His grandmother couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t stop screaming. At first she thought he was throwing a tantrum because he wanted a balloon, and that was something she could understand. Though he was usually a well-behaved child, she knew even well-behaved children had their limits, and she had no doubt that he had reached his. Going on vacation with your grandparents seems lovely until you realize that your grandparents’ bewilderment with what to do with you will be matched only by your bewilderment that they don’t know what to do with you. Then you understand you are only here because your busy parents foisted you off at the last minute, unable or unwilling to take you with them. Then you see your small legs make it difficult to keep up, your breadth of knowledge makes conversation impossible, your lack of understanding leads to frustration on both sides and, to cap it off, your grandparents don’t know your bedtime song.
But when her husband begrudgingly pulled out his wallet and asked which balloon the child wanted she was shocked to find his tears only grew louder and more determined. The vendor knelt down, trying to comfort him, and the paroxysm of grief and terror grew louder, until she was amazed such a tiny body could make such a terrible noise. She patted him awkwardly on the back, exchanged helpless looks and gestures with her husband and the vendor; but still the wailing went on.
Finally she took the boy’s shoulders in each hand and shook him once, sharply. “Stop!” she declared.
This was less than effective.
She stood up. “Well I’m through,” she announced. “Where on earth is a good nanny when you need one?”
Her husband gave it a go. “Now see here, young man,” he said, attempting to make eye contact, but the other set of eyes were scrunched up and streaming tears. “This is no way for a man to behave.”
The child screamed something unintelligible.
“Oh dear,” she said. “You must use your words!”
This time the outburst was almost intelligible.
“Once more?” she asks.
“MICKEY!” the child screamed.
“Mickey?”
“HE’S DEAD!”
“What on Earth are you going on about? Really, I don’t see what-”
“HE KILLED MICKEY MOUSE!” The trembling j’accuse pointed at the vendor.
Poor Mickey’s floating head stared at them, his frozen grin floating on the wind. A little burst turned the whole bundle of balloons, revealing severed head after severed head of cherished cartoon characters.
“Oh dear,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” her husband said, “I’m sure we’ll laugh about this tomorrow.”
Image courtesy of Stuart Thursby. Stuart is an art director and photographer. This photo was taken during his adventures in the wilds of Germany, from which he has recently returned. To see more of his work, or to check out his portfolio, please visit StuartThursby.com.