Fan Fiction ❯ Blue Cups ❯ Blue Cups part 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Blue Cups,

by P.H. Wise

Part 3

It's funny what we remember and what we don't. Some memories stand out clear as day in the mind. Others are dim and muted. Others just sort of run together just like the days did back before I knew about time, clocks, and schedules. My Mother taught me all sorts of things by having me help her with the dishes. She taught me to count that way, sure, but that was the least of what I learned.

"How many cups are there, Paul?" she asked.

I looked at the cups very carefully. They were big clear-blue plastic cups, shining in the bright morning of ago. I looked out the window and watched the vultures circling over the little wooded valley that I lived in. "Mom," I said, pointing up at the vultures. "What are those?"

She wouldn't let me change the subject. "How many cups, Paul?" she asked.

I didn't much want to count cups just then. But then, I never wanted to count cups. I wanted to go outside and play.

My brother Andrew, both my tormentor and confidante throughout my childhood, took the opportunity to laugh at me. "I know how many cups there are," he said, goading me on to count them. "Maybe you don't know because you can't count them.

I counted them. "Eight. There are eight of them."

My mother hugged me, and for a moment, I was content. Then she put two of those blue plastic cups into the cupboard. The cupboard was old, and was painted the colour of dark wood. The smell of home filled the air, and I could hear birdsongs coming in through the screen window on the door that led to the back yard.

"How many now?" she asked.

I blinked and looked back at the cups. "Um…" I said, thinking for a moment. "There a six cups. You took two of them away."

This pleased my mother. "Great job, Paul," she said with a proud smile. She put the six cups away.

"I learned that faster than you, you know," said Andrew matter-of-factly.

"Did not!" I said.

"Did too!" he insisted.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"
He got a sly look on his face, then. "Did too!" he said.

"Did not!"
He laughed at me, and I flushed red. "That's not fair!" I exclaimed, enraged by the injustice of it all. I pushed him, and he didn't even budge. When he pushed me back, I fell over. I reached out for purchase, and my hand fell upon a glass cup on the countertop. Down I went and down it went with me, shattering with a crash when we hit the floor.

"I didn't do it!" Andrew said as he raced out of the room.

The glass had cut my hand, and I wasn't happy about it. I cried and wailed. My mother was quick to scoop me up into her strong arms. She picked the glass out of the cuts in my hand, and then carefully washed my hand and bandaged it. After a while, I stopped crying, and she held me in her lap.

"Can we put it back together?" I asked hopefully.

She shook her head, and her smile was strangely sad. "No. No we can't."