“David…Daaaavvvvviiiiiiddd….DAVID!” her voice was as clear as the wine glass she nursed. “David be a dear and hand me that novella from the parlor.” The what? “From the parlor dear you can do it.” Doesn’t she know that I can do it? I can do anything, anything, except everything. “QUICKLY now dear I HAVN’T GOT ALL NIGHT!” The harshness of her voice was alarming, yet appropriate. All the ‘dears’ mushing together like Nana’s oatmeal breakfast. MUST I? What could a little boy want to have to do with a bunch of silly books? “The Man of La Mancha, yes that one darling, I’m so glad you could figure it out.” The smell of old book added to the distinctive rustle of the crumpled yellowed pages. At least she’ll spend time with me this way…even if it is better when she’s not spending time with me at all. “Lets get this over and done with, so mummy can go meet with her special friend.” Which one? “Once upon a time…” I wish I really could be like Don Quixote. He does what’s right even when other kids call him crazy, when I grow up I want to be just like him, then EVERYONE would listen to me! Why, he’s a knight of the woeful countenance…of woeful countenance…woeful countenance…countenance….countenance…(Thoughts echo about his my head).
AHHHH! I woke with a start on the following morning having had the strangest of dreams. I leaned over and twiddled with the paperweight next to my bed, one of the nuns had given it me for the celebration of Twelfth Night. It was a tiny windmill. very sinister, yet comforting. Sketchy Dave could certainly conquer a windmill… oh yes…at least that much I know to be true.
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