idiot, she was. “You know, in different
denominations!” she demanded. How that word came to her when pegs wouldn’t was frustrating in and of itself.
Fynn stared at her like she was an alien just learning
human ways of communication.
Let him try to carry around a watermelon in his
belly and see how smart he is.
“Gift cards?” he offered all too easily, saying it
carefully in a way that said maybe you need to consider medication for that
tic.
“Exactly! A gift card!” Thankful for the word if not
for the mode of delivery.
“I don’t think they have Western Union gift cards,” he
said, stepping all over her idea.
“What do you know, you didn’t even know Western Union
was still up and running.”
“Neither did you.”
“I’m just saying it would be perfect for my dad.
William Hemmings could spend the next ten years sending telegrams all over the
place. You know, instead of having to sink to using cordless telephones to talk
to people,” she chuckled. “Or heaven forbid using email or an actual cell….
Except isn’t texting really just a modern-day telegram anyway? I mean, can you
imagine people in the olden days sending LOLs and OMGs in their telegrams to
conserve on letters—though they probably would’ve meant “lots of love” and “oh
my goodness”. And their taglines would have been more like LSL for Leaches Save
Lives, or MADH,” she snorted, “Mothers Against Drunk Horses…. If you think
about it, it’s like the original Twitter. Telegrams could have birthed the hashtag…
#WagonHo #GoWest #PonyExpSnailMail… although they didn’t even use periods, so I
guess other symbols weren’t used either, maybe. Or had they not invented
symbols on the keys yet at all? Why didn’t they use—”
Fynn whistled and waved his hand in front of her face.
“Hey, hello there, are you done yet? Going to open it now?”
“Yeah, jeez, what’s up your butt?”
Cara giggled.
“It’s just that telegrams are usually important,” he
noted.
“People send them as wedding invitations now,”
Catherine pointed out, “so the level of importance varies, I guess.”
“They don’t send real telegrams though.”
“I guess not. But still.”
Fynn rolled his eyes.
“Alright already.” She tore open the envelope and read
the short single sheet:
GREAT IDEA –(STOP)- MUST MEET UP –(STOP)-
END OF WORLD AS WE KNOW IT –(STOP)- REM LOL –(STOP)- YOURS TARA
“What the hell—eck is this?” she blurted, stumbling
over her words as she tried to save herself from saying something worse.
“What’s a helleck?” Cara asked seriously, taking notes
for her mental dictionary.
“It’s an amount. Like a dozen or a bunch or a whole
lot,” Fynn said smoothly and quickly, stringing together a definition with
ease, using simple words Catherine would never have been able to grasp herself
right now.
“Is it bigger or smaller than a dozen?”
“Much bigger,” he assured her.
“A whole helleck bigger,” Catherine added, getting a
smirk out of Fynn.
“Oh, cool,” Cara said, spinning around and galloping
off.
“You know that one is going to bite us.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
“She’s going to be using it at school in math and we’re
going to be fielding calls about what kind of freak we’re raising.”
Shrugging. “Kids say things. We can always deny. Now,
what does that say?” He took the telegram from her and read it. “Tara,”
he sighed.
“Yes, Tara. I should have known.”
“What is she up to now?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” And it was, because
she hadn’t touched base with Tara in weeks. Not since before Thanksgiving.
She’d never bothered calling her back. Thought about it once or twice and then
deferred to normalcy instead.
Catherine yawned, checked the clock. It was too late
to get into it now, with Fynn or Tara for that matter. It was Cara’s
bedtime and she could use some shuteye herself. Tomorrow was the beginning of a
helleck of judgment
denominations!” she demanded. How that word came to her when pegs wouldn’t was frustrating in and of itself.
Fynn stared at her like she was an alien just learning
human ways of communication.
Let him try to carry around a watermelon in his
belly and see how smart he is.
“Gift cards?” he offered all too easily, saying it
carefully in a way that said maybe you need to consider medication for that
tic.
“Exactly! A gift card!” Thankful for the word if not
for the mode of delivery.
“I don’t think they have Western Union gift cards,” he
said, stepping all over her idea.
“What do you know, you didn’t even know Western Union
was still up and running.”
“Neither did you.”
“I’m just saying it would be perfect for my dad.
William Hemmings could spend the next ten years sending telegrams all over the
place. You know, instead of having to sink to using cordless telephones to talk
to people,” she chuckled. “Or heaven forbid using email or an actual cell….
Except isn’t texting really just a modern-day telegram anyway? I mean, can you
imagine people in the olden days sending LOLs and OMGs in their telegrams to
conserve on letters—though they probably would’ve meant “lots of love” and “oh
my goodness”. And their taglines would have been more like LSL for Leaches Save
Lives, or MADH,” she snorted, “Mothers Against Drunk Horses…. If you think
about it, it’s like the original Twitter. Telegrams could have birthed the hashtag…
#WagonHo #GoWest #PonyExpSnailMail… although they didn’t even use periods, so I
guess other symbols weren’t used either, maybe. Or had they not invented
symbols on the keys yet at all? Why didn’t they use—”
Fynn whistled and waved his hand in front of her face.
“Hey, hello there, are you done yet? Going to open it now?”
“Yeah, jeez, what’s up your butt?”
Cara giggled.
“It’s just that telegrams are usually important,” he
noted.
“People send them as wedding invitations now,”
Catherine pointed out, “so the level of importance varies, I guess.”
“They don’t send real telegrams though.”
“I guess not. But still.”
Fynn rolled his eyes.
“Alright already.” She tore open the envelope and read
the short single sheet:
GREAT IDEA –(STOP)- MUST MEET UP –(STOP)-
END OF WORLD AS WE KNOW IT –(STOP)- REM LOL –(STOP)- YOURS TARA
“What the hell—eck is this?” she blurted, stumbling
over her words as she tried to save herself from saying something worse.
“What’s a helleck?” Cara asked seriously, taking notes
for her mental dictionary.
“It’s an amount. Like a dozen or a bunch or a whole
lot,” Fynn said smoothly and quickly, stringing together a definition with
ease, using simple words Catherine would never have been able to grasp herself
right now.
“Is it bigger or smaller than a dozen?”
“Much bigger,” he assured her.
“A whole helleck bigger,” Catherine added, getting a
smirk out of Fynn.
“Oh, cool,” Cara said, spinning around and galloping
off.
“You know that one is going to bite us.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
“She’s going to be using it at school in math and we’re
going to be fielding calls about what kind of freak we’re raising.”
Shrugging. “Kids say things. We can always deny. Now,
what does that say?” He took the telegram from her and read it. “Tara,”
he sighed.
“Yes, Tara. I should have known.”
“What is she up to now?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” And it was, because
she hadn’t touched base with Tara in weeks. Not since before Thanksgiving.
She’d never bothered calling her back. Thought about it once or twice and then
deferred to normalcy instead.
Catherine yawned, checked the clock. It was too late
to get into it now, with Fynn or Tara for that matter. It was Cara’s
bedtime and she could use some shuteye herself. Tomorrow was the beginning of a
helleck of judgment
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