Very Funny Short Story: Uncle Cecil and Tom.

Short Story

Tommy and Uncle Cecil

The young, svelte boy wiped a tear from his cheek with his frilly, laced cuff as he examined  the horrifying image in the mirror before him.  His long curly locks flowed down to his shoulders.  A pink ribbon adorned his hair.  This cosmetic and that, none of which was properly applied, colored his face. 

“I hope none of my friends see me like this,” he said to himself.  “For a nine-year-old boy, that would be a fate worse than death.”  But although he felt humiliation at his image, he knew that this may be the only way he could escape from certain death.  And life was worth saving – even if it meant wearing a gown and pretending to be a yucky girl.

“Geraldine!” he heard his great Uncle Cecil call from the foyer of the house.  “Come down!  It’s time to go!”  They were in the house of Uncle Cecil’s sister-in-law who was away on vacation.

“Coming!” he said.  “And stop calling me Geraldine!  It’s Thomas!”

“Not until you are safe!” came the answer.  “Until at least tomorrow, you are Geraldine!”

The young boy left the bedroom and meekly made his way to the lavish staircase.  He went slowly, not being used to descending steps in a long, thick gown.

“This better be worth it!” he said.  “It better work!”

“It will,” Uncle Cecil said assuringly.  “It has to.  I’m never wrong.” 

Uncle Cecil was a man in his late fifties, always too talkative and quite opinionated concerning everything from politics to science to economics – as well as any other subject under the sun for which he had little or no right to an opinion.  But opinionated he was, even to the point of getting him into big trouble.

“I’m never wrong,” Thomas repeated.  “I’d rather trust a monkey to get us through this.”                  

Thomas remembered the embarrassment he and his parents suffered every time Uncle Cecil sat with them at the dinner table.  He would go on and on until someone would get disgusted and forget his manners.  Just last week it was Daddy who almost tossed Uncle Cecil out on his ear after a particularly frustrating conversation involving nonsense which even he, at the age of nine, could discern.  So Uncle Cecil’s “I’m never wrong,” was an omen of doom more than a reassuring statement. 

He reexamined his image in another mirror that adorned the hallway wall.  “This stinks,” he said.  His hand instinctively reached for the wig that he longed to tear off.  “Nothing can be worse than this.”

Uncle Cecil emerged from the next room.   He had changed into a fine business suit and looked quite different from before.  He carried a brief case and was finely shaven.

“You have to be kidding!” Thomas shouted.  “You wouldn’t pass for a businessman in a room full of blind people!”

“You keep quiet!” he said.  “I’m telling you, this will work!  We just have to get out of town without Rick or his henchmen seeing us!  They won’t recognize me in this get-up.”

“Well if you hadn’t bet on the wrong horse, none of this would have been necessary!” Thomas yelled back.

“That was the right horse,” Uncle Cecil retorted smugly.  “It was just the wrong race!”

Thomas didn’t answer that last absurdity.  To Uncle Cecil any excuse would do so long as it didn’t make him look bad.  But Thomas wouldn’t be fooled by that nonsense.  He, instead, turned his thoughts earlier in the day when things were much more carefree.  He had just gotten home from school.  Mom was getting ready to receive guests for dinner.  They were expecting Uncle Cecil. 

                “Thomas!  I’m glad you’re home!  Quickly.  Get into your play clothes and help me do some last-minute chores.”

                “Oh Mom!  Do I gotta?” he replied.  He unloaded his backpack of books onto the foyer floor and slothfully climbed the thirteen steps to the upper floor where he slinked into his bedroom to change.  He wasn’t in any hurry to do chores so he sat on his bed for a good deal of time before he did anything at all.

                “Thomas!” he heard his mother call.  “What’s taking you so long?”

                “What?  You want me to come down naked or something?” he retorted. 

                Thomas pulled off one shoe, then one sock, then the other shoe, then the other sock, then slowly thought about putting on his sneakers and Levis. 

                “Thomas!  Get down here!”

                “Okay Mom!  Almost done!”

                He traded his new school pants for the blue denim replacement and his good white shirt for his plaid one.  Finally, he got up and trudged toward the steps that lead downstairs into the slave chamber.  When he got there, Mom was quick to crack the whip.  “First, put these napkins on the table!”

                Thomas complied by walking just close enough to the table to toss the napkins into the approximate center.

                “That’s not what I meant!” she said.  “Distribute them to the proper places alongside the plates!”

                “Ah, Mom.  Don’t make no difference!”

                “It doesn’t make any difference,” she corrected him.

                “I’m glad you agree!” he said.

                “Thomas!  You had better straighten out!  If you don’t cooperate I’m going to . . .”

                Mom didn’t finish the threat.  The phone rang.  She answered it.  It was Uncle Cecil.  Thomas listened and what he could figure was that  Uncle Cecil was going to be fifteen minutes late.  Thomas knew why.  He was always stopping to either get some liquor or making a last bet at the betting parlor.  Then he’d come to dinner with a dirty shirt on and alcohol on his breath.

                Tommy went to the table and redid the napkins.  And as a boon to his mother, he even field-tested one of the water glasses by gulping its contents.

                “Tom!” Mom called.  “Can you sweep the kitchen once more?”

                “Sure Mom!” he replied excitedly.  Tom complied by taking the broom from the push broom-closet.  He straddled the long handle with the brush behind him and pretended he was riding a horse as he dragged the broom across the floor.

                Mom was soon right on top of him.  “Tom!  What are you doing?  I asked you to sweep!”

                “It’s the same thing, Mom!  Why can’t you let me have any fun?”
                Tom continued to ride his “horse” through the kitchen, then for good measure, swept the hall way too.

                “Tom!  I have an idea,” she said, sounding exasperated.  “I want you to make the front of the house look pretty for when your Great Uncle Cecil arrives.  Now go!”

                That’s what Tom was waiting for.  He knew his Mom would give in eventually and ask him to “make the house look pretty.”  That was their code word for him to go outside and blow bubbles.  He had once used that expression as his excuse for blowing bubbles instead of working and ever since it had become part of the family’s vocabulary.  Now, if he just got her exasperated enough, he wound up blowing bubbles.

                He hurriedly ran upstairs and got his bubble maker out of his drawer.  It was shaped like an elephant with a little red switch on its head.  It was a present that Uncle Cecil gave him last Christmas that Mom thought was too vulgar.  Tommy just had to flick the switch and bubbles came out of its trunk one after another.  It wouldn’t have been objectionable except that an “ah-choo” sounded with each bubble.

                Tommy sat on the front stoop and turned it on.  He watched anxiously as one bubble after another sneezed out of the elephant.  “Oh, gross!” he said.  “That’s the neatest birthday present I ever got!”

                Far before he got bored of the bubbles, Uncle Cecil’s rickety pick-up truck arrived.  Uncle Cecil parked in the driveway, almost touching the garage door with his front bumper.  He got out of the car with a small box in his hand.  It was gift-wrapped with birthday pictures.  Tommy ran over to him.

                “Hi Uncle Cecil!  Did you bring me anything?”

                “Sure did Tom!” he answered.  "Sorry I couldn’t make your party last week.  But you can have this now!”

                After a quick “Thank you,” Tommy tore off the wrapper and other packaging.  He held a deflated plastic bag in his hand with a sort of spout at one end.  “What’s this?” He asked.  “It looks like sort of a balloon.”

                Uncle Cecil laughed.  “You blow it up like this,” he said, taking the object and inflating it.  “Then you put it on a chair.  When someone sits on it, it sounds like this.”  Uncle Cecil pushed the air out of the toy causing it to sound like someone was passing gas.

                “It’s a Whoopie cushion!” Tom shouted.  “I’ve always wanted one!”  He grabbed it from Uncle Cecil’s hands and blew it up while heading toward the dining room.  It was fully inflated as he put it on the seat his Father would normally occupy.

                Uncle Cecil followed him and grabbed it off the chair.  “You can’t do t hat, Tom, or you’d get us both in trouble.  You have to promise me you won’t use this until long after I’m gone home!”

                “Oh, drat!” Tommy said.  “What good is it if I can’t use it.”

                “Sorry, Tom.  You just have to wait.  Remember.  No one can know I gave you a Whoopie Cushion!  I am in enough trouble with your parents for buying you that sling shot last year.”

                “It wasn’t your fault I broke Dad’s windshield,” he replied.

                “I know, but your Mom and Dad didn’t look at it like that.  Just remember, no one can know that the Whoopie Cushion even exists until I’m clear gone.”

                “Okay,” Tommy said.  “Then let’s make it a blood contract that neither one of us will tell.”

                “That’s a good idea,” he said.  Then the two spit on their palms and shook on the deal.

                Tommy quickly took the Whoopie Cushion and hid it in his pocket.

                Mom came into the room from upstairs.  “Oh, Uncle Cecil,” she said.  “I didn’t know you were here.”

                “Hello Louise,” he replied.  “Tommy let me in.  He’s a fine boy, a fine boy.”

                The two talked on like that while Tommy went into the living room to watch TV.  He watched an entire episode of Star Trek.  Dad had gotten home from work during that time and was busy in conversation with Uncle Cecil about Democrats and Republicans.  Seeing Daddy was a farmer, he was a long-time democrat, but Uncle Cecil was a hater of both Democrats and Republicans.  They discussed this and that for a whole hour, then Mom called him into dinner.

                “Oh, no!” Tommy thought.  “I’d better hurry.”

                He ran into the dining room and got there before anyone else.  Then ran into the kitchen where Uncle Cecil had migrated to help move the food to the table.

                “Here, let me help you!” Tommy said to Mom.  “You and Dad sit down.  Me and Uncle Cecil will serve!”

                “Well that’s awfully nice of you to offer to do that Tommy,” Daddy said in his tenor voice.  “Isn’t that a nice offer honey?” he asked Mom.

                “It sure is.  He’s learning responsibility!” she replied.

                “He’s a fine boy, fine boy,” Uncle Cecil repeated.

                Mom and Dad sat at the table.  Uncle Cecil put the large platter that had the plump chicken on it onto the table.  Tommy brought in the side dishes.  When all was set, Tommy sat in his place.

                “Come on Uncle Cecil,” Tom said.  “All the food is in the dining room now.  It’s time for you to sit down.”

                “I’m coming,” he said as he brought in a pitcher of water.  After setting it onto the table, Uncle Cecil stood in front of his chair.

Just then Daddy stood.  “Before you sit, let us stand and say grace.”

“What luck,” Tommy said to himself.  “That will make it even better.”  Then he turned to his Dad.  “Can I say grace?” he asked.

“Sure,” Daddy said.  “You know, Tom, it is really great seeing you behave like this.  You helped with the food and now you want to lead grace.  I like that.”

“Fine boy, fine boy,” Uncle Cecil said.  Then they all bowed their heads.

“God is gracious,” Tom began.  “God is good and we thank him for our food.  Amen.”

“Amen” came the response.

Then as everyone sat, a loud sound emitted from Uncle Cecil’s seat.  Tommy cheeks bulged as he held in his laughter.

“And he can’t tell them it was the Whoopie Cushion,” he said to himself.  “He dare not break his vow of silence.”

Mom and Dad’s face grimaced at the sound, but they were too polite to say anything.  Tom counted on that.  It wouldn’t be fun if Mom and Dad were the type to even mention a word to embarrass a guest, even if it was Uncle Cecil.  No one spoke for several awkward seconds.  No one dared mention the “incident.”  And what happened made Uncle Cecil so self-conscious he didn’t want to engage in his usual conversations about politics or science.  But even though Mom and Dad had to be polite, Tommy was not so restrained by rules of civil behavior.  Nor did he want to be.  After all, what good is there committing the perfect practical joke if you can’t exploit it after the fact?”  After several awkward minutes, Tommy asked.  “Mom, would you mind if I turned on the air-conditioner?  I think this air is just a tad stale.”

Tom knew this reference to the sound the Whoopie Cushion made would embarrass Mom and Dad and cause Uncle Cecil to squirm in his seat.  After all, Uncle Cecil had no way to defend himself.  He was guilty of nothing, perfectly framed, and had to sit there and take all of Tom’s abuse in silence.

“Yes you may,” she replied.  After all, what else could she say?  The air wasn’t foul, but the mere suggestion that it smelled had to be taken seriously.  Tommy left the table and set the thermostat.  Cool air filled the room.

When he got back to his chair, Tommy piped up.  “Uncle Cecil said he was going to buy me a tape player for my birthday,” he said.

“He did?” Daddy said.

“Yeah, didn’t you Uncle Cecil?”

“Uh, yes I did.  I did.  Just before coming in I realized I didn’t get Tom a birthday present so I promised him a tape player.”

“That’s awfully kind of you,” Mom said.  “I’m sure he will enjoy it.”

“Bingo.  That was easy,” Tom thought.  “That’ll teach Uncle Cecil who’s the best practical Joker in the entire world.”

Time after time Tommy found one way after another to exploit the situation.  He had no mercy.  “You know Dad,” he said.  “About a hundred or so years ago people didn’t have electric lights.  They had to rely on GAS.”  And “My teacher isn’t fair.  She yells at me fart too many times each day.”  Oh, he was sly.  Nothing he said could be turned against him because his words were innocent.  It was his intent that was wrong.  And if Mom or Dad accused him of making reference to the sound they heard when Uncle Cecil sat down, it would be very embarrassing to both of them.  So he exploited their rules of civility to the full.

Finally, Uncle Cecil had enough.  “Tom.  I want to do something for you tonight.  Would you like for me to take you to the track tonight?”

“Wow!” Tommy said loudly.  “Mom!  Dad!  Can I?”  Tommy didn’t expect this!  To think that Uncle Cecil would offer this as a bribe to keep him from further exploiting the Whoopie Cushion joke.  This was better than he could hope for.

“It’s a great idea honey,” Daddy said to Mom with a wink.  It seemed to Tommy that they, too, knew this was the only way they could get him to stop embarrassing everyone with hidden jokes.

So it was set.  Tommy was obliged to be quiet so he day-dreamed the rest of his mealtime and quietly absconded into the living room for more TV until it was time to go to the track.

                Soon enough, Uncle Cecil and the rest of the family finished their meal and Uncle Cecil came to him.  “Ready to go Tom?” he asked.

“Sure am!” he said.  He hopped up excitedly.  “Am I ever!”

“Then get into the truck and let’s go!”

Tom was quick to comply.  Within seconds he was in the truck wishing Uncle Cecil would hurry up and with his final good-byes and start the truck.  When he finally got in, Uncle Cecil started the motor.  Just as soon as they left the driveway, Uncle Cecil handed Tom his Whoopie Cushion.  “You are really something, boy,” He said.  “I taught you well.  You are the best practical joker in the world!”

“You mean you aren’t mad?”

“Mad?  Of course not!  You had me fair and square.  First you made it seem like I made you promise not to tell about the toy.  Then you used it on me!  And you played it out to the very end!  I’m proud of you!  You’re really something!”

“Thanks!” Tom said.  “And I want to thank you for taking me to the race track too!” Tom paused to think for just a second.  “But I guess you don’t have to buy me the tape player.”

“What?  Of course I do!  For two reasons.  First, I said I would in front of your Mom and Dad.  Second, you played such a big joke on me you deserve the reward.”

“Why thank you!” Tommy shouted.  “Man!” he thought.  “Uncle Cecil is the best Great Uncle a boy could ever have.”

“Hey Tom, did you see the Met’s game last week?”

“I sure did!  They won!”

                The two baseball fans talked about the game for a while.  But Thomas noticed that, suddenly, Uncle Cecil appeared distracted.  He didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but Uncle Cecil kept looking into his rear-view mirror.  Tom didn’t say anything at first, but then Uncle Cecil started pausing for longer and longer periods between his sentences.  Finally, when Tom asked him a question about baseball statistics, Uncle Cecil just sat there as though he didn’t even hear the question.

“What’s wrong Uncle Cecil,” he asked.  “Why aren’t you talking?  I asked you a question.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Tom.  I was thinking about something else.”

“What?”

“Tom.  I’m sorry to get you into this, but I have been noticing that a car has been following us for at least fifteen minutes.”

Tom started to turn.  “A car?”

“Don’t look back!” Uncle Cecil said.  “It will tip them off that we know they’re tailing us and they’ll get violent.”

At this Tommy shuddered.  “Who are they?”

“I am afraid that they are the Bobson brothers, Slice and his brother Dice.

“Slice and Dice?”

“Yes.  That’s because Slice carries a big knife and Dice shoots craps all the time.”

“And why are they following us?”

“Because I owe them some money from a horse race and they want payment today.”

“Then why don’t we just stop and pay them?” Tom asked nervously.

“Because I have to bet the money on this next race so we can pay them off with the winnings.”

That made Tom shudder even more.  “What are we going to do?  Are we going to the race track?  Will they wait?”

Uncle Cecil didn’t answer verbally.  The look in his eyes said enough.

“I want to go home!” Tom said.  “I want my Mom and Dad!”
                “I’m afraid it’s too late for that Tom.  We have to try to get away and hide.”

Uncle Cecil increased the speed of the truck and took an exit.  “You just keep your head low and whatever you do, don’t look up!”

Tom saw nothing after that.  He cowered in his seat with his head ducked way low and his heart pounding.  Finally, Uncle Cecil parked the car.  “I think we lost them Tom.  Now let’s get out.  We’re at my sister-in-law’s house.  We’ll be safe there for a while.

Uncle Cecil stepped out of the truck.  Cecil looked around then gave the all-clear for Tom to get out.  Then they both hurried to the front door.  Uncle Cecil took out a pick-lock and opened the house. 

"Are you sure your sister-in-law won't mind?" Tom asked.

"Nah, I've done this plenty of times before.  We always work it out."

Uncle Cecil hurried Tom upstairs into a small bedroom that was obviously design to be a girl's room.  Dolls decorated the neatly made bed.  In the closet were dresses, skirts and other girly things. Uncle Cecil chose a dress and held it up to Thomas so he could check its size.  "This one will do," he said, causing Tom's heart to pound a bit harder and faster.  Tom could hardly keep from freaking out because he knew what was coming next and he didn't like it one little bit.  Then the fateful words:  "Put this on!" Uncle Cecil commanded.  Thomas took a step back.  "And don't argue!  We have to wear disguises and they won't be looking for a man with a girl with him!   I know what I'm talking about!  Put this on!"

Thomas said nothing.  He put the dress on over his own clothes.  Then came the next nightmare.  Uncle Cecil took a box from the shelf.  In it was a large hat with three different types of flowers on it and sported a very long pink ribbon.  "Put this on too!  It will hide your short hair!"  Then the final insult.  Uncle Cecil went to the makeup-box on the table and started taking things out!

No words can describe the terror Tom felt as his Uncle applied first the lipstick then the eye shadow then the false eyelashes.  Each done in a hurried way, none done with any expertise.  Each step causing Tom to say, "No!  Not that!  I'd rather be butchered!"   "There," Uncle Cecil finally said.  "That will do.  You look pretty."

"Pretty?" Tom said.  "Pretty dumb!  Are you sure we have to do this?"

"Look, do you want to live?  Just trust me and do what I say."

It was a long trip to the race track.  Tom could do nothing but sit quietly and feel like crawling under a rock.  When they got to the track Uncle Cecil took Tom to the betting stand and said, "Thirty dollars on Slip Jack."  Tom tried to find a quiet corner somewhere where he could hide himself but the place was full of people everywhere.  It seemed  to him like everyone was looking at him.  Another twenty minutes passed as he and Uncle Cecil went to the stands and watched the race.   His mind was so distracted by his predicament that he didn't even notice the words coming over the speaker or when it was announced that Slip Jack won the race.  All he knew was Uncle Cecil was pulling him by the collar and telling him to get up.  In ten more minutes they were back to the truck.

"Can I take this stuff off now?" Tom pleaded.

"No!  They might see you!

"But you have their money!  You can stop hiding now!"
                "Ain't so," he replied.  "I got to get this to big-boss himself.  That's just the way it is!"

Finally they stopped in front of a strip mall along the way.  "You stay here," Uncle Cecil said.  "I'll be right back.

The next ten minutes seemed like an eternity.  There Tom was in yucky makeup and an even yuckier dress with even a yuckier-yuckier hat on and all he could do was wait.  Finally Uncle Cecil came back.  He had a small bag in his hand with something in it. 

"Did you do it?" Tom asked.  "Did you pay off big boss?"
                "Yes," he replied.  "You can take off the hat and dress now.

Tommy had one last thing he had to do.  "Let's make a blood contract that you and I will never, ever tell anyone about any of this!"  At this the two spit on their palms and sealed the deal with a hand shake.

Boy was Tommy relieved!  Those clothes came off faster than a banana peel in a cage full of monkeys.  "That was the most embarrassing think I ever had to do," Tom said.  "Hey, what's in the bag?"

"It's for you," Uncle Cecil said.  Tom opened the bag.  It was a tape recorder.  "I got it for you," Uncle Cecil said, "just like I promised."

"Thank you!" Tom shouted!   "You really saved the day.   I got this neat tape recorder and we didn't get sliced and diced by Slice and Dice."

"Oh, yeah, Tom," Uncle Cecil said.  "You know that story I told you about owing big boss money?  Well, that was sort of a, well, a joke."

"You mean that was just a joke?   You mean we were never in any danger?"  Tom  shouted.  "I didn't really have to put on those yucky girl-things?"

"Never.  And remember you just swore not to tell anyone I just played a practical joke on you."

Tom looked at Uncle Cecil and pretended to lift an invisible crown from his head and place it on Uncle Cecil's head.  "You got your crown back for being the best practical joker in the world," Tom said.  and all either of them could do was laugh and laugh until they got  Tom home.