"Waffles, Zoo, Pool!" - NYC Midnight Flash Fiction 2021

 

Hello, beautiful people!  I just got back feedback on this story for the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction contest for 2021 - this is the first leg of the first round, and there is a second leg before people move on to round two. This story took 2nd place in my heat, to my delight.  I hope you enjoy it! 

Assignment: comedy, an indoor pool, leash

"Waffles, Zoo, Pool!"

Linda Scott

I’ll never understand why grown-ups even go to hotels.  They don’t build pillow forts.  They won’t let you eat the candy and tea-party-sized drinks in the baby fridge.  You can have all the tiny soaps you want, and there’s always a cool bathtub, but they act like all the walls and floors of the bathroom are hot lava.  And they mostly don’t use the indoor pool even though you don’t even have to use sunscream.

Bear and me saw it on the way in and locked eyes. Behind Mom and Dad’s back, she returned my barely-there nod.  We knew we had to wear down Dad’s resistance.  In her sleepiest baby voice, she asked, “Can we go in the pool tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Mom struggled to carry three awful bags.

“Tomorrow?” I begged, using puppy-dog eyes.

Dad made The Sound, clearing his throat.  “Tomorrow we’re going to the zoo.”

“Awwww,” Bear groaned.  She made it super sad, like the zoo was the worst thing in the universe.  “Before the zoo?”

“Probably not,” Mom said.  “We’ve gotta get an early start to beat the heat.”

“And the crowds,” Dad added.  “And you guys want breakfast, right?”

“Pool before breakfast?” I asked hopefully.

Mom’s curls swayed when she shook her head.  Her bun had come down.  “Ain’t nobody gonna be moving that fast.”

“Can we go to McDonald’s?” Bear chirped.  I kicked her ankle. 

“Nah, Bear-Bear, we’re gonna eat in the hotel.  Eggs and bacon.”

“I wanna make my own waffle,” Bear roared. 

“Okay, but shh, people are sleeping.”

I persisted.  “But can we swim after the zoo?” 

Mom shrugged, fumbling a coloring book.  She packed the weirdest stuff.  If there wasn’t time for the pool, why would there be time for coloring?  I snagged it and handed it to her. 

“Can we?” Bear echoed.

“Anything’s possible,” Mom said. 

Dad frowned.  “I’m not sure we packed suits.”

“Did we, Mom?”

“Actually…” she admitted.

Dad’s shoulders fell.  Bear and I grinned at each other behind his back.  Mom saw, but then she winked and blew a wayward curl out of her eye.  She looked almost like a kid when the princess bun fell out. 

“Waffles, zoo, pool,” Bear chanted.  “Tomorrow’s gonna be the best day.”

Dad raked his magic keycard through the lock and made The Sound again.  The door light turned green. 

Hotels are like bunk beds but next to each other.  You get to sleep in the same room with everybody.

“Who has to go to the bathroom?” Mom chirped, like peeing was Disneyland. 

“Me first!” Bear yipped, zooming in.  She came out saying, “There are so many towels.  Enough for showers and the pool.”

“We’ll see,” Dad groaned.

“Can I have your extra pillows?”

In the morning, Mom’s hair had gone crazy.  She looked like an artichoke.  “My throat!  That thing sounds like a jet engine.”

Bear woke up and cheered. “Waffles, zoo, pool!”

Breakfast was okay even though Bear spilled juice on the table and it got on my legs.  We had lots of fun at the zoo, too, even though my sandal self-destructed.  A bird pooped on Dad’s backpack.  When we came back, I asked, “Can we go to the pool now?”

“We’re covered in sweaty sunscream,” Dad objected.

“Dad, it’s literally water.”

“Nobody likes sunscream in the pool.”

“Daaaad.  You make us put it on for the pool.”

“But this one’s indoor.”

Mom murmured, “I’m sure it’s seen worse things than sunscream.”

Dad and I both frowned at her.  “Shouldn’t we see about dinner?”

“After the pool,” Bear nodded.

“It’s only four,” Mom shrugged.

Dad sighed.  “Okayyyy.”

When we got there, we had it all to ourselves.  Hotel full of people – nobody in the pool.  I told you about grown-ups.

“Cannonball!” Bear bellowed, stopping halfway down the stairs in Mom’s way.

“Move it, Toad-in-the-Road,” Mom teased.  “That’s no cannonball.”

“No cannonballs, no diving, no horseplay!” Dad announced, reading from the sign with the huge “NO” and all the tiny words. 

I slipped into the water instead of jumping.  It wasn’t even cold, but then, I’m part mermaid.  I flipped my hair like Ariel and smiled at Dad.  He looked grossed-out.  Mom’s side of the family must have been the mermaid side. 

“It smells like towel laundry,” Bear complained.

“I read an article…” Mom started.  I went underwater.  Articles sucked. 

When I popped up, Dad was halfway down the ladder.  His shorts had inflated into fart-balloons. 

Mom continued, “…so the more chlorinated it is, the more pee is in there.”

“Thanks a lot, hon,” Dad growled.

“Welcome.”

The chlorine stung – mermaid lagoons aren’t chlorinated – but I’d seen something underwater.  “What’s that rope thing?”

Dad ducked under and then Arieled his hair out of his eyes.  “It looks like a dog leash.”

“Why would it be a leash?” Mom asked.

Dad wagged his eyebrows, making Mom blush and roll her eyes toward Bear.  Dad said quickly, “Maybe a dog got sucked into the drain.”

Bear wailed.  “Noooo!”

“Honestly, John.”  Mom was a mad mermaid.  “There’s no dog in the drain, Bear-Bear.”

“It’d explain the chlorine.”

“John.”

Dad splashed me.  “Dog-water!”

“Gross!”  I splashed back.

“Hey, that’s enough!  The sign says no splashing.”

“Daaaaad, you started it!”

“Maybe it’s a sea-monster leash,” Bear whimpered.  “Can we check?”

Dad pulled it up.  It had a weird little harness and a shiny black ball on it. 

Mom said, “Oh, Lord.  Okay, kids, we need dinner, so get your play on.”

Dad handed the leash to Mom, who took it like a stinky diaper and yeeted it onto the cement.

“I wanna play with it,” Bear whined.

“God, no,” Mom shuddered.

Dad laughed.  “Do you wanna play with it, Mommy?”

“Ewww.”

“Explains the extra chlorine,” he winked and splashed Mom.

“No splashing,” Bear declared.  “The No sign says.”

“I’m bad.  I’m going to disobey,” Dad giggled.

Mom snorted.  “Honey, dunk your father.”

“No horseplay in the pool,” I objected.

“How about pony-play?” Dad was cracking up.

Mom broke the rules and splashed him.