Thing, a short story

December 22, 2009 | Posted by Paul Wolborsky

“The Thing”, by Paul Wolborsky

This is a story of a thing without a name. That made Thing very sad, because Thing had nothing to call itself. Everybody called it ‘Thing’, even the thing itself.

But Thing knew it was more than a thing. It could feel, it could see, if it only had a mouth, why, it would talk too, or sing. Just imagine, it could be the thing that sings. But what songs it could sing it could only sing to itself. Thing had a body – red, neither soft nor hard, six inches long, six inches wide, six inches high except on one side. It was filled with empty, but never filled completely.

Thing had a job. Thing had many jobs, but it had never held a job for long. Currently, Thing was the base of table-leg four, holding up the table. Thing’s supervisor was Eg, who used to be Leg until a year before when little big Junior, a boy six years old and six feet tall found a rusty jigsaw and cut him in two.

Eg was a nice eg. Thing and Eg creaked and rubbed pleasantly enough during the day, and slept through the night. Eg used to be a strong leg, one with the others. Then Eg was a half-leg, and the whole table turned on their crippled brother. Poor Eg had the burden of the entire table on its aching, shuddering frame. At night, Eg made a creakly, popply sound. But Thing didn’t mind, because he hadn’t a friend in the world except Eg, and what’s a little night noise among friends?

So Thing held up Eg who held up the table. They were both alone in the world except for each other. The other legs at the table wouldn’t talk to Thing either, because Thing was so clumsy. Often, Thing would let Eg, the other legs, and the whole table down. When Junior bumped into him, off he’d wobble, and the whole table would come down. The scary Old Man would curse Thing for his dereliction, for his clumsiness. The scary Old Man would yell at Thing, and put Thing down once again under Eg.

“Sorry Eg”, Thing would think tearfully. Eg always creaked sympathetically. ”Sorry other legs”, Thing would think. They never answered back.

Thing would think on its many failures as a thing. The short career as a door-stop, a pillow, a footrest, a glitterlight, a flag, a chair. Or the disastrous day at the Grocery store as the base of a mound of canned peas. Thing have been without a home many times, Thing have slept in garbage-cans on many rainy nights. Thing have never been hugged, or held with joy. Thing have been kicked many times.

But Thing held on. It had a single prayer, and it prayed every night. It was not a request, for Thing held a battered pride. It was a promise. ”Somewhere, there is a place for me.”

Thing had a vague memory of birth. It was a scary memory, so scary, Thing tried to forget it. Pillows, footrests, bed and trashcan memories covered the disconcerting memories of metal mom.

Metal mom was a cold metal thing. A big clanking, noisy, steam-driven thing. Of hissing bellows and pounding presses and black oil and hot and cold. Hands grabbed it off a conveyor belt and threw it in a big bin with the others. Thing remembered the others, all of them together in a nursery. There were so many of them, in different colors and different sizes. But Thing was different. He had a short-side. And it wasn’t long before a pair of hands grabbed it, taking it away from all the rainbow-colored brothers and sisters.

The clankings of metal mom fell behind. Cold, rough, calloused hands rubbed his skin, and he was tossed into a garbage can. And it was the beginning of a long, lonesome journey leading to his current job helping Eg hold up the table.

Then, one day, the worst happened.

Junior, who had only bumped into Thing on occasion, finally noticed Thing.

Junior looked at the table, heaping high with books and papers with which the scary old man kept his business. And with an evil grin, bumped into Thing and ran away to hide around the corner. The table fell over.

The Old man shouted “Wahhh??”. And yelling, stamping, muttering, gathered his books and papers, righted the table, and cursing, placed Thing back under Eg.

Junior did it again. And ran, and hid around the corner.

The Old man shouted “Waaaahhh??” And yelling louder, stamping harder, cursing and groaning evil curses and damnations at Thing, righted the table again.

Junior did it again. Hard. And ran away laughing. This time, however, poor Eg hit the floor very badly, and with a mighty crack, splintered yet again.

The old Man shoulted with a mighty roar, “Aaaaaggggghhhh”. Frightened, Junior ran out the door, his entire part in this mishap unknown. The Old Man grabbed the entire table, and threw it on the garbage heap. The Old Man grabbed Eg, silently bearing its greatest pain, and threw him over the roof of the house across the street. And yet saved his wrath at the last for Thing.

The Old man kicked thing so hard Thing squeaked. IT Squeaked! Then, Thing slammed against the wall, and bounced. IT bounced! And it bounced back at the Old Man’s head, knocking him on the ground. And it flew out the window. IT flew!!

Thing wasn’t hurt at all, to its surprise. Its skin, neither soft nor hard, bounced it around as naturally as the sunshine. And it flew out the window, bounced down the road.

The bouncing Thing scared a horse carrying a cart full of apples. The apples fell off the wagon, and rolled all over the road in front of a Fireman’s review drilling for a parade. Fireman’s band and Firemen all fell on the ground, much to the laughter of the little girls on the sidewalk. The little girls laughed so hard, they all dropped their ice-cream on their dresses. One little girl dropped an ice cream cone on a little boy’s foot, and years later, they were married. Another girl dropped an ice cream cone on the Parson’s foot, and got a lecture on Jezebel and Armageddon. One little girl ran home in tears, and while the maid cleaned her dress, she put on a ballerina’s tutu for the first time, and thus became the greatest dancer in the town.

All the cats, smelling cream, ran to lick the ice cream, and the dogs, smelling the cats, ran after the cats. The cats ran into the trees. Dogs licked the faces of the fallen firemen. And became their faithful friend while the firemen rescued the cats from the trees, getting nothing but teeth and fang for their troubles.

And Thing bounced away.

Down the road.

The road turned.

Thing bounced down the road.

The road crossed over a bridge, the bridge crossed over an icy cold river.

Thing bounced across the bridge.

In a vacant lot, Junior found another use for his evil energy. Junior had pushed little Tommy peg-leg onto the ground. And with his hacksaw, he hacked away at Tommy peg-leg’s peg-leg. Tommy was crying.

Thing saw what evil Junior was doing, and saw Junior’s evil. Thing learned anger. Thing hated Junior with all its will. Thing saw a mound of large Oil-barrels behind Junior. Thing learned how to fight. Thing bounced its last few bounces, mightily, with its diminishing motion… and rolled to the pile of Oil-barrels, which fell on Junior.

Bawling, Junior ran away. But it was too late. In his hands he held a prize, Tommy’s severed peg-leg. Alerted by the noise, Papa ran to the vacant lot, and found Tommy. Tommy cried on papa’s tendering shoulder, but a little boy can pay little attention to anything for long, and soon noticed Eg, laying in the dirt. Eg was splintered, but just about the right size for his peg-leg, so Papa grabbed Eg. Tommy then noticed Thing, sitting tired, elated, and short on two sides.

“Look Papa. A ball. A pretty red ball. May I keep it?”

“Let’s go home my dear boy. I’ll fix you a new peg leg with this noble fragment.”

“But Papa, can I keep the ball too?”

“I don’t know my son, it sure looks dented.”

Ball, Thing cried. My name is BALL!

It had a name. Now it understood what it was. But a dented ball could never have a friend.

Thing said goodbye to Eg. It knew Eg will find a happy home. Oh well, looks like another garbage can for me, it thought.

“Please PAPA?”

“Okay Tommy, it just needs more air. I’ll pump it up when we get home.” Then, Papa grabbed Ball too.

And Papa, Tommy, little Eg peg-leg, and Ball went home.

This is a story of a thing without a name. This made Thing very sad, because Thing had nothing to call itself. Everybody called it Thing, even the thing itself.

But Thing knew it was more than a thing. It could feel, it could see, if it only had a voice, it could sing! Just imagine, it could be the thing that sings. But what songs it could sing it could only sing to itself. Thing had a body – red, neither soft nor hard, six inches long, six inches wide, six inches high except on one side. It was filled with empty, but never filled completely.

“Sorry Eg”, Thing would think tearfully. Eg always creaked sympathetically. ”Sorry other legs”, Thing would think. They never answered back.

Thing would think on its many failures as a thing. The short career as a door-stop, a pillow, a footrest, a Xmas ornament, a flag, a chair. Or the disastrous day at the Grocery store as the base of a mound of canned peas. Thing have been without a home many times, Thing have slept in garbage-cans on many rainy nights. Thing have never been hugged, or held with joy. But Thing had been kicked many times.

Thing endured. It had a single prayer, and it prayed every night. It was not a request, for Thing held a battered pride. It was a promise. ”Somewhere, there is a place for me.”

Thing had a vague memory of birth. It was a scary memory, so scary, Thing tried to forget it. Pillows, footrests, bed and trashcan memories covered the disconcerting memories of metal mom.

Then, one day, the unthinkable happened.

Junior, who had only bumped into Thing on occasion, finally noticed Thing.

Junior looked at the table, heaping with books and papers with which the scary old man kept his business. And with an evil grin, bumped into Thing and ran away to hide around the corner. The table fell over.

The Old man shouted “Wahhh??”. And yelling, stamping, muttering, gathered his books and papers, righted the table, and cursing, placed Thing back under Eg.

Junior did it again. And ran, and hid around the corner.

The Old man shouted “Waaaahhh??” And yelling louder, stamping harder, cursing and groaning evil curses and damnations at Thing, righted the table again.

Junior did it again. Hard. And ran away laughing. This time, however, poor Eg hit the floor very badly, and with a mighty crack, splintered yet again.

Thing wasn’t hurt at all, to its surprise. Its skin, neither soft nor hard, bounced it around as naturally as the sunshine. And it flew out the window, and proceeded to bounce down the road.

The bouncing Thing scared a horse carrying a cart full of apples. The apples fell off the wagon, and rolled all over the road in front of a Fireman’s review drilling for a parade. Fireman’s band and Firemen all fell on the ground, much to the laughter of the little girls on the sidewalk. The little girls laughed so hard, they all dropped ice-cream cones on their dresses. One little girl dropped an ice cream cone on a little boy’s foot, and years later, they were married. Another girl dropped an ice cream cone on the Parson’s foot, and got a lecture on Jezebel and Armageddon. One little girl ran home in tears, and while the maid cleaned her dress, she put on a ballerina’s tutu for the first time, and later became the greatest dancer in the town.

And Thing bounced away.

Down the road.

The road turned.

Thing bounced down the road.

The road crossed over a bridge crossing an icy cold river.

Thing bounced across the bridge.

Bawling, Junior ran away. But it was too late. In his hands he held a prize, Tommy’s severed peg-leg. Alerted by the noise, Papa ran to the vacant lot, and found Tommy. Tommy cried on papa’s tendering shoulder, but a little boy can pay little attention to one thing for long, and soon noticed Eg, laying in the dirt. Eg was splintered, but just about the right size for his peg-leg, so Papa grabbed Eg. Tommy then noticed Thing, sitting tired, elated, and short on two sides.

“Look Papa. A ball. A pretty red ball. May I keep it?”

“Let’s go home my dear boy. I’ll fix you a new peg leg with this noble fragment.”

“But Papa, can I keep the ball too?”

“I don’t know my son, it sure looks dented.”

Ball, Thing cried. My name is BALL!

It had a name. Now it understood what it was. But a dented ball could never have a home.

Thing said goodbye to Eg. It knew Eg will find a happy home. Oh well, looks like another garbage can for me, it thought.

“Please PAPA?”

“Okay Tommy. We’ll pump it up when we get home.” Then, Papa grabbed Ball too.

And Papa, Tommy, little Eg peg-leg, and Ball went home.

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