Making Friends: A New Home (Draft)

13 : The Waiting Game

   It was Sunday, which meant it was Lazy Sunday. Debbie was relaxing on her bed with her dolls and a dictionary. Zinaida had her hooked on them. 

    Knock-knock. 

    “Debbie, you have a friend at the door,” her grandma called. 

    Debbie got up and rushed to the door. She was surprised to see Sigmund standing there. 

    “Hi,” he boringly muttered. 

    “Hi,” Debbie cheered. “What brings you here?” she gasped. “Have you come to play?” 

    “Actually,” he said, “I was wondering if Zinaida had a package for me.” 

    “Oh,” Debbie smiled. “No, she hasn’t brought me any packages today.” 

    Sigmund sighed. “That’s disappointing.” 

    “But maybe she’ll come by later,” Debbie said, attempting to cheer him up. “You can wait here if you want.” 

    “Um,” Sigmund stuttered. “Sure.” 

    “Yay!” Debbie jumped and clapped. “Grandma! Sigmund’s staying over!” 

    “Sounds good, dearie,” Grandma Ernest said from the kitchen. “I’ll be in here if you need me.” 

    Debbie grabbed Sigmund’s hand and pulled him inside. She pushed him onto the couch and grabbed the TV remote. “We can watch TV together. Cartoons are my favorite. I like one called Making Fiends. Charlotte’s the cutest.” 

    “Actually, I don’t want to watch TV,” Sigmund told her. 

    “Oh,” Debbie said. “How about arts and crafts? We can dress up my dolls or play house.” 

    “Um,” Sigmund mumbled, fiddling with his hands. “Could we look at the rock Zinaida gave you?” 

    “You want to play with Mr. Rockbell?” Debbie laughed. “Okay!” 

    They went to Debbie’s room and found Mr. Rockbell in the nest Debbie made for him. Sigmund merely stared at the rock and stood there. 

    “What are you doing?” Debbie asked. 

    “I’m waiting for something to happen,” he said. 

    Debbie waited too. “Mr. Rockbell doesn’t do much. He sits and sleeps and stays very still.” 

    “Has he ever moved?” Sigmund wondered. 

    “Not on his own.” Debbie grabbed Mr. Rockbell and tossed him in the air a couple of times. “He likes to fly.” 

    Chitter-chee. 

    “What’s that?” Sigmund asked and looked in Debbie’s closet. She had a lot of dresses. He also found the fish tank full of love bugs. “Whoa,” he gasped. 

    “Those are my love bugs,” Debbie told him, continuing to throw Mr. Rockbell in the air. “Luther didn’t want them, so I took them home with me.” 

    Sigmund could hardly hear her. He was mesmerized by the romantic creatures. 

    “Say, Sigmund,” Debbie thought, putting Mr. Rockbell back in his nest. “Where’s your bird?” 

    “Baltimore’s at him sleeping,” he told her and opened the fish tank a bit. He reached in and let a love bug sit on his finger. He brought it closer to his face and examined it. “Hello there,” he said with a tiny smile. The love bug chittered and hugged his finger. 

    “That one really likes you,” Debbie told him and sat next to him. 

    “Yes,” Sigmund blushed. “I’ll call her Snowdrop.” 

    “Ooh,” Debbie cooed. “That’s a pretty name. What about the others?” 

    “Um,” Sigmund thought and started assigning names. “This one’s Juliet, and that one’s Romeo, Sunbeam, Velvet, Coco…” 

    Debbie could have sat with Sigmund and named love bugs forever. She admired his curiosity. 

    “You’re a good friend,” Debbie said to him. Strange though, he was surprised to hear that. 

    “No one’s ever been my friend before,” he sniffled and rubbed his nose. 

    “Nonsense,” Debbie giggled. “I’m your friend. I’m friends with everyone. Laurin and I raced bugs, Matilda ate the pie I brought her, and Luther and I read poems to the love bugs.” 

    Sigmund sighed. “I wish Zinaida would be my friend, but it’s impossible.” 

    “Nothing’s impossible,” Debbie smiled at him. He kind of thought it was a nice smile. 

    “You’re very nice,” he mumbled and held onto Snowdrop. “I should go.” He stood up and took Snowdrop outside. Debbie watched as he walked down the street. 

    She thought, “He called me nice.” 

    Sigmund walked the cracked sidewalk with little Snowdrop in his hands. All was fine until he ran into a big ball of fur and fell over. Bobo was standing above him. 

    “Sigmund Fludfer,” Zinaida waltzed out from behind the bear. “What are you doing out here?” 

    “N-Nothing,” he stuttered and tried to hide Snowdrop, but she didn’t want to stay hidden. She made a chatter that sounded like “Mama,” and flew into Zinaida’s hand. 

    “What are you doing with Luther’s love bug?” she snarled. 

    “Um, Debbie gave her to me,” Sigmund stammered. 

    “Did she now?” Zinaida said. “And what else has she been up to?”