10/31/1998 g.g.Ashbrook
Alcot’s elephant was rolling around on a green manicured lawn, she had a rattle in her mouth, and a giant rubber ball which she would grab between her front feet and toss up into the air. She rolled over and over, getting a little too close sometimes to the garden. Mrs. Crutchwrench and Alcot came out of their houses about the same time, only Moocilla was on Mrs. Crutchwrench’s lawn. She ran down the stairs with her grey hair blowing to the four winds and went to kick Moocilla right in the head. Alcot jumped in the way and she kicked him in the shin instead. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off the ground and said pointing her other hand in his face, "If I see your circus rat in my garden one more time I’ll cast the both of you off the pier, do you understand?"
"But she wasn’t in your garden Mrs. Crutchwench,"
"Wrench!" she yelled bulging her bloodshot eyes.
Then Alcot’s mother, Mrs. Frettling, came out the front door in a smart mylar suit and with a modified old spoke wheel for a hat, and said, "What’s all the trouble?"
Mrs. Crutchwrench hurled Alcot though the air as if discarding him from the conversation, where he hit the side of the porch wall and fell to the ground. "Your Bratt’s little sewage spewer is destroying my yard." She yelled so loudly that people in neighboring houses began to open their doors and poke their heads out.
"Why that’s impossible Mrs. Crustwhip, a cute little elephant like that." And she looked at the animal, who was still rolling about on her back and shaking her rattle, and Mrs. Frettling tilted her head and batted her eyes.
"I don’t care what kind of rat it is."
Meanwhile, Alcot pulled himself from the ground and went over to Moocilla and coaxed her to follow him back to their own yard which had many more trees and gardens far surpassing that of Mrs. Crutchwrench.
"Why I don’t see why there has to be any disagreement." Mrs. Frettling said.
"I’ll cook your boy in a stew. I’ll chop off his fingers and nail them to your door. I’ll make his tongue into a pastry, and have it sent to you at work."
"Oh nonsense," Mrs. Frettling said, chuckling. "Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight."
"Mom," Alcot said as he was going into the front door behind Moocilla.
"You stay out of this!" Mrs. Crutchwrench said, pointing her finger which seemed as long as a pencil.
Moocilla at this time must have gone out through the back door because she was walking around behind Mrs. Crutchwrench sniffing the grass. She then started nibbling at the back of her dress.
Mrs. Crutchwrench tried to turn about when she started being tugged, but Moocilla held on tight enough that she couldn’t even turn enough to see what was going on. It was a tug o’ war game that Moocilla and Alcot played all the time.
"You see Mrs. Crumpfrust," Mrs. Frettling said smiling, "She just wants to play."
The old lady was jerking her head from side to side trying to figure out what was going on.
"Try jumping up and down." Mrs. Frettling said.
"What?"
"You know, hop, hop, hoppity hop. Like when you were a girl."
"I’m going to be sick," Mrs. Crutchwrench said, "Why do you insist on talking to me as though I’m a five year old. I’ve got forty years on you easy, you prissy little slut, you should show me some respect."
"Are you getting enough fiber in your diet?"
"What does that have to do with anything!"
"Sometimes mood swings can be the result if your all stopped up and clumped inside. I know the name of a darling proctologist and I can refer you to -if your nice." She said with a wink. "I can tell him, ‘I know this marvelous dame, a Miss. Crumpwell, and she’s packed as tight as a green peach.’"
"I’d never."
Then with a great tare Moocilla rolled backwards with the whole lower portion of the dress in her mouth, squealing with delight at another tug o war victory. There stood Mrs. Crutchwrench on long mental stalks. Both legs were shiny as new, with hydraulics working silently away.
"Oh," Mrs. Frettling, said splaying the backs of her fingers daintily over her lips to conceal a smirk, "You're a freak. Tell me Mrs. Chromewinch, is there anything real in you at all? Are the authorities to be notified?"
Mrs. Crutchwrench suddenly became very quiet, and the hydraulics of her one foot began to flutter. "It’s only from the waist down I assure you. A car accident years ago. Lost my whole family. Barely made it… myself." She said, backing toward her front door. As she turned she could see the whole neighborhood had come out to see what the commotion was all about, just in time to bare witness to this.
There was a silence, over which there was only the squeak of Mrs. Crutchwrench’s tennis shoes against the glass steps to her front door. Then the laughter began with the people the farthest off. But quickly it crept up as peoples faces erupted into fits of hysterics which at moments could have been mistaken for tears of agony. Some of them had fallen on the ground no longer able to stand. Most supported themselves with their hands on their arched knees and wiped the tears from their eyes, bent over with glee. Mrs. Crutchwrench was mortified, her hand hadn’t made it to the door handle by the time she was frozen still and shaking. Even Mr. Dulmitter, who she’d seldom if ever seen smiling, was all pink in the face, with his great round belly bouncing up and down, which he held as if it steadied him.
Alcot ran out from his house and across the two lawns over to Moocilla who was sitting on her hams with her head ached back, scratching her forehead against the branches of a hydrangea. He reached down and scooped up the remains of the dress and went over to Mrs. Crutchwrench and held them out to her. He turned to the people who had gathered in the street. "You all should be ashamed of yourselves." He shouted. "Why can’t you leave her alone."
"She didn’t leave you alone," someone shouted from behind a hedge across the way.
"Maybe she’s trying, but she’s too warped. Maybe she thinks she has some reason to plague us all. But what about you." he shouted. "What excuse do you have. Are you old? Have you see all your friends die, and your parents, and all your pets? Have you? Have you lost limbs and had to live with hydraulics where once you could feel? Have you felt your heart drained of it’s sap, have-"
"But Alcot," someone in the street said raising their hand like at school.
"Have... what?"
"She’s not real. She’s a syntho. She isn’t old at all."
The people began to chat producing a hum of unheard remarks and interchange. And then all the sounds died down once again and all eyes fixed on Alcot.
Alcot turned to Mrs. Crutchwrench and looked her in the eyes. "Oh." He said, and he whistled and Moocilla came bounding up to him, and they started off together on a walk around the block.