice said, “He likes pizza and milk.”
Merless stared at the clown like he was a defective toy with a recall. “Pizza and milk!” he repeated. “Pizza and milk! Are you a twit? What the heck does that have to do with anything? I don’t care what he eats. I don’t care what toothpaste he uses or what his favorite movie is. I want to know how he does it... how he makes such incredible toys!”
Clown two bit her lip and meekly suggested, “Maybe he’s a wizard?”
The fire in Merless’s angry eyes singed her bright orange hair to brown.
“Why yes, of course, he’s a wizard. Why didn’t I think of that. ENOUGH,” he yelled as he slammed his fist hard onto the table. “Idiots, all of you. Get out!” They didn’t need to be told twice. In a flurry of bumping chairs and bodies, the six clown-clad business people beeped, honked and juggled their way quickly out of the room.
Merless walked to his desk and sank into his plush executive chair. The sales summary chart told the whole story. Business was down. And down sharply. But why? Why, because all the kids were buying their toys at Oddley’s, that’s why.
He spun his chair around slowly, and looked out of his window, staring far off into the distance. Thinking, thinking, thinking. The grimy gears of his polluted mind meshing noisily as they worked the wheels of his financial fury.
Chapter 9
It was getting close to the holidays. And by holidays, I mean the big ones. The ones celebrated around the world. Chanukah, Christmas, and Kwanzaa. They mean so much to so many people both young and old. But to the young, along with family gatherings and great food, treasured friends, and the spiritual meaning of the season, the holidays also mean toys. And the place for toys at the moment was Oddley’s Toy Shop. Well, at least it used to be! Confused? I’ll explain.
Maggie, Molly, and Tim, along with Molly’s cat, Eeny Meeny, arrived at work just before 3 pm and they could not believe their eyes: such crowds, such lines, such... wait, hold on a minute, something was new. It was the sign that hung over the front door. A sign taken from a magician’s dream. The Mr. Oddley’s Toy Shop sign had been replaced with one that read:
Just Like Magic:
A Unique Toy Store
Honestly, it was a much more fitting name. The kids were mesmerized and watched wide-eyed as the sign flickered, sparkled and beckoned to them. After a few moments they fought off the spell, and fought through
the crowds and went inside.
Mr. Oddley waved to the kids and shuffled over to greet them. In a minute they all went off to their assigned work areas.
The day’s menu was posted, but wasn’t really necessary with all the toys flashing wildly about them: spinning tops, cowboy lariats, and mechanical flying birds. With all the whirling and flapping going on, the Tryout Room had spilled out into the main toy area. Maggie ran around handing out safety helmets to all the kids in the store... not forgetting one for herself and for Molly and Tim. Mr. Oddley, in lieu of a traditional safety helmet, had donned a strange looking top-hat adorned with stars. It stood a good foot and a half above his head.
And how the time whizzed by! It was the quickest three hours of their lives. Before they knew it, it was 6 o’clock and time to close up. When the last of the shoppers filed out the back door, Maggie and friends collapsed to the floor, sitting criss-cross apple-sauce. Except for Mr. Oddley, who resembling the leaning tower of Pisa, merely leaned further onto his walking stick, at such a precarious angle it seemed he would surely fall. But as wobbly as he looked, he stayed on his feet.
“Business is very good my little friends,” said Mr. Oddley. Yes, they nodded, too tired to speak. It sure was. Almost too good, because the rest of the week brought the same insanity, with the store now staying open until 7 pm.
All week long the place was a mad house. It was only late October, and it seemed shopping for the previously mentioned holidays had already begun in earnest. And as unbelievable as it was, the already fantastic business at the shop had picked up dramatically. Today, toys flew off the shelves so fast that before store hours were over, all the toys had been sold, the merchandise tables laid bare. Mr. Oddley apologized to his unhappy empty-handed shoppers, and took orders from these grumpy yet determined customers, and promised them delivery in about a week.
So Mr. Oddley came up with a plan. On Sunday mornings he would pack up his van and drive around to drop off the prior week’s toy orders to those people who lived outside of town. It was a good plan... well, maybe... because now Mr. Oddley was working sixteen hour days, seven days a week.
And maybe because guess who got to be the official delivery boy for local deliveries? Yep, you guessed it. It was Tim. He lost to Maggie and Molly in a tense three way battle of Rock, Scissors, Paper. He had the brilliant idea of adding Match to the game. Big mistake. After several three way ties, on the count of three, he threw out Match (his index finger) while Maggie and Molly threw out Rock and Scissors respectively. He was both smashed and snipped!
But Maggie and Molly weren’t happy either because Tim made his deliveries on Saturday afternoon, their busiest day at their busiest time. So while Tim pedaled his bike around town making deliveries, they now had to do his work as well as their own.
Anyway, this led to a discussion on why they always ran out of toys. If they had more there would be no need for deliveries. Mr. Oddley matter-of-factly explained there were only so many hours in a day and he could make only so many toys. To which Maggie reasonably responded with... “Why can’t we help make the toys? If you showed us how, maybe we could...”
“No, no, no, no, no” was Mr. Oddley’s response, delivered much too quickly and with too much force. Tim gulped.
“Or not,” said Maggie under her breath, ready to abandon this idea because she could tell that she had touched a nerve. She didn’t know why, but for some reason, it appeared, Mr. Oddley did not want their help in making toys.
But Molly, who can sometimes be oblivious, liked the idea and was ready to push the point.
“But why not?” she questioned. “I’m sure we could learn to make them, and then you’d have more free time and more toys to sell. Well, you know what I think...”
“No, I don’t know what you think, and please, please, please, don’t think any more!” said a visibly agitated Mr. Oddley, with his right eye twitching. “My answer is still no. And don’t try to get me to change my mind. Please, please, please. And don’t ask me why... just don’t.” And with that he spun around, threw his top hat onto a table, and hobbled away, leaving three very confused kids.
All Molly could muster up was a weakly half whispered squeak of, “Did I say something wrong?”
***
Indeed, what had happened? Any ideas? OK, I’ll give you a clue. Remember when Mr. Oddley put on his Hazmat suit? Well, HAZ-MAT is short for hazardous material. You don’t put one of those things on to hammer a nail or glue something together. It’s a serious safety outfit for working with dangerous substances. End of clue.
***
The following week was no better. In fact, it seemed like the crowds were getting bigger, louder, and more frenzied. And each and every evening it was the same deal, they ran out of toys. Then came Saturday, and it was really bad. The crowd started chanting:
What do we want?... TOYS!
When do we want them?... NOW!
What do we want?... TOYS!
When do we want them?... NOW!
Even after they had closed up shop, the chanting went on until the crowd dispersed and each rioter made his or her way home. Finally... peace and quiet. But the chanting had been unsettling and Mr Oddley and
his crew stood silently, just staring at
each other for the longest while... until Tim (of all people) said, “Mr. Oddley, sir, c-can you explain to us why y-you won’t let us help make the toys?” Molly flashed him a look of pride.
Worn down by the week, Mr. Oddley’s former fire had been doused. He merely sputtered, “Uh, well, you see, it’s that, I mean, well, you know, some things, are not, I mean, it’s not, it’s just, I can’t, there are...”
Then as he looked down into three pairs of uneasy, wanting-to-understand eyes looking up at him, he gave up, gave in, broke down, and said, “Very well, very well. I will tell you, or rather, I will show you. Because, you see, I must show you or you will not believe. But when you see it for yourself, you will, I promise you, believe.”
Then, Mr. Oddley hobbled over to, and unlocked the basement door, slowly opened it, looked over his shoulder and said, “Now follow me, and do not touch anything.”
As the door creaked open into darkness, the kids could see the crooked silhouette of Mr. Oddley outlined in the doorway by a faint purplish light.
Chapter 10
The rickety old wooden stairs led down into the basement, and at the far end of the room was a furnace and a water heater, with duct tape and spider webs wrapping around the tangles of vents, piping, and plumbing that led to the rest of the building. There was even an old washer and dryer, covered in mud and decorated with mouse droppings. These units were unplugged and probably hadn’t been used in years. By now, it would be reasonable to speculate, they would tint your wash a nice baby poop brown. To say that this part of the room was a mess would humble your everyday amateur mess. With a backdrop of slick and slimy walls, this place was mess-central!
But by contrast, located on the opposite end of the room, was the workshop. Mr. Oddley’s little toy factory. Spotless and a picture of obsessive organization. The source of the purple glow filling the room was undeniably emanating from an object situated in the middle of the workshop table—an old wooden box. So old it looked as if it had begun to turn to stone, becoming petrified wood. There were strange markings carved onto it that did not form a discernable pattern, so perhaps they were words. Perhaps words in another language. But an unfamiliar and unrecognizable language at any rate. The box itself was contained within a thick plexiglass cube bolted to the table and secured with a combination lock. It was apparently off limits.
Maggie had always been good at solving puzzles. Fitting the pieces of her experiences together from seemingly unrelated sources to complete a picture. First, there were the incredible toys themselves. Then, Mr. Oddley’s initial reluctance to let them help. And finally, the mysterious light emanating from the locked box sitting before them. So she asked, “Does this have anything to do with how your toys are made?
”
Mr. Oddley put a trembling hand to his chin and paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Then, silently with his cane, he pulled over a stool and sat, motioning to the kids to sit on a large crate opposite him. “Not anything Maggie, but everything. Let me start at the beginning.”
So, Mr. Oddley told them how he had been climbing in the mountains about five years earlier. “And no,” he said, fielding their looks, “I did not need a cane back then.” How he had seen a faint light coming from the rockface overhead, and how in his curiosity he had made his way up the mountainside and had found a crevice just barely large enough to squeeze through. And how once inside what he discovered was a large cave, he had found this box with its dazzling crystal contents. Crystals that glowed a purple fire.
He also told them about his shock in finding the dead raccoon. And with that, the kids jumped and three gasps issued forth. Mr. Oddley’s tale had Maggie, Molly, and Tim mesmerized.
“The sun was growing heavy and was starting to sink slowly in the sky. I had to start for home. So I closed the box, secured it tightly with rope, and took it with me. It was an easy climb down the mountain, and even though the sun had already set long before I reached my car, the glow emanating from the box had provided enough light for me to see. As the sky grew darker, the glow grew brighter. How very peculiar, I thought as I drove home.”
“It had been a long exhausting day and I was very tired, so I brought the box down to my workshop to be examined in the morning... after a good night’s sleep, I thought. But once in bed, I was unable to relax and tossed and turned for more than an hour. Finally, aggravated by my insomnia, I got up and made my way downstairs again.”
At this point Mr. Oddley paused, turned his head, and looked at the ancient box behind him. Several seconds ticked cloaked in an eery silence, and then finally he continued to speak. But now his voice sounded peculiarly distant, as if the past five years had fallen away, and here he was, once again, reliving that life altering moment.
