Battle of the Bulges

This story was written as an entry in the 2013 NYCMidnight Flash Fiction Contest. I had weekend to write a <1,000 word story with the following prompts:

Genre = Comedy // Location = Opera House // Item = Tennis Ball

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“Damn contraption…” Harold mumbled to himself. He pushed the metal walker up the handicap ramp as at least three-hundred kids sprinted the adjacent stairs toward the orchestra-level seating in the theater. 

“Hurry up, Harold! My thighs can’t take this much longer,” his wife chided from behind.

“Don’t talk down to me, woman, I earned the Medal of Honor in ‘Nam!”

“Isn’t that the one we lost?” she retorted with a smirk.

Harold rolled his eyes and continued onwards. “Why is it they always make the old people walk the farthest? ‘Oh here, take this ramp that’s five times longer than the stairs!’ Bah!”

“That’s why they invented the elevator, Dear.”

“Rose, you know I ain’t goin’ in one of those things. All metal and cramped. They pretend to make ‘em look all friend-like, but it’s a trick. They’ll plummet down and explode just as soon as they’ll bring you up two floors.” 

Finally, they reached the top. Gasping for breath, he turned around and glared at the ten red carpeted steps that all the young people used.

“Grampy! Grammy! You made it!” a duet of voices cheered.

Harold accepted hugs from his grandchildren, Johnny and Darcy.

“We’ve been waiting up here for a bajillion minutes!” Darcy said, jumping up and down, struggling to contain her energy.

“It’s the damn ramp’s fault. It was all twisty and—”

Suddenly, he felt a wet splash in his ear.

“What in the blue blazes?” he yelled, turning towards the attacker. His wife stood there frowning and holding a spray bottle. “You’re shittin’ me, right?” She aimed the bottle right at his face and pulled the trigger again. Darcy laughed hysterically.

“Tom said if we took the kids there’d be no swearing allowed, remember?”

Harold was speechless. He wiped his face with a sleeve and fingered his hearing aid to ensure it still worked.

“Now where’s Johnny?” Rose asked.

Harold looked around, but didn’t see his grandson anywhere amid the crowds.

“He’s right here!” Darcy said, kneeling on the floor.

Harold looked down and, sure enough, there was little Johnny trying to pry one of the tennis balls off his walker. “Hey kid, I need that,” he said in his best scary old person voice. Johnny just giggled. 

“I’ve got M&M’s,” Harold added, reaching into his pocket. Bribes always worked with children.

Darcy and Johnny stood up and waited patiently as Harold fumbled with the M&M package. He yanked on the end and little candied bits flew everywhere. One hit a random passer-by in the forehead. The man stared upward, perplexed, as Harold held in laughter. “They don’t make these things like they used to.” He handed out the few remaining pieces to the kids.

“Welcome to the Cambridge Opera House!” an usher beamed as they approached. “Right this way please,” he motioned after reading their tickets. “And no outside food or drink, please…” he sighed as his feet crunched M&M’s with each step.

They followed him. Slowly. Always slowly.

“When I was in the military I would’ve been seated, done watchin’ the show, and back home by now,” Harold whispered to Johnny.

“Maybe I’ll be in the army,” Johnny said.

Harold raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to learn to be patient and stealthy. I’m not sure you’re ready.”

“What’s stealthy?”

Harold couldn’t help but smile. “It’s when you do somethin’ but no one else knows. Like a secret mission.”

“Like this?” Johnny asked, as he pulled a greenish-yellow ball out of his pocket.

Harold looked down and saw that one of his tennis balls was indeed missing. He held his bulging stomach and laughed. “Well I’ll be! No wonder this thing seemed wobbly.”

Johnny grinned and handed it back.

“Hurry up, Harold!” Rose snapped from down the aisle, hips undulating as she squeezed into a row. Harold pocketed the ball and scooted onwards.

When he arrived the usher took his walker and helped him into the end seat. The lights dimmed. “So what’re we seein’ again?” he asked as he made himself comfortable.

“Miley Cyrus!” Darcy squealed.

“Wait… Is that the one…?” He turned to Rose who nodded reluctantly. “Oh hell no!”

His wife reached into her purse and he was face-to-face with that dreaded spray bottle again.

“You can’t fool me twice!” he yelled, snatching the bottle from her hand. “I gotta get outta here!” He rolled out of his seat and crawled towards the back of the theater, remembering his commando training. Of course, now he probably looked more like a dying fish—or whale.

An usher came running towards him. He took the tennis ball from his pocket and tossed it at the man’s feet. The usher stumbled and rolled past Harold towards the stage. Harold stood and shuffled on as best he could. More ushers came from two directions. Unfortunately for them, Harold had been an expert sharpshooter. He aimed the spray bottle and squirted. The first usher jolted backwards and fell into a row of seats as the water struck his eyes. Harold turned and squeezed the trigger in rapid succession as the other usher ran towards him, but this one was smarter.

Then the usher tripped and fell. An older man with a Marines veteran hat stood and nodded to Harold, smacking the usher’s head with his cane. “Semper fi!” he shouted and followed Harold.

They continued toward the exit as cheering erupted behind them. Had the show started? 

“That’s not children,” his newfound friend noted.

Harold turned and watched scores of other elders escape into the aisles, undoubtedly forced to bring their grandchildren here as well. They joined Harold, brandishing their canes and readying their dentures for use as projectile weapons.

Between them and the doors, a row of ushers stood, holding their ground. Harold smiled. “To the exit!” he roared as they all waddled, scuffled, and rolled their way into battle.

Maybe he would have to go to Miley Cyrus concerts more often.

(c) Kade Kessler 2013

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