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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-06-15 00:00:03 +00:00
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writing/sawtooth/jump.md
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@ -45,7 +45,7 @@ And the bear is out the van now and parking her backside against the front of th
"We got it made, now." He finally flops all along the front of Ursula, stretched up long as he can so he can get his skinny arms around the mountain of her shoulders, and sure, she can smell the candy bar on his breath. "We can go straight now, you know? Hit up another small town, Mountain Home or Newsom or something, park our asses, get out of the risky business.
"But listen, my darling, my dear. Hey, hey, listen. You gotta try'n understand my plan. There's so much to it we gotta do first. Six 'kay or whatever will buy us a few months, but you know you and you know me. We gotta still earn something so long as we're not totally on our own, you know? Gotta earn our keep best we can so we can eat and gas and keep up the car.
"But listen, my darling, my dear. Hey, hey, listen. You gotta try'n understand my plan. There's so much to it we gotta do first. Six 'kay or whatever will buy us a few months, but you know you and you know me. We gotta still earn something so long as we're not totally on our own, you know? Gotta earn our keep best we can so we can eat and gas and keep up the van.
"I know you been wanting to go straight for years now, get out of the job-to-job life and go do something that's day-to-day, and I love you, you big oaf, you big dummy, but maybe we hit up just one or two more once we get there, real sly-like without raising any eyebrows, or maybe we do it on the way, just to be sure, and I promise no more cards or dice.
@ -53,9 +53,10 @@ And the bear is out the van now and parking her backside against the front of th
And Sim is off spinning again, spinning into the dark, and surely Ursula's got a smile or something going on as he calls out to her --- "Two gardens! A row of carrots in front cause I know you love those and maybe a whole fuckin' mess of beets out back" --- but we'll never know, will we? Sim won't settle his eyes on her long enough, he's too busy jumping.
And let's just suppose they managed it. Let's just picture what that looks like. Ursula dressed in those coveralls that fit her just so, standing up to her ankles in good clean earth, turned over and over with peat and that sheep shit fertilizer that somehow manages to smell like it could grow things even on the moon. We can go ahead and suppose, if we like, that Ursula'd plow furrows herself with those handfuls of claws, dropping seeds in their wake. We can suppose that she'd baby those beets until she could cradle them herself, plucked fresh from the earth. Would she kiss them, you think? Would she sing them lullabies? Surely fresh-grown beets make a hell of a stew.
And let's just suppose they managed it. Let's just picture what that looks like. Ursula dressed in those coveralls that fit her just so, standing up to her ankles in good clean earth, turned over and over with peat and that sheep shit fertilizer that somehow manages to smell like it could grow things even on the moon. We can just imagine, if we like, that Ursula'd plow furrows herself with those handfuls of claws, dropping seeds in their wake. We can suppose that she'd baby those beets until she could cradle them herself, plucked fresh from the earth. Would she kiss them, you think? Would she sing them lullabies? Surely fresh-grown beets make a hell of a stew.
But still, they had got to earn their keep, hadn't they? That's what Sim said, kept saying, would say at the drop of a hat, at the drop of a haul, every time they hopped in the van after a heist or holdup. He'd promise her late at night in bed, and maybe he'd even call out to her across a gas station or over the hood of some poor sop's car as the fox or cat or whatever shrieked and threw coins at her feet and recoiled in terror.
But still, they had got to earn their keep, hadn't they? That's what Sim said, kept saying, would always say at the drop of a hat, at the drop of a haul, every time they hopped in the van after a heist or holdup. He'd promise her late at night in bed, and maybe he'd even call out to her across a gas station or over the hood of some poor sop's car as the fox or cat or whatever shrieked and threw coins at her feet and recoiled in terror.
So with the courage of the sun or the moon or a kite jerking tight at its tether, Ursula might could just keep at her routine, we imagine, still doing her runs in the morning and hauling big old rocks round here and there just to keep those shoulders from getting too soft and brushing her fur out in the evenings. Still crunching on those carrots we all know she loves and buying cans of beets --- pale imitations of those in her dreams --- to go with cheap chuck so she can cook up a stew on the tailgate of the van, just past the end of their mattress. Still letting Sim push her down onto that very same mattress after every job, cause we all know the ferret's gotta jump every opportunity he gets and the jobs, they make him jumpy, and maybe she makes a sound or maybe not, 'cause we already know how taciturn our Ursula is, quiet to her core, and we'll never know her thoughts as he hunches and curls above her because Sim hasn't the time to listen after making, he promises himself, love to her, he's too busy rolling right into sleep.