She was very close when the batteries died. They didn't cut out completely but the Rabbit fell off the all important established rhythm, slowed and failed with the drooping tone of the device. WWWwrrrrrrrrrrr. Her disappointment was audible, “Dammit.”
In truth it all stemmed from boredom.
The porn on the bedroom television continued playing though the sound was muted. She hated the sounds women made in porn, killed the whole vibe for her, but she liked the visual assistance. It was difficult to find porn she liked and had nearly worn out this VHS copy of Cherry's Paradise Holiday 12. It was the second copy she'd bought. There was a girl in it that had her body but hotter, and she liked the way the actor kissed the actress before he went down on her, but along with the Rabbit all hopes of enjoying the scene were now dead.
Defeated, she threw herself back against the pillow. She'd been so close. The bed had been set right, new sheets, a pillow propped under her back, the kids wouldn't be home for another hour and the air conditioning cooled the sweat on her stomach under her t-shirt. She thought about using her hand but that felt like too much work. No, she was going to have to find more batteries. With a groan of reluctance she pushed off the edge of the bed, pulled her panties back on and set out after the remotes in the living room. On the TV Cherry squealed silently “in ecstasy”.
Downstairs the television remote lay conveniently exposed on the edge of the coffee table, but it immediately felt too light in her hand. It was sans-batteries. She jerked open the coffee table's drawer but the surround sound remote wasn't where it should be. She threw aside the couch cushions, fell to her knees looking under the couch, under the recliner, under the rug, to no avail. In the TV cabinet all she found were drawers of empty remotes already harvested and ransacked. With an exasperated sigh she moved on to the junk drawer in the kitchen. The family cat Winston ran beside her nuzzling his face against her ankles but she ignored him.
Almost every house has a junk drawer, just a leftover space that becomes home for odds and ends and the disconnected trinkets of homeownership. The junk drawer is unanimously chosen because it's the most poorly made drawer of the bunch and inherently difficult to open. To her deep regret her junk drawer brimmed with tacks, a measure of rope, cut-anything scissors, one D size and three AAA size batteries but not one single coveted AA. She angrily slammed the drawer back shut but it pushed back and chipped her fingernail. Dull anger overpowered the sharp sting of frustration as she sucked on the wounded finger and turned her attention to the garage.
Her husband owned a lot of powertools but they all plugged into the wall. It took a good deal of effort to lift his dented red-metal tool box onto the work bench but she was a woman determined. The tool box thudded down kicking up the thin film of dust covering the table. She sifted through screwdrivers, Phillips and flatheads, monkey wrenches, ratchet sets, measuring tapes, rope, wire cutters, a Sear's laser guided leveler which she couldn't find a battery cover for, rulers, pencils, self adjusting wrenches, manually adjusting wrenches, sprockets, spigots and spanners but she did not find a single AA battery or device that ran on AA batteries. Why her husband owned so many tools was beyond her, he never fixed anything anyway.
She was running out of time. Eight blocks away her kids were clambering up the bus steps, their little backpacks bouncing in step. On her way back into the living room she started calculating; if she found batteries right now how long would it take? How long to get dressed? Till the bus arrived? The kids got home? Winston darted underneath her feet again and in an effort to avoid kicking him, tripped over her daughter's Tickle-Me-Elmo falling flat backwards. “Dammit.” She snatched up the furry doll and hurled him across the living room. Elmo skidded to the foot of the couch giggling, “That tickles!” His spasming body made loud clacking noises against the hardwood floor.
Watching Elmo giggle across the floor she calculated again how much time she had before her kids walked in the door.
* * *
She stood in the kitchen stirring penne pasta in tomato sauce with meatballs. The kids were playing quietly in the living room, her husband slip behind her, just having changed out of his work clothes upstairs. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her behind the ear. “Hey,” she said sliding her hand over his. “Hey,” he said, “I found this under the bed.” “Oh, I-”
“Elmo!” Katy snatched the doll from her father's hand before any more could be said, “I was looking for you,” she admonished the doll. Her father smiled as his daughter wrapped her arms around Elmo. Her mother stirred the penne a little faster.
“Mom. He's sticky,” Katy said.
“Dinner's ready,” she said, a little louder than she meant to.
