The Four to Three Impromptu Alliance

The beacon of angels on high, Kimmie could charm the wings off of a butterfly when good as gold, except, of course, when she wasn’t.

An expert in diversion tactics and stealth mode movement. She became a curly blonde otherworldly conniving plotter, liar, and thief when it suited purposes. It kept her effective four-year-old club membership active.

Her mother played catch up with Aunt Joyce over lemon iced tea and gluten-free cucumber sandwiches one sunny summer afternoon. A regular Sunday pastime, where Kimmie, in the spirit of all things southern hospitality and family, was expected to play with, entertain, and keep an eye on Sidney, her three-year-old cousin, the first grandson of the generation.

Aunt Joyce, of traditional Southern breeding, exuded prim and proper. Kimmie once overheard Uncle Robert say, “She got a stick up her ass,” but never thought to repeat it to understand how it happened and who put it there. But Adele, Kimmie’s Mom, couldn’t have been more different.

“Who the hell cares?”

Adele’s signature catchphrase nearly always the push that got Joyce to have a beer, cigarette, and let her hair down for two minutes.

After playing monster truck demolition, emergency fire calls, hosting a country barbecue with all Sidney’s stuffed animals, plus a simulated archaeological dig where two fidget spinners and a very realistic plastic wrench were discovered, Sidney-poo was put down for a nap after lunch. Otherwise, he’d get what the grownups called “cranky.” Kimmie knew first-hand of Sidney’s epic meltdowns.

Once, Aunt Joyce’s cheeks flushed beet-red, when 30 mins later in Walgreens downtown Greensboro, she couldn’t pry a colorful pack of Wrigleys Extra long-lasting spearmint gum from his clenched fingers. A tantrum of legend kicked into high gear. Sweet little Sidney-poo eclipsed by a screeching, kicking, drooling, howling, uncontrollable demonic heap. Kimmie stood near the door ignoring Auntie dealing with her young charge while familiar store clerks pretended to look busier than usual.

Dessert, Aunt Joyce’s most positive attribute, would be delayed for at least an hour until Sidney woke up.

The problem with that?

Kimmie wanted dessert NOW!

On the living room sofa, as Aunt Joyce launched into, “Adele, the steering committee just capitulated to the garbage she was peddling…”Kimmie stopped playing with her barbie dolls, stepping from the pearl deep shag carpet and around the corner to the hall where the bathroom was located. She diverted to the kitchen through the archway, which allowed access to the backyard door where Miss Cecilia was probably licking herself.

Pristine clean, peach and white tile flooring stood between Kimmie and a white marble kitchen island and countertops covered with spice racks, utensil pot, yellow roses, and desserts unknown spread out all over.

A heavenly aroma of apple, vanilla, cinnamon, chocolate chunks, and Willy Wonka wonder wafted everywhere.

Visible carnal glints sparkled over almond brown eyes and tiny white teeth.

Surveying the domain, she zeroed in on an immediate conquest. A slice of chocolate cake with equally delectable frosting on a Wedgwood Astbury black-lined ivory dessert plate on the counter. Next to it lay a delicately frosted mousse fudge double-layered German chocolate cake that would condemn an entire congregation to hellfire just by looking at it.

It had a see-thru plastic cake cover on a slightly raised cake stand. Occupying the center of the kitchen island, it was unconcealed from the nearby arch where Kimmie now stood. Beyond the swinging kitchen door, snippets of muted conversation between her mother and aunt continued uninterrupted.

A four-year-old mind ran through and tested a series of sound-free strategies. She grabbed the broom from the plastic organizer beside the fridge, maneuvering the handle to edge the plate within reach. But she was too short and could not wield such a weapon at an angle to be effective. It was quietly laid on the floor. Climbing up on the handles and knobs also proved tricky. She pulled the paper towel from the holder at drawer height, doubling the sheets with the intent of making a bridge to climb on and cake feast. But the sheets kept breaking, so she gave up that idea.

On tippy-toe, she stretched her fingers across the edge of the counter, as far as she could reach, emitting little grunts of exertion. To Kimmie’s surprise, there were additional similar grunts, as navy-blue shorts and blue pin-striped tank top clad Sidney stretched up beside her.

“Sidney, stop!” Kimmie said. Sidney looked at her and began to giggle. Kimmie ran to him and held him tight. “Shhh!!!” she said placing a finger across her lips. “Sidney, it’s nap time.” She knew Aunt Joyce would insist on a nap if she saw him up. That meant dessert being an even longer wait.

“No, not tired!”

“You’re gonna get in trouble.”

“No, NOT TIRED!” Sidney’s cheeks seemed to be competing for a red hue similar to the curls atop his head as he spoke the words a decibel louder.

“Okay, okay!”

Kimmie’s heart plummeted as Sidney took the makeshift paper towel bridge and began pushing it around on the floor like his Fisher-Price cars. He headed past the fridge to the pantry, and it was then Kimmie noticed small and medium-sized boxes on the floor nearby. Her limbs grew light. She saw in Sidney-poo just the thing. An accomplice! The hard part was getting headstrong Sidney to do what she told him.

“Hey Sidney,” she whispered, “Wanna play a game with a prize?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay, but the rules of the game is that you have to do what I say and you have to do EVERYTHING quietly or no prize. Will you please help me?”

Sidney hesitated for a few seconds as if giving serious thought. Then he smiled the smile of cherubs and nodded his head.

“Yay, Sidney!” Kimmie said, clapping her hands together.

“Shh! You quiet too,” Sidney said.

Kimmie grinned. “Yes, you’re right. I have to be quiet too.”

Silently pushing the boxes together took less effort, but it was still hard work. When Kimmie stepped off of the medium box to the smaller one on top, it gave way and felt unsteady. She tried again, but it felt like she’d fall. The cake was so tantalizingly close. The light from the kitchen windows gleaming on patches of frosting in picture-perfect swirls. Kimmie prepared to make sacrifices by way of delegation.

“Sidney, can you climb up on these boxes to get to the cake prize and pass me some?”

He responded by placing one pudgy foot on the first box and reaching to climb the next but experiencing difficulty. Kimmie stood near the bottom box and pushed up on her cousin’s butt. And that is when she smelled it. Perhaps the reason why Sidney couldn’t sleep, but he was on the top box and making a beeline for the slice of cake on the counter. He snatched it and chocolate oozed through his fingers. Immediate chocoholic-eating ecstasy ensued.

“Sidney? Sidney! Take the lid off the cake. Pass me some!”

“Puh-weez,” was the reply.

“Hurry Sidney!”

“PUHWEEZ Kimmie!”

“Alright, alright! Please!”

Sitting cross-legged on the countertop, Sidney licked and sucked at his left hand full of cake as moist chocolate crumbs fell on his clothes and the counter. He slid closer to the cake stand and lifted the lid as Kimmie strained to see, holding her place on the bottom box. He sliced through the decadence securing as much as he could. Sliding to the edge of the island, he handed it off to Kimmie as the sound of a door swinging made them both freeze.

Obviously done with licking herself, Miss Cecelia had waltzed through the cat flap. She studied the two with condescending interest. Kimmie worked through the small chunk that Sidney had given and asked for more as the dessert fell on the boxes, the floor, and Kimmie too.

Then he saw the cat.

“Miss Ce-CEE-YA!” Sidney called; arms outstretched.

“Shhhhh!!!” Kimmie couldn’t be sure the adults hadn’t heard him and her eyes fixed on the door, swallowing as fast as she could.

“Come, cake Miss Ce-CEE-ya.”

“Cats don’t eat cake, Sidney.”

“Uh-huh. Kitty, come cake.”

Sidney parked himself in front of the cake stand, oblivious to what was once a slice smeared across his shorts and the previously gleaming white surface.

“Pass it me and I’ll give her some.”

Kimmie reasoned that agreeing with her cousin would keep him right where she wanted him, passing her more cake.

More grubby-handed portions followed, and Kimmie set up a smooshed cake station on the other side of the bottom box. An impromptu stash between mouthfuls which squeezed frosting from the sides of her bulging cheeks to fall on her chest and yellow cotton sundress.

A factory conveyor belt of brown chunks was handed over again and again until a curious silver-grey tabby jumped up on the counter to check things out herself. She sniffed at some frosting and at Sidney, then lost interest. He giggled and stroked her, leaving chocolate frosting and crumbs along her head and back. Miss Cecelia walked to the edge of the counter observing kitchen surroundings.

Sidney, restless and uncomfortable, tugged at his shorts until they were off. The Huggies night training pants holding contents offensively similar in consistency and almost the same color as the frosting came off in quick succession. As he moved across the counter, brown splotches dropped here and there, mixing with the cake crumbs and icing.

Miss Cecelia, tiring of her high vantage perch, jumped on the first box. Then she gracefully descended to floor level with the rehearsed elegance that all cats have, leaving chocolate and non-chocolate paw prints on the floor near Kimmie. She rubbed against the hemline taffeta ruffles of the yellow sundress and rolled on the floor.

Sidney tried to follow suit, but the box seemed further away when climbing down. He tried turning around and easing his feet onto the top box but could only comfortably reach air.

“Ahh-huh-huh-hmmm, Kim-meeee! Help!”

A chocolate-covered visage looked up to see bare white cheeks with poo sandwiched between them and made a face.

“Kim-meeyeeee help! I can’t—can’t!”

“Okay, Sid. Just turn around. Sit on the edge, and I’ll catch you.”

Miss Cecilia raised her head in their direction, perhaps sensing a noteworthy turn of events. Sidney pulled himself back up then scooted across the counter surface, bringing his legs a mix of brown and brown to dangle over the edge. Kimmie stood on the first box as close to the counter as possible. There was a two-foot gap between the three and four-year-old, but Kimmie’s height helped.

Sidney’s pre-meltdown face was forming.

“I’ll catch you, Sidney-poo. Really. I’m gonna count to three, and you jump. Ready? On three?”

“Okay, Kimmie. Okay.”

“One.” Kimmie smiled brown globs of teeth. Hands still covered in creamy slippery icing.

“Two.” She stretched and inched closer, arms wide. Kimmie could see hope and a ‘three’ forming at Sidney’s lips.

“AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

Limbs splayed, holding the swing door to the kitchen open, Aunt Joyce’s face held tinges of green. Kimmie’s Mom’s shocked face with gaping yap had eyes growing redder and tornado turbulent. In their short lives, neither cousin had ever seen such expressions on these faces.

“WHAT IN THE BLEEP-BLEEP BLEEP-ITY BLEEP-BLEEP DO Y'ALL THINK YOU TWO ARE DOING??? OOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!! Sidney, don’t’ you DARE move! YOU HEAR ME—DON’T MOVE!” Her voice poisoned daggers.

The cat, hearing loud fallout, slithered quickly to the door. Aunt Joyce seeing Miss Cecilia, let it go in the nick of time, lifting the cat by the scruff of her chocolatey neck in utter disgust. Adele slipped into the kitchen.

At four years old, Kimmie hadn’t known fear of apocalyptic level spanking, but when her mother shrieked, “KIMBERLEY OPHELIA ELIZABETH DUNSTAN!!!” Kimmie sincerely hoped that she had eaten enough chocolate cake to make life worthwhile.

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