5 Eyes like a hawk

Granny Guss was worn out from the waiting. She lobbed her flyswatter to baby Andrew and said if his daddy wasn’t “dawdling like Deacon somewhere, I’dahaddabig blue baptism ribbon on it for ya. Surewoulda, Baby Drew. Sure woulda. Bigandblue and shiny as a . . . uh . . .”
Waiting wore her out and she couldn’t think.
“Can’t think! Even though I’m ambidextrous!”
Andrew took the flyswatter as his own and fulfilled the mimetic urge which is the key to early learning. He swung hard as his tiny arms allowed and smote three flies. To the extent his toddler’s mind could stretch, he intuited three as a magic number. “Like A-B-C, and like the holy trinity, from whose sanctifying grace I’ve so far been deprived due to the tardiness or complete absence of my male parent. When are they ever going to get this baptism and the subsequent christening party together? It’s not Aunt Kar’s fault that this pod of petty thieves, petty moochers, petty scrounges, petty liars, and petty no-good lie-abouts that is my family forces postponements.” He was a toddler in the sense that he was mostly confined to his crib, due to bad parenting, but he was two years and ten months old, and in many ways spry.
Unless Aunt Kar was home, baby Andrew knew only brief spates of affection and attention, just some sentimental flotsam during the rising tides of household drunkenness and adulterated peyotism. He overcompensated when he could.
His tiny tot’s intellect swung into operation again, recalling his mother’s gibberish. It was full of numbers, and three was her favorite. The ideational amalgam of love of mother, group extermination, and just-manifested mimesis further prompted the feeling that three was a special number. Ants were in the house always; now they intruded upon the six proprietary feet of carpet between his crib and Granny’s huge chair. He looked for three of them in a row.
“Something about the boy,” Granny said, still huffing from the effort it took to toss the flyswatter over the crib rail. She was miffed and intrigued all at once: “Why’d Kar have to have a damn christening party when it was time to watch Regis and Kelly? . . . Eyeslikahawk. Them ants and them flies dead as doornails. Eyes like Monsignor’s, too. The good monsignor . . .”


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