First Sketch

Hello, my name is Dawn Cunningham Luebke. As a writer, I must keep writing. I often find myself going days without writing even a few lines of poetry. Two nights ago, I promised myself to write one sketch every day for a year. I plan on sticking to this promise. I must stick to this promise. I hope you find this post to be interesting as I continue my effort from day to day. I just hope I am not fouled up by life--life in general, such as a grandson grabbing my hand while typing, pulling my chair away from the computer as I compose, to dance with him to Happy Feet. This post is one hour eighteen minutes late for Friday.

Must Be Rain

    For two weeks, the shower had been broken. Baths had become a cuss word.
    On a Tuesday, the eldest son, Bud, bought all the replacement parts. By evening, the shower head was working, the hand held shower piece flowing.
    The first to step in was Auntie.
    In the living room stood Bubby, Bud’s son, only son, listening closely, head cocked, a curious look coming over his face as his Mammaw walked out of the bathroom. One word exploded as his finger pointed, quickly stepping to the closing bathroom door: “Shouw-er, shouw-er.”
    Mammaw scooped him up, saying, “Yes, shower. The shower is fixed.”
    The water sounded like the trickling rain just before the storm. Once Mammaw sat him onto the couch, he was up again pointing, “Shouw-er, shouw-er,” grabbing his Mammaw’s fingers, pulling her along to the bathroom door, where he pushed open the crack door.
    “Yes, Auntie is taking a shower,” but Buddy kept insisting, while climbing upon the toilet to stand on the lid, “Shouw-er, shouw-er.”
    “No, you can’t take a shower now; Auntie is in there.”
    The shower curtain was slowly pulled back a bit, a head appearing with wet dripping hair, “Do Buddy want a shower.”
    “Shouw-er, shouw-er,” he pointed. The words repeating.
    “You take a shower with Auntie.”
    Buddy quickly slid off the top of the toilet, dancing, “Shouw-er, shouw-er,” his feet bouncing in delight, “Shouw-er, shouw-er.”
    “Alright, let’s take off your diaper,” Mammaw reached down, realizing before it was too late, that he might be a little more than peed.
    He was moving for the tub, ready to climb in, Mammaw pulling him back, “Wait Buddy, we have to take care of that diaper.”
    Mammaw took the diaper off slowly, seeing the full diaper wasn’t as bad as she thought. “Okay, Buddy,” she lifted him into the tub as he pushed back the shower curtain, giggling with joy like a child that had found his long lost favorite toy from under the couch.