Not A Peep

Mother had said “not another peep,” and she meant it.

Avery scowled at Ava who still had his Nintendo Switch in her cootie-filled hands. If she insisted on playing with his toys without his permission, he would have to do the same.

He marched over to the toy box and searched for her lilac-fairy Barbie to use in his re-enactment of a Berlin air assault. He got the idea from watching the History Channel last night with Dad. He quit rifling through the toy box when his right hand gripped tightly around some long rubbery legs. The Barbie could be one of the innocent casualties. He placed the glittery doll among the ruins he constructed with Ava’s big blocks.

Ava’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. Her chest heaved. She opened her mouth to yell for mother, but remembered the warning. Ava closed her peep and bit her lip. She placed the Nintendo down on the craft table next to a handful of topless markers, unnoticeably drying out. Barbie now was tethered to a building while Avery flew a B-17 overhead; simulating a bomb drop with his hands and arms. The kaboom came when the plane leveled Berlin. Barbie fell over, face to the ground, pinned underneath the roof of the Third Reich’s building. Avery lifted his arms and waved his hands in triumph.

Ava stomped over to his World War II diorama to start another battle of her own. She swiped her Barbie away from Berlin and grabbed some other scantily clad beauties from the toy box, placing them on Avery’s oversized aircraft carrier for a sunbathing session. As the Barbies tanned atop the ship’s broad deck, Ava set one of Avery’s action figure soldiers closer to Cali Barbie. The G.I. Joe held Cali’s hand, and Ava moved him in for the kiss.

That’s when Avery toppled Ava’s Barbie Dream House. The children stood across from each other, staring, huffing and puffing. Ava surrendered the G.I. Joe as each child took to their corners in a temporary cease fire.

Ava rocked herself silently, brushing My Little Pony’s mane. She picked out Barbie’s next outfit before glancing toward her brother to see what evil he was brewing. He was rebuilding Berlin when he caught her eye. Gritting his teeth, he curled his lip in a vicious snarl. Ava pursed her lips and got ready for the next skirmish.

She grabbed a crayon from her pencil box. She scribbled: “Avery is a big fathead” on some construction paper and laid it on his chair. Avery knew she was wielding her blue-green crayon like a sword with only insults she could read, so he took his Switch, pretending Ava was the evil emperor, the video character he hunted. Ava kept writing. They both giggled, hurling their silent insults and admonishments at their intentional targets.

Mother walked into the playroom to check in. She saw the mess in the playroom but toys on the floor were the usual outcome. She smiled and went back to the laundry room.

After Ava heard mother’s heels click-clack back across the kitchen tile, she puffed up her stuffed kitty and pitched it toward Avery’s head. But the cat bounced off his right shoulder instead. Avery carefully tossed the Nintendo onto a pile of paper on the table, cushioning its landing. He turned to show Ava his rage; his eyes squinted, his lips scrunched. He was set for World War III.

Avery returned to the toy box, sifting through the rubble for Ava’s doll baby with the blinking eyes. The doll was nude, still dripping water from its joints because Avery had had it in the bathroom sink earlier that morning for a short scuba lesson. That’s what had set Ava and Mother off in the first place.

After Ava ate the last of the Cap’n Crunch and left plain Cheerios for Avery at breakfast time, he sat there stewing as she exaggerated each delicious bite of sweet corn and oat. While Mother drank her morning coffee and fixated on what the neighbor was doing in her backyard, Avery launched a Cheerio, or two, across the breakfast table hitting Ava’s chubby cheeks. Back and forth, Cheerios then Cap’n Crunch bites flew landing on the floor and getting the attention of their ragged basset hound who was always looking for another meal. The morning escalated with spilled milk on the table, on the floor, on Ava’s pink unicorn shirt, and Avery’s camo. They engaged in a screaming match of wits, insulting each other as only 8- and 5-year-olds can until an angry Mother stopped it and threatened to take away bikes, electronics, their joy, and have them sit in corners reading — yuck! — books if she heard another word out of their mouths. Ava took a deep breath and opened her mouth when Mother snapped her fingers shut like a clamping beak.

“Not a peep,” she yelled, snuffing out any sounds between the children, the adversaries. Her sharp eyes stared them down, ending the morning melee and threatening them with a “try me” look. She gave them marching orders to first clean up the spilled milk and whatever cereal the dog didn’t eat on the floor. She handed them both rags and sponges to soak up the mess.

When Avery went to clean up in the bathroom, he found Ava’s annoying doll baby with the creepy blinky eyes and gave it a Navy SEALs scuba testing. It failed.

Now, he had that doll in his hands again. Right before Ava’s eyes, Avery tipped the baby doll over and over, making the sinister eye flaps open and close repeatedly. He plucked the doll’s head off its shoulders. It landed before his feet and he gave it a gentle kick, taunting Ava. The head rolled across the floor like a grenade.

Ava’s hostility magnified. She picked up the Switch and threw it face down on the bare part of the table top like a gauntlet. The mini-video game screen cracked and a final game-over bleep sounded.

Mother returned to the room to check for collateral damage.