Children's / the upside of the world (ch. 1)
The Upside of the World
|chapter one| Of Moons and Dogs
One night in bed I had a dream, a dream to say the least. As I looked out onto the starry dais from the window nearest my bed I saw, rolling backwards and forwards upon the horizon, the great full moon. Like a nickel on twine it rolled, swaying left to right bumping the stars that raised their fists in anger and grimaced in spite. Now on several occasions I have had the pleasure of meeting him and to my surprise, again this evening it would seem we were set for one of our boundless adventures. I must confess at first I thought the moon inept. For it seemed he was always playing and I could never take him seriously. But I suppose someone as important as the moon has to have a little fun sometime.
As he rolled toward my window, conjuring a ruckus amidst the dogs in the neighborhood, I saw most clearly a very serious face. ”I wonder.” I said to Foxworth. “Why the moon looks so stark today?” ”Well don’t ask him, silly girl.” replied Foxworth. ”It’s rude to point out one’s countenance.” ”I do hope he tells us, for I am sure I have never seen him looking so grim.”
I am inclined to agree that, in most cases, dogs cannot talk. But ever since I saw Foxworth as a pup all those years ago I knew there was more to him than meets the eye. I remember choosing him: Mommy and Daddy took me into the country to visit Mrs. Carapace, a tall thin woman who looked as though she were bones wrapped in skin. She was Daddy’s third cousin twice removed, though removed from what I was never quite sure. Mrs. Carapace had a long and sallow face with small beady eyes that looked like shiny black beetles scurrying in the confines of her eyelids. She was far from dervish and very reserved. I once heard Mommy call her “persnickety.” She was constantly knitting. She told me “A little girls’ hands will turn to worms lest she keep them busy.” My Mommy says Mrs. Carapace’s hands had turned to worms so many times when she was a girl that she had a whole worm-farm pitched beneath her house. I couldn’t understand how her fingers kept growing back. Mommy says her fingers are like a lizard’s tail.
Her house was centered as an island in a lake of tall foxtails with assorted ambers and oranges and tans and peaches; weeds and grains and burnt yellow poppies splayed about the land in the hot summer day. I imagined coruscant fields at night, fireflies and violins; a cacophony of sight and sounds. And every so often, we’d come upon a graveyard of old cars, whose sun-burnt color reflected weakly on the tall weeds encircling them. I imagined spiders weaving quilts of webs within the hollows of these long dead relics capturing flies in their intricate tendrils; raindrops of red and blue and green and purples clinging to each strand, a masterwork of nature’s art.
The house, maybe an old plantation in its days, decrepit and aged with peeling white paint, looked rather like a White Bengal Tiger from India, or at least the ones that I had seen in Zoobooks at my all-too-frequent visits with the dentist. I imagined it got tired of India and decided to venture to Hawaii for a vacation then it got lost or perhaps it thought maybe it’d feel better if it lived as a house for a bit, you know have a lie-in. Old Mrs. Carapace is in for a nasty shock when he decides to wake up and move to Hawaii, although maybe the climate will be better for her and maybe she’ll take up surfing. I can see it now, Mrs. Carapace in an orange bathing suit looking bug-eyed wearing her giant thick-framed spectacles, the lenses shaded against the bright red and white polka dots that littered the frame. Her sallow white skin was transparent; blue veins coursing under the skin, labyrinthine as a road map with forks and dead ends and turn-abouts. I saw her bony fingers grasping tightly against the board as she entered the ocean, lying on her stomach as the mist from the water beneath her rose in splendid cerulean curls, popping like bubbles when they touched her sharp nose. And then the waves: great monstrosities of waves towering above her in bends as she jumped to her feet, steadied herself on the narrow board and flew toward the beach on the back of Big Kahuna, riding him onward toward the sandy shore like Pecos Bill and his twisters, a crowd of on-lookers applauding and whistling for her as she slid gracefully upward and over the waves, taming the beast below her feet.
Mrs. Carapace’s house was just as old and aged in the inside as it was on the outside. The main foyer was stuffed full with hutches and shelves that held many flower-emblazoned plates and cups and tea saucers. They must be bored, I thought to myself, though I imagine at night when Mrs. Carapace is sound asleep they escape the confines of their shelves and mambo on the splintered hard wood floor. The walls were decorated in faded flower print that seemed to have curled away from the wood walls in some corners, or they bunched up in other areas, like tiny rivers flowing over the wall. It smelled like bread at all times here, not fresh-cooked bread, but stale and stagnant as if I had put my head in a bag of week old bread left out in the hot summer sun.
As for Foxworth, Mrs. Carapace did not care much for him. She said he was the “runt of the litter,” but I knew better. She kept the puppies locked in a makeshift pen behind the house made of chicken wire and filled with straw. For a woman who abhorred contrariness she herself had one or two things that made no sense to me at all. The first being the sole Llama she kept in the back paddock, tied to a candy-striped pole not unlike that at a Barbershop. On several occasions I had asked where she had obtained him, for an animal as curious as a Llama must have a great story behind it. But she always shrugged me off, mumbling to herself. I’d catch very few words like ‘girls’ and ‘guile’ and ‘deplorable ’ in her rumblings. I figured I’d let sleeping dogs lie.
Mrs. Carapace had a great Dachshund for several years that she had named Poppy. And perhaps it was her strict rules and un-dervish demeanor that had caused it, but for some time Poppy had escaped the confines of Mrs. Carapace and went on to her own scholarly pursuits, and in the process, became pregnant. I imagined a Lady and the Tramp romance, though in reality it was probably less romantic than that. Since when did dogs need romance anyway?
Upon viewing the pups, I noticed a strange birthmark on Foxworth’s left front paw in the shape of Florida. I knew immediately that I had to have him. Though she wasn’t too keen on Foxworth, it took a while before Daddy persuaded her to sell him to me, and at last she begrudged me Foxworth. ”Mark my words little girl. There’s something unnatural about that pup.” Mrs. Carapace said, as we readied ourselves to leave. ”Oh I shall Mrs. Carapace.” I replied. In my mind I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for me for I knew such a magnificent birthmark would yield a rather spectacular talent, but I dared not show this to Mrs. Carapace or she might ask for him back. I named him Foxworth that night after my goldfish that died a few weeks back, somehow the name seemed more befitting this time around.
That was how Foxworth and I came to be friends. As for tonight, the moon now seemed so serious I was sure that he would speak only dire words. As he approached, I gulped, looking toward my feet whose tips were now pointing toward each other. I prayed there would be no awkward silences. Those I hate the most. My brain shrinks a little every time I am involved in an awkward silence. I shan’t worry too much though, because I’ve always thought my brain to be bigger than most. But I guess I did worry, because I could not stop asking myself how to avoid silence? I knew the moon would need cheering up but my mind drew a blank as he came nearer to me. I couldn’t ask about the day that was for sure. To someone like the moon it was very rude and I wouldn’t want him to think me uncouth. “Listen here you silly girl,” I said to myself. “I shall take drastic measures to avoid an uncomfortable silence if need be. You’re a smart little cookie, I’ll give you that. You’ve got gumption, but you’d best make with the conversation or you’ll pay sorely.”
At last, he stood outside my bedroom window on the second floor of my house. Below me was the new swimming pool my parents had installed for the summer. I hadn’t swam in yet (I get ear aches when I submerge myself). For a moment, we simply gazed into each others’ eyes. His round blue eyes seemed glittered with flecks of pink and silver and gold. I felt it creeping toward us, that beast of silence, the banshee who lost her voice. Her mouth was opening wider and wider and nothing but hollow air escaped her lips. The silence was growing so thick I felt I could leap from my window and hover within its thick membranes. At last, as the moon came closer he opened his mouth to speak and let loose a great guffaw that nearly blew my house down. My hair a mess now, I listened quietly for a moment to make sure my parents had not awoken. To my relief a bevy of snores emanated from their room. They were in danger of turning into Hippopotamus’ if they kept on that way. I’ve heard a Hippo snore, and my parents were second only to it. Foxworth was as upset as ever and was about to tell the moon off when the moon let out another guffaw, this time blowing my bed clear across the room. Then he looked at me once more and said. ”What cheer, Erika! Had you fooled didn’t I?”
“Oh yes indeed.” I replied. ”I take it you are in high spirits, then?”
“The very highest,” he replied. ”I’ve found a great little spot on the other side of the world that I’m dying to show you just now.”
“Wouldn’t that be China?” said Foxworth, his nose upturned (or as upturned as a Dachshunds nose can get). Did I mention he was a devout skeptic? Ironic, isn’t it?
“It would be on a normal day Foxy, but I’ve got it on good authority, mainly my own, that today is different.” said the Moon.
“Preposterous!” Bellowed Foxworth, as he steadied himself, for every time the moon spoke, a hard gust blew into the window pushing him and all of my belongings toward my back wall. I didn’t mind at all, I like a quaint gust when the mood calls for it. But Foxworth seethed and looked at the moon with incredulity.
“It’s not preposterous” replied the Moon. ”Ridiculous maybe, even Fatuous, but of all the words that end with ‘ous’ preposterous is most certainly what it’s not! Now, if you’ve finished Collywobbling, I might feel inclined to explain how such a task as traveling to the other side of the world can be achieved.
“Oh, do tell.” I replied with enthusiasm. I could hardly contain myself at this point. I was filled with excitement.
“Well, as I said earlier, on a normal day the other side of the world would be China. But I’ve unraveled the mysteries of the cosmos themselves.” said the Moon.
“Oh?’ replied Foxworth.
“Yes indeed. Even one such as yourself can’t turn your nose at this. You see, my buddy Deimos is moving away to Venus. Apparently there’s a huge vacancy there. I myself have never been to Venus, but he says that he’s stumbled upon the secrets of the universe (though how I’m not quite sure). It all has something to do with strange messages that he’d been getting coming from Venus, or in that general vicinity. In any event, he discovered that the secrets of interstellar/inter-dimensional travel can only be done on a night such as tonight. And it all begins with three words… one-oh-one.”
“1:01?” I asked.
“Indeed. 1:01.” replied the Moon.
“Do you mean to say that the art of inter-dimensional travel, which scientists have been unsuccessful in theorizing sufficiently, rests solely on the count of time 1:01?” Foxworth replied with even more incredulity, if that were possible.
“But it’s nearly that time now.” I exclaimed.
“Then we should get on with it.” said the Moon, ignoring Foxworth. Fifteen minutes until 1:01 and you haven’t even your jammies on. My goodness little girl, what kind of upbringing did your parents give you?”
“Well it wasn’t a very stern one if that’s what you’re asking. But that’s beside the point, for I have a dilemma.”
“Oh? And what is it?” asked the Moon.
“Well you see,” I replied. ”I have just returned from the Kitchen after sneaking down to enjoy rather generous amounts of chocolate chip cookies. And as my Mommy always says ‘Sugar and sleep don’t mix.’”
“Indeed,” Said the moon lackadaisically. ”That’s not a problem.”
“Not a problem?” exclaimed Foxworth. “My dear sir, how else do you expect for Erika and I to follow you to the other side of the world if she cannot fall asleep?”
“Simple. Nonsense.” replied the Moon. He spoke as if this made any sense at all.
“Nonsense?” I asked.
“Yes, nonsense.” the moon replied. ”What is the one thing that can make you sleepy almost instantly?” He paused as he waited for us to answer, and when it became apparent that we were completely oblivious he continued. “Nonsense: sheer and utter nonsense. I know that as a child anything of a nonsensical nature would make my parents very tired. It might have something to do with the brain over-exerting itself trying to make sense of nonsense. So I tell you what, you put on your jammies and get into bed and I will speak nonsense words until 1:01 and then we’ll be off.”
I thought to myself, this sounds like a reasonable idea. I would have it no other way! With a newfound resolve I stepped into my closet, put my jammies on then went back into my bedroom and threw myself on the bed. Foxworth followed behind and curled up in the curve of my armpit. I looked over at the digital alarm clock on my bedside table. 12:49 it read.
“Here we go now… big blubbery butts burst benignly beyond the bend.” said the moon. Indeed it was complete and utter nonsense and I giggled to myself until, on a whim I felt sleepiness swim within me. Over and over he repeated those eight nonsensical words. “Big blubbery butts burst benignly beyond the bend.” Time crept ever so slowly that I think, in another life, time may have been a snail. But then again, when you look at a clock it’s almost as though you have the power to freeze it. So I decided only to check the clock momentarily and not compulsively.
12:57 the clock now read. I have to imagine the Moon was very thirsty by now, he had been saying the same phrase over and over again for the last eight minutes. I contemplated going downstairs to fetch him some milk and cheese but decided against it. It would take ages for me to fall asleep after that. Four minutes left. My eyelids slowly started to come together. I was willing my thoughts to the Moon so that I can encourage him to continue. His plan was working. In the depths of my mind I thought back to my first meeting with the moon. I remember him telling me about the squirrels that live on his face and tickle him something awful. They make their burrows deep beneath the surface and scurry about in the late hours of the night. I had asked him if they were brown because I couldn’t see them on the moon. He said they were yellow like the Barley man’s teeth at the pub down the block and mixed well with his color. I told him of this mood ring I once had and said “Yellow harbors a passive temperament, or so I’ve read.” “Who says that?” He asked. I obliged him with the name of the company that made this particular mood ring. ”They don’t say that, do they?” ”Don’t they!” I replied. ”Don’t they just!”
12:59. As sleepiness wrapped itself around me like wisps of smoke, my floor gave way and I found that the carpet had now become a wave of dark black sand. The sound of the surf could be heard and I felt a faint mist on my naked face. I concentrated harder on the Moons words as my bed rocked forward and backward, side-to-side as a boat upon the ocean. Waves of dollhouses and teddy bears crashed against the wall. Monopoly pieces and Barbie dolls swam in the sea of black sand. The red glare of the digital numbers on my alarm clock became blurred and unfocused. 1:00 it read, though I could barely make it out. ”Big blubbery butts burst benignly beyond the bend.” The words slowly faded from my ears as my lids nearly slammed shut.
At last I saw it through the fog that had developed afront my eyes. The clock now read 1:01 and with a shock I awoke, fully alert to find that my bed and I had sunk straight into the floor. And as we fell, the old familiar butterflies fluttering ever so violently within my stomach, I saw the first floor of our house; the basement, the cement, the dirt. Deeper and deeper we sank into the earth, but it was as though Foxworth and I were protected in a giant transparent bubble. His tail wagged profusely as he sat, slack-jawed, watching as the world arose around us. We saw dinosaur bones and water and secret rivers below the world. Then came great pools and rivers of fire, yellow and red and black and brown. Moving swiftly, perhaps running late for a meeting. And then it seemed that we were spinning and the underworld wrapped itself about my bed, great turbulent lights sped this way and that, fireflies of such luminous majesty. Sounds rapped from ear to ear and the fireflies became stars. And I saw them as clear as day, Betelgeuse and Rigel, lovers dancing the waltz in ¾ time. Step-two-three, step-two three. Phosphor and luor, magnesium and sodium and hydrogen and helium. The magic of the cosmos trapped in my eyes, my pupils a cage for which such splendours can be captured. This, surely, could not be the upside of the world for it seemed we left the world’s frame and found ourselves in space. But alas, we began to sink upward into more fire and magma…up some more past dirt graveyards of dinosaurs and men and beetles, upward some more, my bed scraping against the roots of giant trees.
With a great and sudden force it happened. We burst through the other side of the world and Foxworth and I were thrown from my bed; my feet surfacing first and then my head. My stomach and all my insides lurched quickly toward my throat and it seemed they rested there. We tumbled against sharp blades of grass that, upon making contact with my skin, brought about the worst case of itches I’ve had in a while.
Finally, it seemed we could tumble no more and alas I stood up straight… or I should say I stood down. I looked around and everything seemed normal. It was daytime and the sun was nice and warm; there was a cool breeze. We had surfaced in some distant green field littered in rainbows of flowers. New smells made their way toward my nose like an army upon a towering fortress. However, something had gone terribly wrong. I was standing on my head and as I tried to walk my feet just kicked the air. I was upside-down and the world was right-side up. My hands were at my side and I couldn’t figure out what was keeping me this way. As I started to mimic walking with my feet, I found that I had moved several feet forward. I can tell you this gave me quite a headache as my head kept bumping against the ground. I looked to my left and saw that Foxworth himself had been in the same predicament. There was nothing to be done for it. We were going to have to stick it out until nighttime, and then the moon would put us right, or at least that was my hope. In the meantime, however, I wished longingly for someone to tie a pillow to my head. Oh the bumps I would have, a mountain range of bumps atop my head. Mommy will be furious.
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Good to see this again, it still reminds me of the magic of Enid Blyton. I liked the detail about the dogs, and how much more lyrical this one seemed than the previous chapter I read. It also seems much more developed to me, and there individual moments that are exceptional (esp. in terms of your description, this is incredibly well done).
You are following in the footsteps of great children’s authors. I’m sure whoever reads this will appreciate its beauty and poetic resonance.
Laura
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What a ride. Very fun. Reads nicely even if it does bounce around quite a bit with no real end in site. Lovely dialogue between the speaker, foxworth and the moon. Also excellent use of language. I’m interested in other work you have produced. And your logic and transition into the nonsense scene was very smooth. I will have to test your theory on alliterative nonsenses as a sedative for children – “Big blubbery butts burst benignly beyond the bend” - I’ll give it a try. Thanks for the fun.
What a great story! I was drawn in right away and I love your style. This is exactly the sort of storytelling that children love also. The type that makes very little sense but is silly and makes them laugh.
You have a great gift and I think you should try to get your work published. The only negative I have is that once in awhile you tend to become too descriptive and the wordiness makes the story flow less well.
Good luck!
I loved this story. Was a bit put off at first by the abundance of flowery words but once I got into the groove, I grew to appreciate it. I don’t know if you are familiar but I found it very reminiscent of Neil Gaiman’s writing style, particularly Coraline. As a 28 year old, I enjoyed it quite a bit and I KNOW I’d have loved it as a preteen and young adult. Looking forward to reading the second part!
I like the way you imagine and tell this story but in the story there are some woirds that can be to hard for small children to read or understand. But I really liked the story about the you derscribed what was happening in the story i felt like I was there! If you can fix a bit of those waords this story can become a good childs book. And I think it was very sweet of you to write this story to your 10 year old sister I bet she loved this story.
This is a hilarious, fun story. Such creativity you have inside your head! I especially like the description of Mrs. Carapace and the lines about her house being a White Tiger. Quite enjoyable.
I know you wrote this for a 10 year old, but I wonder about some of the words you used. For instance, would a 10 year old know the meaning of couiscant, countenance, inept? I guess this could be considered a vocabulary lesson and when those words came up, the child could ask the meaning?
Great job, I look forward to the next chapter.
Wonderful tale. Well written, I won’t go into grammer and editing but the premise of the story was fun and the detail you put into the settings was very well done..felt as if I could see the places you were describing. Good Job
this was a nice read. it is refreshing to read something light hearted. this piece has the potential to be something great if you choose to take it their.
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