Servo 12:1
Servo 12:1
I sat by my window and watched the snow fall in gentle sloppy flakes. Back in New Philadelphia, it would snow quite often, in fact. But it was never much snow—a few inches at most. Here in Nebraska, there was a good two feet on the ground and it appeared that it was in no hurry to stop. I found it quite beautiful, yet troublesome. After a week of good rest and plenty of Grandma’s fabulous food, I was on the mend. Rory and Suz were feeling better too. I was now allowed outside the protective parameters of the house. My work on the bot would continue. It was Saturday and I wanted to get going as soon as possible. The wind blew, stirring a flurry of snow from the ground, swirling it into something of a snow-nado. I had always been fascinated by weather anomalies. Tornadoes scared the life out of me, but somehow I was drawn to them. I watched as the little tempest wormed its way across the yard and past the barn, disappearing somewhere into drifts resting in the field. Deciding that I needed something to eat, I headed from my room and clomped downstairs. There was a delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen and I knew to expect something fabulous for breakfast. With all three children feeling better, Grandma was determined to cook enough food to fill out any inch we lost during illness. To that end, I would never protest. There was something about Inner States food that now seemed lacking. Having never had anything but, we were programmed to accept what we were fed. The government provided the mandate of what was to be served to the inhabitants. That food had a fibrous, plain consistency in everything you ate. Things like bacon, real eggs, and fried chicken simply didn’t exist. Even worse, hamburgers were for the most part, not even made of meat. They were an amalgamation of vegetable matter, various plant proteins, and the tiniest hint of something related to beef. I could still taste the juice and fat from the ones Grandma made for dinner last night. Heavenly!Rory was already at the table, fork in hand, making short work of a stack of pancakes. Grandma could make the most amazing things from a simple batter. And sometimes she’d put chocolate chips or fresh blueberries in them for us. Suz, with all her implied distaste, actually relished the pancakes with little bits of raspberry—although she’d never give a hint at that. I knew my sister well enough to see the barest intimation of a smile as she shoved a forkful into her mouth. And Grandma made raspberry syrup to go with them. I know she did it for Suz’s benefit. Rory and I were overjoyed with the chocolate chips. “Good morning, Jonah,” Grandma said, seeing me enter the kitchen.“Morning, Grandma.”“Hungry?”“Oh, yes.” I plopped down in my usual seat, and moments later, a plate of pancakes was being magically lowered in front of me. I took a deep breath, inhaling every molecule of the rich buttery perfume emanating from them. Reaching for the maple syrup, I glanced up to see Suz wandering in. She looked tired. “Are you okay?”“Yes,” was all she said before taking her seat. “You don’t look it.”“I’m fine.”I figured she’d never open up to any of us. Suz was too distressed over leaving the Inner States; her whole life had been ruined by being forced to come here. She was utterly miserable and there was little we could do to make her feel better. In a way, I secretly wished for her birthday to come. At age eighteen, she could do what she wanted.Rory and I chose to ignore Suz and focus on enjoying breakfast. Being a Saturday, Dagwood would be over in a half hour. He’d told me at school Friday that we were going to have fun. I wondered what he was up to. As hesitant as I was in the beginning to make friends with Dagwood, he’d ended up being the best thing that happened to me so far. And his cousin, Otto, was equally helpful with getting me bot parts. Granted it took longer than I usually liked, but with our covert operations, we had to be patient. Breakfast was nearly over when I heard knocking on the door. Grandma went to see who it was. A few seconds later, Dagwood galumphed in. “Morning, fellas!”“Morning, Dagwood,” Rory and I said.“Ready for some fun?”“Yes, I suppose so,” I replied.He gave me a solid smack on the shoulder. “Aw, quit bein’ so stiff and starched!”“Well, how am I supposed to act?”“Loosen up!”“Uh…”“Never mind. Some fun’ll take care of that.”We got up and put our dishes in the sink. Suz was tasked with breakfast dishes on the weekends. Rory and I went to the hall, put on the heavy snow boots, coats, and hats that were bought for us, and grabbed our gloves. Dagwood opened the door and led the way out to the snow filled space between the house and barn. “Ready to build a snow fort?”“A what?” Rory said.“Snow fort. So we can have snowball fights.”Rory cocked his head. “How can a fight be fun?” “You’ll see. Come on, help me build the walls.”
I sat by my window and watched the snow fall in gentle sloppy flakes. Back in New Philadelphia, it would snow quite often, in fact. But it was never much snow—a few inches at most. Here in Nebraska, there was a good two feet on the ground and it appeared that it was in no hurry to stop. I found it quite beautiful, yet troublesome. After a week of good rest and plenty of Grandma’s fabulous food, I was on the mend. Rory and Suz were feeling better too. I was now allowed outside the protective parameters of the house. My work on the bot would continue. It was Saturday and I wanted to get going as soon as possible. The wind blew, stirring a flurry of snow from the ground, swirling it into something of a snow-nado. I had always been fascinated by weather anomalies. Tornadoes scared the life out of me, but somehow I was drawn to them. I watched as the little tempest wormed its way across the yard and past the barn, disappearing somewhere into drifts resting in the field. Deciding that I needed something to eat, I headed from my room and clomped downstairs. There was a delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen and I knew to expect something fabulous for breakfast. With all three children feeling better, Grandma was determined to cook enough food to fill out any inch we lost during illness. To that end, I would never protest. There was something about Inner States food that now seemed lacking. Having never had anything but, we were programmed to accept what we were fed. The government provided the mandate of what was to be served to the inhabitants. That food had a fibrous, plain consistency in everything you ate. Things like bacon, real eggs, and fried chicken simply didn’t exist. Even worse, hamburgers were for the most part, not even made of meat. They were an amalgamation of vegetable matter, various plant proteins, and the tiniest hint of something related to beef. I could still taste the juice and fat from the ones Grandma made for dinner last night. Heavenly!Rory was already at the table, fork in hand, making short work of a stack of pancakes. Grandma could make the most amazing things from a simple batter. And sometimes she’d put chocolate chips or fresh blueberries in them for us. Suz, with all her implied distaste, actually relished the pancakes with little bits of raspberry—although she’d never give a hint at that. I knew my sister well enough to see the barest intimation of a smile as she shoved a forkful into her mouth. And Grandma made raspberry syrup to go with them. I know she did it for Suz’s benefit. Rory and I were overjoyed with the chocolate chips. “Good morning, Jonah,” Grandma said, seeing me enter the kitchen.“Morning, Grandma.”“Hungry?”“Oh, yes.” I plopped down in my usual seat, and moments later, a plate of pancakes was being magically lowered in front of me. I took a deep breath, inhaling every molecule of the rich buttery perfume emanating from them. Reaching for the maple syrup, I glanced up to see Suz wandering in. She looked tired. “Are you okay?”“Yes,” was all she said before taking her seat. “You don’t look it.”“I’m fine.”I figured she’d never open up to any of us. Suz was too distressed over leaving the Inner States; her whole life had been ruined by being forced to come here. She was utterly miserable and there was little we could do to make her feel better. In a way, I secretly wished for her birthday to come. At age eighteen, she could do what she wanted.Rory and I chose to ignore Suz and focus on enjoying breakfast. Being a Saturday, Dagwood would be over in a half hour. He’d told me at school Friday that we were going to have fun. I wondered what he was up to. As hesitant as I was in the beginning to make friends with Dagwood, he’d ended up being the best thing that happened to me so far. And his cousin, Otto, was equally helpful with getting me bot parts. Granted it took longer than I usually liked, but with our covert operations, we had to be patient. Breakfast was nearly over when I heard knocking on the door. Grandma went to see who it was. A few seconds later, Dagwood galumphed in. “Morning, fellas!”“Morning, Dagwood,” Rory and I said.“Ready for some fun?”“Yes, I suppose so,” I replied.He gave me a solid smack on the shoulder. “Aw, quit bein’ so stiff and starched!”“Well, how am I supposed to act?”“Loosen up!”“Uh…”“Never mind. Some fun’ll take care of that.”We got up and put our dishes in the sink. Suz was tasked with breakfast dishes on the weekends. Rory and I went to the hall, put on the heavy snow boots, coats, and hats that were bought for us, and grabbed our gloves. Dagwood opened the door and led the way out to the snow filled space between the house and barn. “Ready to build a snow fort?”“A what?” Rory said.“Snow fort. So we can have snowball fights.”Rory cocked his head. “How can a fight be fun?” “You’ll see. Come on, help me build the walls.”
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