The Great Twitch

THE GREAT TWITCH


A twitch; just a twitch. Nothing spectacular, at first. Began as a small movement; rapid, sudden and coming in short spasms. Ended with a full-blown muscle contraction of a certain part of the anatomy, in which one must always be wary of twitches. For nothing good may come out of a twitch, especially not in the toes.
She consulted the love of her life; a lovable yet not-so-smart, good-tempered, 25-pound brown and white mongrel. The ever genial mutt gave her a wise look that said two things: one, is my dinner ready and two, why are you bothering me with your human ailments?
Never one to be deterred, she turned to her father, who, like always, was contentedly smoking what she called ‘Coffin Nails’ or ‘Grim Reaper Specials’.
“It is just a slight twitch; it is nothing to worry about, I am sure,” he said with a puff of evil-looking black smoke. Unsatisfied, she turned to her mother, whom, after instructing her on several thousand house chores, said two words and one Malaysian-style suffix.
“Don’t worry la,” said she, as she harrumphed in recognition of the utter silliness she deemed be the root of the problem.
Twitches. More twitches. The Twitch of All Twitches. The Great Twitch.
She sighed; a small expulsion of breath which blew a few strands of hair into the air, like some limp black noodles. She wrinkled her nose; a little habit she had when she worried for something.
However, she never was one to dwell on such mundane matters as twitches. Not when she had a mountain to climb (a five-thousand word essay on Ethics), a river to cross (a weeping best friend whose boyfriend cheated on her) and a volcano to survive (a very miffed mom due to unfinished chores). Ah, but the night was no longer a spring chicken and so, sleep must be of essence now.
She turned her thoughts toward the warm, soft and comfortable slice of Heaven that she had long had a lustful, desirous love affair with; her bed. Her bed; with its soft sheets and curvaceous corners. Her bed; with its gentle touch and gentle lull.
She snuggled into bed with another deep sigh. Dream, my funny little brain. Dream; and then maybe I won’t have to think about this twitch.

******

The morning dawned like realization that she may have broken the world record for Slothery. She clambered out of bed, yawning, and fell flat on her face.
Her toe, once so obedient, once so still, was now dancing the Macarena, and maybe even going through the entire High School Musical routine. (She hated the show, but it appeared that her toes did not.)
Shocked beyond her brains (the last time she was shocked this way was when a good friend wore a black and white checkered shirt that could only be described as burn-worthy), she tried to hold down the now-gone-bonkers toe. It halted its movements, only to pick up speed again, this time to Whacko Jacko’s Thriller.
Aghast, she yelled for her mother, who rushed into her room in a panic.
“What? What?” asked her mother.
“That! That!” she answered.
“Where? Where?” asked her mother.
“There! There!” she answered, now pointing frantically towards her toes.
The silence that followed was deafening. “I don’t see anything wrong. Except that you should be cutting your toenails.”
“Huh?” Her jaw dropped. Her toe was still twitching crazily, and maybe even trying a little ‘krumping’ for added effect.
“My toes! It’s twitching! Dancing! Breakdancing!” she protested. “It’s gone absolutely crazy!”
Her mother gave her a look that may have meant anything from: ‘I think you are having hallucinations’ to ‘Shall I get the tranquilizers?’
Her mouth opened and closed like her long dead goldfish (who lived for one month and then promptly went belly up from sheer boredom) as she tried to decipher the fact that her mother could not see her toes, now enthusiastically doing the Samba.
Her mother shook her head. “Stay home today,” she said. “You must be very tired.”
She could not understand it. She simply couldn’t. What in the name of Orlando Bloom is going on here?
She stared at her toes, which now seemed to have tired themselves out and was now waggling in a limp and feeble way. She frowned. There must be another explanation… something I have not thought of.
A disease? No, she just had a medical check-up last week and the doctor had declared that she will probably live to see the Apocalypse.
A hallucination? Highly improbable, her mother’s shrink had declared her saner than her own mother.
Then a thought occurred to her.
Wait. Could it be? Can it be? Her mind began to race. Its not possible…is it? Could he really have returned? That would explain why…but he left! He left when my mother noticed me talking and –I must find out.
“You had better stop it,” she said out loud, seemingly to no one at all. “I can’t have you messing about. Not when you just upped-and-left years ago. ”
There was a silence as her toes finally stopped moving.
“Thank you. Now, let’s see what excuse you can give me this time.”
And then as if by magic (for it was magic), a tiny little creature, no bigger than one’s thumb, peeped out from between her toes. He had a small ugly face and two pointy little ears which he kept squashed inside a green felt hat. Somewhat human in shape, the creature had two webbed feet which he encased in a pair of wooly socks.
“Welcome back,” she said with a smile. “It took you long enough.”
The creature grinned up at her. His head bobbed up and down, and he emitted a series of squeaks.
“You’re hungry? Wait, let me just get some food. Oh no, don’t worry, I won’t let anyone find you again.”
With a fiendish grin, she got up from the floor, went to the door and called out to her mom. The creature’s face lighted up, and his two rows of sharp, white teeth gleamed. Something that looked like dried blood was covering most of the teeth he possessed.
“Mom? Can you bring the cat up here please? I need to do some feeding!”