OH, BOTHER*

by JoAnn Baca

*Winnie-the-Pooh

* * *

Author’s Note: From my Altered Titles submission: Bothers

Father installs a suggestion box Below and is overwhelmed
by all the picky little complaints he receives.

* * * * *

Father was grumbling to himself as he sat with the open suggestion box on his overloaded desk. The desk was not usually quite this untidy, but with the cascade of paper erupting from the box, his normally corralled mess was overwhelmed. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes becoming increasingly astonished at the thought processes of those Below, as evidenced by the remarkably ridiculous suggestions the box had contained.

“What’s all this?” William came in with a plated lunch, having noticed that Father was absent at the midday meal. That never happened. The man did love his food.

“I should have put you in charge of this…this…abomination!” Father growled.

William eyed the mass of paper warily. “Uhh…just came by with lunch. I…uhh …have…uhh…potatoes on the stove. Gotta run!”

Father had never seen the portly man exit a chamber so quickly, as if his heels were on fire. “Potatoes…bah!”

He turned his attention back to the contents of the suggestion box, and with a weary sigh he picked up another folded piece of paper.

Rebecca should put glitter in the candlewax so our candles could look sparkly.

“Hmmm…looks like Samantha’s handwriting.” He grumpily crumpled the paper and tossed the inane suggestion into his already half-filled wastebasket.

Another suggestion had been folded into a tiny square, and impatiently he picked it apart, only to read More meat, fewer beans.

Another crumpled paper was added to the wastebasket.

A hasty scrawl on the next scrap said: If I step in one more pile of raccoon poop, I’ll scream.

While Father could understand the sentiment, there wasn’t much the Council could do about chamber-training a wild animal other than to admonish Mouse, which it did…regularly. So that one, too, went into the trash.

Make the kids be quiet on Saturday mornings until at least 9 a.m.

Yet another concept he could get behind, but it was impossible to put into effect. Kids would be kids, especially on a day off from school.

Another crumple and toss.

He got as far as Nobody trims candle wicks properly, and if they did… before that “suggestion” also was consigned to oblivion.

An hour later, Vincent popped in to pick up the plate William had requested he retrieve. For some reason, the cook didn’t want to go into Father’s chamber himself. He found the older man slumped, head in hands, with an overflowing trash basket by his feet. His lunch was untouched.

“Father? Are you ill?”

Without raising his head, Father simply shook it once. “’It’s a great idea!’ they said. ‘We’ll get proposals folks might not have the courage to submit at a Council meeting,’ they said.”

Vincent took in the trash and the empty suggestion box. “Am I to understand that you didn’t get the number of excellent suggestions others had anticipated?”

The gray-haired man looked up at him, his eyes bleak. He gestured with one hand to indicate the volume of discarded paper by his side. “Perhaps someone else would do it, but I’d be embarrassed to bring anything in there to the Council.”

Vincent’s lips twitched as he tried to harness a smile. “Well…it’s only the first day.”

The voice that exploded out of Father was percussive in its intensity. “I shall not be doing this again! They are imbeciles, all of them! Silly, selfish, small-minded…”

“Hush!” Vincent’s gaze strayed to the entranceway. Standing there was Mary, looking horrified. He shook his head, indicating she should not enter, and Mary did not seem to need any further encouragement to skedaddle.

“Be civil…and generous-hearted, please,” he admonished Father. “If anyone were to carry those words to the others…”

Father threw himself backwards into his chair with a heavy sigh, his gaze raised to heaven. “You’re right, of course. But trust me, had you spent the last hour going through this ridiculous set of what could only loosely be called suggestions… Here’s an example.”

He plucked a paper out of the trash at random and smoothed it out. “Father would look younger if he’d shave. That gray beard does him no favors.” He glared at the page. “How does this help the community in any way? If someone has an issue with my grooming, they should approach me personally, not put it in a suggestion box! What if William… or – gods forbid – Cullen had been assigned this task?”

Vincent, looking over Father’s shoulder, noted that particular suggestion was in Cullen’s handwriting, but wisely decided to keep mum about the fact.

“Perhaps some guidelines should be issued? Ask specifically for ideas for improving Tunnel systems or operations, not just a blanket request for suggestions.” He shrugged. “Obviously, some are not taking this seriously, and you should not have to put up with the resulting silliness.”

As if he hadn’t heard his son, Father snatched another paper from the discards. “Oh, this one is beyond belief: Bring a phone booth Below so we can make calls. Do they think the city wouldn’t notice a missing phone booth?”

Shrugging, Vincent tilted his head from side to side. “They do tend to lose track of where their electricity goes, and not notice extra water and sewer pipes…”

“That’s not the point!” grated his parent through clenched teeth. “The point is… Oh, I’ve completely lost the point. I’m so angry and aggravated…!”

“What else is new?” asked another voice.

They looked up to find Cullen standing at the top of the stairway.

“You!” Father looked like he was about to launch into a dressing down – perhaps he had recognized Cullen’s handwriting after all – but stopped at the warning squeeze of his shoulder, delivered by his son’s hand.

“What do you need, Cullen?” Vincent’s voice was mild.

“Oh…just checking in on the suggestion box ideas. Anything we’ll be discussing at the next Council meeting?”

Father tried not to hear any insinuation in his voice…but failed. He pulled in a breath to answer the insolent carpenter, but Vincent spoke first.

“Not many helpful ideas yet, but I’m sure some will come in time.” He stared at Cullen, waiting for…challenging?…him to say more.

Cullen got the hint. “OK then. See you at dinner!” He sketched a bow, turned, and left.

Father muttered, “Shave my beard… The nerve!”

“Change can be good.” Vincent smiled to show he wasn’t serious, and Father’s glare at his words softened.

“I’ll see you at dinner as well, Father.” He bent to kiss the older man on the forehead, swept up the untouched lunch plate, and left.

Father sat for a minute, ruminating. That idea about a phone booth was ridiculous …but the concept of a telephone line Below…to be used only in dire emergencies, of course…had a practical appeal.

Perhaps…