The Cursor

The menu was open. The tab was 

highlighted. But he didn't dare press the button. He had to wait. This day had to be perfect. So he merely let the cursor hover over the tab, and resigned himself to sit until the time came. 

Though as the minutes dragged on, 

and crept into the realm of an hour, waiting became a chore in and of itself. He had to stop himself from moving around so much, because the spot on thick cushions grew less comfortable. He could deal with silence, but the ticking of that infernal clock became unbearable. Gazing at the blank, stagnant screen not only became an eyesore, but also a temptation to switch to something more entertaining. He could not allow that. He needed to show that he was ready, and that this matter had his undivided attention. 

The only logical thing to do was 

distract himself. He took a moment after standing, realizing his foot was asleep, then went to find something to pass the time with. If he had another screen somewhere in this space, that would be useful. But apparently he could do without the constant stimuli, so around this time of year he was only really allowed 2 days with the monitor they have. Ironically he ended up wasting one of those days looking for something else. 

Perhaps some of his favorite 

books might suffice. He picked one up, opened it, started to read, skipped ahead, fully invested in the parts he really liked, finished, and moved on to the next one. Unfortunately this reading method didn't eat away as much time as he had hoped, and by the time he finished all his good books, he saw he was still no closer to the E.T.A. 

Maybe there was something 

more taxing and useful he could put his mind to. Perhaps he should do some cleaning. There would certainly be no better way to show his dedication than this. However, there are certain cleaning techniques that have been kept from him, and he wondered if he could do the job properly. And where to even begin? 

He supposed he could finish the 

easiest tasks first, so he took up the broom and swept all the crumbs and dust up off of the kitchen floor. Then he tried to wipe the countertops down. Though, the completion of this task necessitated him to get the broom again. Next, there was the washroom. 'More disgusting than difficult', he figured. All he would need were the large rubber gloves, the spray-bottle of sprayable bleach, and an absorbent white towel. He would apply the bleach, and wipe away the grime and stains on the toilet and floors. It was going fairly smoothly, except that he could not stand the smell. It was repulsive. Eventually his eyes suffered from awful stinging. It would have been a good Idea to leave the door open so that he was not trapped inside with these fumes. 

Eventually he finished, discarded 

the towel into the dirty clothes hamper, and resorted to putting his head into the refrigerator to relax his aching red eyes. Finally, he must vacuum the carpet. He didn't fully understand this machine, but from what he observed in the past it shouldn't be too difficult. He found the button to turn it on and it roared to life. Startling him. All he had to do was push it, and it should do the work for him. But the thing was heavy to him, and awkward to push around vertically. And when he tried to pull the handle back, the head would lift off the floor. He had no idea how to disconnect the two. 

He figured there must have been a 

switch somewhere to make this easier, so he searched the machine. He finally found a switch and tried it, but all it did was open up the waste bin. Black dust billowed out, covering him, the walls, and the floor around him. He quickly turned off the vacuum, but the mess had already increased tenfold. As silence took over again, the ticking returned. He looked to the clock. He doesn't have long before she returns. The cursor stayed in its place on the screen. If she sees this, he may never get to press it. 

He acted fast. He discarded his 

dirty clothes to the bottom of the hamper, changed into some new ones, and washed his face with a wet towel. He grabbed a hair brush, and brushed the dust off of the walls. He mostly succeeded, but there were still black streaks running down the sides. He returned to the vacuum cleaner and closed the lid. Only then did he accidentally discover the switch to release the head. Not dwelling on his shame, he quickly turned on the machine, released the head, and had a much easier time maneuvering it. He sucked up all the black dust and crumbs quickly, then moved on to the rest of the living room. 

He was as thorough as anyone 

could be, but there were still black marks on the carpet where it fell. He had to think of something. He thought of his wet towel, and got the idea. He grabbed another towel, filled a bowl with dish soap and water, dunked the towel, wringed it out as best as he could, and scrubbed at the walls and carpet. Thankfully the black was starting to come out. Once the area was roughly the same color as the rest of the carpet, he had another problem. The rug was foamy and sopping wet. He retrieved larger towels, and stomped them into the carpet to absorb the liquid. But just in the middle of his action, he heard tires screech to a halt outside. 

He looked to the ticking clock. 

It was time. He hurriedly discarded the towels, figuring it was dry enough, pushed the vacuum back to where it was stored, and rushed to the front door. Eagerly, he anticipated it to open and meet her when she came through. 

She entered through the door with 

her purse around her shoulder. Struggling for a moment to get her key out of the lock. 

"Hi Mom!" He loudly called out, less than five steps in front of her. 

She jumped startled, having not noticed his presence. "Oh my gosh, Leo." She said, tired and exasperated. But then she studied him closer, worried about the filth all over his face and clothes. "Sweetie, why are you so filthy?" 

Leo hadn't noticed how much gunk he was splashing onto his own body while he was scrubbing the carpet. "I was just cleaning! Come look. I cleaned the kitchen, wiped the bathroom, I vacuumed the living room, and--" 

"Stop. Let me see. You better not have been in here destroying my house all day." 

She looked around the house to 

inspect his performance. The only evidence of any mess she could find were the darkened wet spot on the carpet, and the dirty towels collected in the hamper. 

"Wow." She said. "That is… a lot of towels." 

Leo felt embarrassed for himself. "I did good, right mom?" 

"Yeah. It's actually clean when I get back. Nice change of pace." 

"(Gasp) So can we watch it now like you promised?" 

"Sweetheart, you didn't need to do all this just to convince me." 

"I know, but I just didn't want you to be mad. Or say you were busy, and we had to do it later. Again." 

She saw the sincerity in his little 

eyes, and felt disappointed that she had Made him feel neglected. With her work and his school, she hardly has any time to spend with him. She had promised that tonight would be different, and she meant it. She knelt down to hug him. 

"Well Leo, I swear for the rest of the night, I'm all yours." She stood with her hands on her hips. "Now come on! Lets go…" 

"YES!" 

"Give you a bath, and then we can watch the show." 

"No…" 

After Leo was properly bathed, 

He and his mother popped some popcorn, sat on the couch, and grabbed the controller. The cursor was right where he left it on the play tab, and his mother clicked it. Starting the first episode of the latest season of their favorite mystery fantasy, "The Bridgeport Chronicles". It was the first time they would get to experience new episodes at the same time. Who knows what creatures will go bump in the night? 

The End