The Pumpkin Weeps.....

 

Do plants have feelings? Perhaps...consider it as you read thru this story...

it's number 17 from Tales Unleashed. 

 

The Pumpkin Weeps

“Slow down, Jimmy! Carving a pumpkin takes patience, a keen eye, and most importantly, a steady hand.”

Chad Osborn was sitting next to his son Jimmy as the eight year-old boy inserted the knife into the outer skin of the pumpkin they had just purchased a half mile down the road. The knife was not a sharp one—which was probably part of the problem—and Jimmy tried in vain to accomplish a deep cut. Chad knew that his wife would not approve of this whole plan, but under strict supervision, Chad thought Jimmy could at least do the task without taking a finger off.

“I want to make a big frown on the face, Dad.”.

“Why a frown?”

“Well,” replied Jimmy, “I can’t be too sure the pumpkin would have a smile on his face after being pulled out of his patch. That was his home, right?”

His dad chuckled. “I guess that’s right, son . . . I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

And so the two continued for the next half hour to make the face that Jimmy had envisioned, Jimmy getting his wish as he put the finishing touch on the pumpkin that made it quite sad-looking indeed.

“Can we put in on the front stoop tonight with a candle inside, dad? I’ll be careful. I promise. And I’ll watch it closely.”

“Okay” his dad said. “We’ll come out at dusk and light it up for a couple of hours before you go to bed.”

And so the plan was in place. Jimmy couldn’t wait to eat his supper, get his homework done, and prepare for the first pumpkin lighting of his young career. Wow, what a night it would be! A couple hours had passed, and Jimmy became increasingly anxious to start the night’s festivities. Jumping on his dad’s lap and knocking the newspaper from Chad’s hands, he asked, “Can we go out front and light it now dad? Can we, can we?”

“Okay son, I’ll go get some matches and we’ll see how that project of yours turned out.” His dad put down his paper, grabbed his son, and they headed out the front door with a shared mission in mind.  

Sitting on either side of the pumpkin, Jimmy and his dad examined the masterpiece they had created earlier in the day. The face wasn’t scary—it looked more sad than angry. Jimmy lifted the stem attached to the top and sat it aside as his dad struck the match and reached down inside to light the small white candle. 

Replacing the top and getting down in front of the pumpkin, Jimmy exclaimed with joy, “Dad, look at it . . . it’s perfect!”

 But Jimmy’s broad smile became a straight line as his face went from joyful to serious.

“What’s wrong, son?” his father asked.

“Dad, look at this.”

Coming around front, his father knelt beside Jimmy and saw what had changed the child’s face.  On either side of the pumpkin, and at the outer corner of each eye, several drops of water dripped down the pumpkin’s cheek. Almost a stream, if you will. “Oh that’s just condensation from inside son. Pumpkins are very wet inside you know.”

“No, dad. This pumpkin is most unhappy that we have ripped it away from its home, and it’s crying. Look at it.” Jimmy started to well up himself, his bottom lip quivering. “We have to take it back tomorrow. It has to go back.”

“Son, nobody’s going to take back a carved pumpkin . . . but we’ll try.” With that, the pair blew out the candle and retired for the evening.

The next day being Saturday, Jimmy and his father placed the pumpkin in the front seat of the station wagon and headed back down the road to the stand from which it came. The old man who operated the stand sat on a rusty old milk can and struck a match to his pipe as the pair approached him.

 “Problem?” inquired the man as Chad and Jimmy placed the carved piece at his feet.

“No, none at all,” replied Chad. “It was nice, but my son wants it returned to where it came from. Can you do that?”

“Well, I’ve never had anyone bring one back before, rather unusual, but guess I could. Can’t give your money back though.”

“Oh no, don’t expect that. Thanks so much, we’ll try and get back next year.”

“Suit yourself,” said the old man as he loaded the pumpkin into a wheelbarrow.

Sitting in the car, Chad and Jimmy reviewed the day that had just passed between them and the pumpkin.

“Do you think that pumpkin felt it when I cut it with the knife dad?”

“I don’t think so Jimmy. Many say that plants can communicate with each other, but I don’t believe that a plant can show any kind of emotion, let alone produce tears. How about an ice cream?”

 As the two drove away, they watched the old man as he moved the wheelbarrow out from behind his stand. Picking the pumpkin up and gently placing it back near another of its kind, the old man walked away with water dripping from his hands. “Boy, I don’t think I’ve ever handled one that wet,” he remarked as he dried his hands with his well-worn handkerchief.

Jimmy’s pumpkin was back home, as Jimmy had requested. Had his pumpkin produced tears after being ripped away from the fertile ground? Had it felt not only the separation, but also the knife that Jimmy had held to produce the frown that now adorned its face? Lots of questions indeed to ponder.

The sun settled two hours later on the old man’s pumpkin patch. Tonight, there would be a new face there, one with a most distinctive frown, and perhaps even a dried tear or two to reflect the moonlight that was yet to arrive.

Lost at the Drive in........

 

1965.......a delightful night in June, and Jerry and his girl Cindy 

would be heading to the local drive in....but it was not to be.

As Sam Cook's 'You send me' played on the radio, the thrill

of it all was over whelming. It's story no. 25 in Tales 

Unleashed and is presented for you below. 

Lost at the Drive-In

It was 6:00 on a Friday night and Jerry was looking at the clear sky over the perfect farmland which butted up to his dad’s property. It was the ideal place to live . . . a hundred acres outside of a little town of less than twelve thousand people. Two minutes into town to the malt shop, the bowling alley, the tackle shop, and the best of all, the Starlighter Drive-In. Jerry remembered going to the drive-in as a kid, sitting in the back of his father’s Hudson while his mom and dad were in the front. His memory brought back the great smells of the drive in—the hot dogs and relish,  the popcorn, the hot fried dough.—but all that was years ago. Now it was June 1965, and a glorious night it was. 

Jerry got on the phone with his steady girl Cindy and they agreed he would pick her up at 8:30 . . . maybe stop for a quick vanilla cone then head to the Starlighter for the show. What was playing? Was it even important? Heck no, the Starlighter was the make-out spot for the whole high school it seemed. Jerry cleaned out his red ‘57 Chevy and made it look very inviting for Cindy, as this was the first time they were going to the drive-in alone. No double dating, no chaperones. Just the two of them, under the stars and watching the big picture show.

Jerry’s jaw dropped as he drove up to Cindy’s house and saw her bopping down the steps. She was gorgeous tonight . . . a white blouse and pink sweater, pleated skirt, bobby socks, and penny loafers.

Jerry thought that this girl could actually be the one . . . the one that they always tell you about as a kid, the one you have to never let get away under any circumstances. Jerry’s smile was wide as he opened the door and Cindy slid over the white leather car seat to be as close to him as she could.  As Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me” played on the radio, Jerry put the Chevy in gear and they headed for their night out.   

It was 7:00 am and Jerry’s dad was up and getting his fishing gear together for the day. He had promised Jerry that the first Saturday he had off, they would head out to Brier Lake and try their luck for some rainbow trout. The locals said the rainbows were large and mighty plentiful there. As Jerry’s dad made the coffee, he looked out the window and noticed the ’57 Chevy was not in its usual spot. That’s odd. He knew that Jerry was taking Cindy to the drive-in, but that was last night. He chuckled to himself . . . could they have fallen asleep and not noticed the early daylight? He had heard of it happening before. Such an incident would surely be met with grave words from parents upon returning home.

As the hours passed, there was no sign of Jerry, Cindy, or the red ’57 Chevy. The local Sheriff and state police put out an all-points bulletin for the vehicle and its occupants. The day turned into three days, then to five, then to an agonizing seven days with no resolve. Jerry and Cindy were both level-headed kids, the kind not to run off or to make bad decisions, so it stumped everyone in the small town. Both popular kids in the same class, these two were the least likely to be in any sort of trouble. 

Time continued to pass. A year turned into five years, the sixth year stretched into the tenth, and then into year sixteen . . . but it wasn’t to be sweet sixteen. After failing health and no son returning, Jerry’s father passed away, a desolate and frail man.

It was in the 17^th year that a young man scuba diving in Brier Lake found himself in very dark, murky water and swam headlong into a vehicle entwined in seaweed and muck. He recognized the swept- back tail fin. The young diver knew in an instant that this indeed was the profile of a ’57 Chevy.

 Within two hours the local Sheriff and coroner stood on the bank of the boat launch and watched as a wrecker gently pulled the vehicle out of the water. As the vehicle emerged from its long-held place in the lake, the bright sun reflected off of the rusted bumper and trunk lid of the old car. It was indeed a red Chevrolet.

Jerry and Cindy had been found. What had happened that night would remain a mystery, though. Did they go to the show as planned? Did they make a detour and head elsewhere for more privacy? Did they become lost in the twilight, or worse yet, become victims of some insane person? All unanswered questions. 

As the tow truck operator pulled the vehicle up on to the flatbed, he lit a cigarette and started whistling a very melodious tune.

 “Say”, said the Sheriff. “I know that tune. What is it you’re whistling there?” 

 “Oh, it’s an old Sam Cooke favorite of mine. ‘You Send Me.’”

 The Sheriff nodded and said, “Yep, remember it well.” He got in his patrol car and headed home.