“Good gracious,” Auntie Mabel Jeminee exclaimed in that variety of hush which is meant to be overheard. “Osbie’s spinnin’ you the yarn bout the dragon slayer? Glory, has she even got to the point the dagnabbed lizard shows up?”

She and I clapped politely from the soft grass where we were reclined. Adjusting her broad-brimmed, peach-colored and lace trimmed hat, she dipped her wrist at me, and lanced off a side-eye for my benefit. The wry of her look could’ve soured a lemon.

“I do swear, your mother could talk a week and not cover more’n the history of an hour.”

In my lap, I bore on her behalf some oddments for Mabel’s comfort, as well as refreshments sufficient for five ravenous barbarians (and for the rest of us who scaled along that gradient which passed into civilized). Then thumping feet and whooping squeals barreled past us, as Ursula harried Cooper for both some grievance and in prevention of his receiving the ball at play.

The effervescence of good morning light was peeling the chill off dawn. As it did we turned ourselves, careful to catch less of our star: which at that moment and woeful angle, shone most menaceful to the human cornea.

“Honeypumpkin! Don’t try too hard! Delicacy and comportment are more important than winnin’,” Auntie Mabel cupped her remaining left hand about her mouth and called out to her daughters through it.

We’d all set up a close distance from the residence, with wooden pins arranged at corner intervals to delineate a field of sport. Wicker chairs lay paired on both one side of the course and the other, such that the four furnitures framed the scoring goals that were the object of the contest. My cousins arrayed across the field, chasing after one another and kicking about a sturdy inflated animal bladder. They weren’t playing alone, as Auntie Seung-Hee joined them at play, huffing in exertion as she plodded after her daughter. And in addition to her also -

“Toilet pie!” Momma declaimed in a shriek, “Urla, you hustle that scrawny butt! Kick him in the shins!” Momma’s hair streamed behind her as she sprinted, exceeding by feet the height of all my cousins but Ashli. “Bones heal!” She bellowed, terrifying my juniors.

Ashli, red enough in the face one might expect she’d deplete her circulation, collapsed in pursuit of Momma, stumbling to plant face-first in the dirt. The ball flew towards the goal and Saleena ran screaming away so as to evade its hurtling, and to the surrender of a point.

My mouth pressed together to the point I felt the nerves in my teeth. “It might be I ought to be afield for the sake of temperance,” I considered aloud.

Unseasonable warmth and slumbering wind had been our welcome comfort of some days, and the encouragement for the outing. The near approachment of the spring drive would yet demand a great intensity of labor from our household, thus we were together intended to enjoy ourselves as best we could in prior.

Hesitating, and with a polite clearing of the throat, Auntie Mabel dissuaded me with a touch on the shoulder. “Naw, Toddie…” she paused and watched the teams reset themselves at the middle line. “If your ankle’s actin’ up, that’s not somethin’ you want to risk,” she advised me reluctantly, “you take it easy.” She said it so, but we also watched as Auntie Seung-Hee undertook to detraumatize the smallest of the Jeminees.

Auntie Mabel and I were joined by my Auntie Vaunda Greene, who had deployed (or had rather overseen mine and Cooper’s cartage of) a fraying chaise longue on the lawn for the express purpose of lounging. Wearing dark glasses of owlish diameter, she sprawled contentedly there and half-naked in the maintenance of her complexion.

“Say Vaunda,” Mabel began. “Maybe you could play some points, and remember Osbie not to put our babes early into the grave?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Vaunda purred. “Ain’t none of them my kids. Shit, I’m too old to up and gallivant, I’m like to break a goddamn hip.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Thus, none of us rose to the task of rescue.

Though I had books near to hand, which were Francis Bacon’s Novum Organum and Robert Boyle’s The Skeptical Chymist, they could not command my attention whilst my kin were in peril; so, both volumes (in my negligence) lay besides me and suffered the injury of the ground’s wet.

Ms Mabel Jeminee and I so continued to suffer vicariously, as Momma squatted herself ominously in the way of Ashli and young Cooper. “I will be your desolation,” Momma whispered. “I will dismantle you to the weeping of your mother.”

The boy quivered unhappily and lavender under that duress. He blanched towards his sister in some hope of Ashli’s guidance, but the greater Hektor was nearly as overcome as the littler. Her face had the battle-shock haunted sort of look which belonged in the photography of trench-warfare.

“Do you think we should call a time-out?” Auntie Mabel squeaked.

The game continued for some minutes before our consciences demanded intercession, and I was able to broker a pause by unpacking a tin of steamed lime-rhubarb sweetbuns and delivering them into the hands of the little ones.

I, in this intermission, did my best to scold Momma for her conduct, against her protest and at risk of her offense. Meanwhile, we were joined by Mr Sadiqi who had acquitted himself from his morning duties. He wiped his hands clean of dirt and animal hair with a rag, then struck the cloth out against his thigh.

“Oh, Rahit!” Mabel called out. “We were thinkin’ the kids might want another player.”

I inclined my head to the first hand, and he replied with a raised palm for me and a tipped hat for my aunties.

“I see Ms Z’s on the field?” Mr Sadiqi inquired. He rubbed at his stubble in discomfort. “If I’m to be honest, ma’am, last time I made that mistake I took a mean elbow to my rib. I’m happy just to watch.”

Next we split apart, us men to collect Cooper, and Auntie Mabel to comfort Auntie Seung-Hee. The young man had been shaken by Momma’s sportsmanship, and the grown woman was sprawled spread-eagle by anaerobic exercise.

“You can’t let her get to you, Coop,” I reassured my cousin with my hands on his shoulders.

“My boobs hurt,” Seung-Hee Kim whimpered from the grass up into Mabel Jeminee’s confidence.

Soon enough though, all participants were much recovered and the match resumed. I poured the adults (excepting Momma) a tincture of whiskey, sarsaparilla, and beet sugar. I emptied the chilled jug to supply them: for their pleasure, and for Auntie Seung-Hee’s fortification.

Our first hand stood to my left. He watched the game, and I in turn watched the smile he was growing. He drained the last of his cup and passed it into my charge. “It true you fell off the roof of - ?”

I nodded, somewhat embarrassed still. “The bird coop? Yessir. I was fixing to patch that leak and the goose decided to give me a spook.”

“And down you went,” he grinned, then slapped me amicably on the shoulder.

Once or twice, we made to intercede; but only to keep Priscilla’s ambling out from the path of the ball. She was otherwise easy enough to navigate around, as long as she was kept from the thick of action.

But happiness is not meant to be infinite, so after some small time the jangle of spurs announced the arrival of the Mister into our society. His garment was casual and practical, but his threadbare gray long-sleeve bore some blue spatters which he made attempts at with a kerchief. His hands were smeared with troll-blood, and I took it to mean he’d disposed of the gremlin that had taken up in the eastern shed.

We froze – until our shared and silent calculation determined the forecast for his mood was genial to neutral, so we (all of us assembled) paused only to acknowledge the man before we safely resumed our activity.

“Osbie’s playin’?” Mister ignored me, applying his cloth meticulously to clear the blue from between his fingers.

“She’s spry still,” Mr S replied blandly. Time was ceded appropriately for the Mister to make his considerations.

“She’s still got it,” Mister laughed to my displeasure. Then he spotted the empty cup I kept. “Boy, fetch me up a drink. A rum, and grog it.”

He snapped his fingers impatiently and I made to turn for his errand.

“Quade,” protested Auntie Mabel. She rose to her feet and bid me stop. “His foot’s actin’ up. Let the boy relax for once.”

But I had no intention of displaying weakness in that company, “ma’am, it’s fine. I’m sure some fresh water would go far to everyone’s happiness anyway.”

“Then I am happy to keep you company,” she insisted. “Quade. Rahit,” she curtsied.

We excused ourselves, and my Auntie followed me back towards the house and the procurement of beverage. By some omniscience achieved through motherhood, she saw my quiet for disquiet, then nudged me in the side to stir me out of my foul humor.

“Tell you what, Toddie. How about I tell you the story of the Dragonslayer?” Mabel beamed. “For real this time. Properly and concise.”

Turning back, I looked out over my family, and at Momma. She leapt, and hollered, and laughed – and honestly was behaving a living horror – but at least in that moment, she lived full and lifesome and as free as the breeze.

I shrugged and faced my Auntie. “Sure,” I replied, “why not.”