From: Jeff Davis (jrd1415@yahoo.com)
Date: Thu Aug 29 2002 - 14:51:40 MDT
Friends,
--- Amara Graps <amara@amara.com> wrote:
> As someone who, in my childhood, played with geckos
> instead of dolls,
I can just see it.
Mrs. Graps, hearing odd noises--"plork, plork"--coming
from her daughter's room, cautiously opens the door.
"Amara, honey, is everything ok?" The door swings
wide revealing a room cluttered with the paraphernalia
of an active young life, but no youngster to be seen.
Mrs. Graps bends to catch a glimpse under the bed.
Mistake. Plenty of mess there, but no Amara. As she
straightens up, puzzled, the eerie silence in the room
is broken by her daughter's voice whispering in her
ear, "Yes, mother?"
Startled, Mrs. Graps looks up and, nose to nose, there
is dear Amara, a beefy gecko in each hand and one each
strapped to her knees, dangling from above. Mrs. G's
draw drops.
"Plork, plork, plork, plork, plork, plork, plork",
Amara scampers across der ceiling and down der Waals,
unstraps her knee-pets, and with a kiss for each and a
toss, releases the quartet to fend for themselves in
the wilds of her room.
One can only wonder--with pleasant envy--at the dreams
of Gecko Girl and her sidekick Spiderman.
Amara stands on tip toe, gives her mother a peck on
the cheek, flies down the stairs, graps her bicycle,
is out the door and gone.
Mrs. Graps, her head still spinning with the
whirlwind, looks up at the ceiling and murmurs, "Come
down from there, young lady." Too late. The room
stands silent again, and empty, except for a gecko
curled in contentment in an upper corner of the room.
The corner nearest the stars.
Best, Jeff Davis
"You are what you think."
Jeff Davis
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