BRING IT IN
A truck with a wooden basket brought a fresh load of pine boughs.
Every kind of kid held on to two bags each of bows.
"Lipstick and rouge," a man spit bacca juice and growled.
A woman broke from the wreath-making table and stood close in front of him. "Please. For the kids."
He looked over her at the innocents. His weathered lips mouthed that.
"We were so close," the words sounded like they did in Syria, there around the barrel fire.
"Hang on, hang on,"
"Give me nocs."
"Who dat?"
Peering through the black smoke figures came into focus. "OH MY GOD. THAT'S W AND THE RAGAMUFFINS!!"
Each had on a mix of outfits. Oily coveralls and a hawaiin shirt; two different kinds of boots; half suit, half hunting cammo; missing a piece of clothing; ripped sleeves; two carried another with a leg held on with a fishing boot.
"Make friends," a short woman in uniform stepped on a Muscles' head who was hanging on one side of steel platform disconnected from the other side. She put her flat heels back on when she crossed the great divide and held out a hand to shake our Administrator's hand. W had started to extend his to shake hers but fixed his hair when she was shaking the other guy's. "Get 'em up to speed," an Israeli team leader ordered to her. He took off a coal oven glove to shake hands in a welcoming fashion.
Before the welcome got awkward another woman in uniform stepped forward and reported, "We're having some issues identifying the dead, Sir."
"Oil Rigger," a giant of a kid held out his hand to the hanging man.
"Would you shake the man's hand dear?"
A woman in a hotel bathrobe stepped forward, unfolded her arms, and put her tiny hand near his but he shook his head nooooo. And he extended it further but not all the way.
A kicked in metal door squeaked open and in came ladies all dressed up fancy.
"I can't let go," the Muscle re-white-knuckled the rung of step ladder welded some to the platform. The woman in the bathrobe knelt and palm pounded the tops of his hands.
"Let me get that out of the way for y'all," a little lady bent slightly towards a coil of wires. Attachès started to come towards the ladies from a different direction.
"Reminds me of what our Mom used to do to my pillow."
One farm girl said listlessly, "It does?"
"Yah, sort of." Kids moved themselves into age order without being obvious that someone had taught us to do that. Made a ring of friendship.
Some work gloves were tossed into an impromptu "pile". The Papa handed the mama a sack of apples leftover from visiting the working farm where they make the milk for school. "What'd she do to your pillow?"
"Yeah, that could sound kinda gross if you don't finish the story." A medium height boy blushed and said in a newly deep voice.
"Only if you can," a Heidi-type held up a limp wrist in a pointing to the sky move.
"Right. Those stupid old satellites listening to everything under the sun."
A guy with a three foot beard who'd played an old-fashioned bass at the cafe the night before put sunglasses on. "Wadn't such when we were young."
"No ZeeZee?! Like you remember." A young skinny guy slapped a piece of copy paper with TOPS written on it in black marker. Another guy giggled. "Not, not," his giggle turned into a snorting cantankerous trying to say but I'm laughing too hard, someone smacked a sign on his back. It stuck onto his jean jacket on account of the last scrap of "duck tape". "An ass man," people made shocked faces and giggled hard.
"Well, we were doing school and Church and Services and chores and I still didn't want to go to sleep at the end of a day."
A pocket rang. "Hello." Someone answered. "More stoooorie," a little kid shoved another. "I don't know Sir. Let me check," the man covered the pocket phone with a calloused hand, and asked, "Is there a Mike here?"
A kid drew in a breath and eyes grew wide. He pulled the shoulder of a mom close and covered a whisper in her ear; Should I say I am one?
The mom was also a Coordinator so she showed she was reaching into an inner coat pocket to get the laminated answer book.
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