The Ivy League

The Ivy League Part 18

One...two...three...four... I mentally counted to myself, waiting.

I felt the already-familiar prodding of the wooden stick in my side.

"Five more minutes," I mumbled, turning away from the pool cue my uncle was holding, snuggling to the deepest corner of my bed where he couldn't reach me.

I heard my uncle's soft, cautious tread come closer to the bed. Just as he extended the pool cue to poke me again, I suddenly whipped upright to face him.

"RAWR!"

My uncle let out a blood-curdling scream and promptly fell to the ground, breaking the cue in half.

"Courtney, don't DO that," he said weakly from the floor, as I rolled around on my bed, laughing. I try to make my mornings more interesting.

I finally sat up. "Oh all right, I'm up," I said, still grinning as I swung my legs to the side of the bed.

My uncle picked himself up from the floor, wincing as he rubbed his tailbone.

"Okay... great... see you downstairs." He hobbled out of my room dramatically, leaning on the stick like a crutch and closed my door. I grinned and walked over to my laptop and plopped down, ignoring the time and opening my email.

I had a few from my family. I opened one email and managed to read, through many mistakes:

Dear Courtney,

Please come home before I die. I don't have very long to live because my birthday is coming up and then I'll be six and then I'll die. What does it feel like to die, Cor? I want to know. I also wish I could remember all the things that I forgot to tell you. But I forgot. Where do forgotten things go, Cor? I want to know. I have to go now because David says he will tie me up in a knot if I don't leave. What does it feel like to be tied up in a knot, Cor? I want to know. David says if I sit here longer, I'll find out. I wish you were here to tell me stuff, because everyone else tells me to stop talking. Why did you leave, Cor? I want to know.

From, Timmy

I grinned, but was still aware of the pang I felt. I missed Timmy so much! Five year-old Timothy always wanted to know stuff, and he used to ask me all the time. My mom had caught me messing with his little mind a few times, because whenever I didn't know the answer, I made one up. He asked why the sun was yellow once, and I said that's where God peed in the sky. My mom had asked what kind of a Christian I was, and I had to keep reminding Timmy that, in fact, the sun is a star and not a pee stain.

I remembered (true story, readers) one time when Timmy wouldn't stop sucking his thumb, I told him if he kept doing it, his tummy would get bigger and bigger and then he'd explode. The next Sunday, we had gone to Church. Timmy had caught sight of a pregnant lady and, marching up to her, looked her dead in the eye and said, "I know what you've been doing." I had laughed but my mom was horrified.

But in all seriousness, I have to send poor Timmy an email, assuring him he won't die when he's six. I wonder what David has been telling him.

I opened the email from David next.

Dear Courtney,

How are you? I am fine. How is California? Dad is sitting beside me right now and he says to tell you the guys here are much better-looking so don't get any ideas. Please don't get married, Cor, that would be gross. I heard you got in a food fight. Mom was angry. Dad laughed. I think you are awesome. It's too bad you left. I miss you. Guess what? Today my teacher Mr. Roy told our class that we can leave for recess early if someone could tell him what a butt muscle is called. I raised my hand and said "Gluteus maximus." He was impressed. Thank you for teaching me that, even if you always used it to say you would spank my gluteus maximus whenever I was annoying. Mr. Roy says he remembers you, but I think all he remembers is how you taped the frog to the ceiling and let it fall on the Principal's head. His wig came off. Do you remember that, Cor? I do. I hate Madame Los, though. She is horrible, and when she speaks in French it makes me want to barf. Do you have to learn French, Cor? I want to learn Spanish so I can come and live with you. I gotta go now. I don't have a reason why I'm going, but I just think I should. Bye. Write back.