It began with a pen rolling off of a table and into a coffee mug.
now this coffee mug had been set there by one Alabaster Illing,
too careless to set it in the sink where it belonged.
Why he had not drunk the coffee, especially after
he had taken the time not only to brew it but bring it into the living room, is a mystery to me.
He just set it down on the rug, next to the coffee table, and forgot about it.
The reason for the pen rolling off of the table and into the mug is also something of a mystery.
Possibly, someone pushed it over on accident,
although I see this as unlikely, as anyone with any amount of awareness
and common sense would have noticed that there was a full coffee mug sitting on the rug,
and moved it to somewhere it belonged. To me, it seems more probable that the wind blew
the pen off the table;
the window had been open all day (it was an exceptionally cold day,
and as such I have no idea what the window was doing open for that long, or at all really.)
although this theory is also questionable, as it was not particularly windy that day.
But whatever the cause of the incident, what I find to be far more interesting is the effect.
The owner of the rug (and the pen, for that matter) was one Arthur Illing,
father of Alabaster Illing, who you will properly meet in just a moment.
Arthur Illing was a short, wide, and usually very red man.
He was bald, although he wouldn’t admit this,
sighting a few whisps of white hair around the sides of his head as proof that he was still
very much hairful. Arthur Illing had a very limited vocabulary, so he often just made-up
words to fit whatever thoughts were going through his head.
That afternoon, Arthur waddled into the living room, saw the stain, and nearly dropped to
the floor.
What disturbed Arthur Illing about this incident wasn’t the ruining of the pen,
although that was inconvenient; no what bothered Arthur was the rug. He had just gotten that rug.
Dark red with elaborated grey paisleys festooning its surface, a misshapen blotchy stain, exactly
five square centimeters in length sat right there on his brand-new rug.
He tried moving the coffee table to
cover it, which worked, but that way the coffee table was off-center,
and Arthur couldn’t have that
Arthur Illing sat on the ground and stewed.
He wanted very, very much to get angry, but he found that when he got angry, he broke things.
Arthur did not at all like to have his things broken, so he found it was best to stay calm.
So, Arthur took a deep breath in,
and Arthur let a deep breath out.
Once he had come to terms with the new addition to his once-beautiful rug,
Arthur decided that the logical next course of action would be to hold whoever
did this accountable. Arthur could not quite grasp the idea of such a thing as an accident.
This sort of thing happened very often in the Illing household,
and because said household only consisted of two people the same person always took the blame.
‘ALABASTER. SITTING ROOM. NOW.’ Bellowed Arthur like a steeping tea kettle
(Arthur Illing never spoke quietly. Somehow, even when he whispered it was deafening.)
In a moment a tall, scrappy, curly-haired boy wearing absurdly large glasses which were
held together with far too much scotch tape stepped into the room.
He stood up straight with his hands behind his back and no expression on his face.
‘Yes, Father?’
‘DO YOU NOTICE ANYTHING DIFFERENT ABOUT MY NEW RUG?’
‘No, father.’ Said Alabaster without moving his gaze even slightly.
‘IS THAT SO?’
‘Yes, Father, for you see, I cannot notice anything different about your new rug if I don’t
look at it.’
‘ALABASTER?’
‘Yes, father?’
‘LOOK AT THE RUG.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘WHAT DO YOU SEE?’
‘The rug, father.’ Alabaster did not say this with any hint of dryness or humor in his voice.
He said it as though he were simply telling the truth, which, in some sense, he was.
Arthur sputtered at this comment like a starting engine for a couple of moments.
He stepped right up close to his Alabaster, hoping to intimidate him,
but seeing as his head only reached about chest height on his son,
this only left him feeling more humiliated.
‘OH—THE STAIN, ALABASTER, THE STAIN.’
‘Hmm. Yes. The stain.’ Said Alabaster as though he were only noticing it
for the first time now,
and as though it was as boring or mundane as noticing a slightly irregular bug.
Alabaster was not the sort who cared to resolve conflict as quickly as possible.
He was the sort who cared about being right, even when he wasn’t, and he didn’t care
how angry he had to make his opponent to prove himself correct.
‘It would appear, father, that a coffee mug was tipped over by a pen falling into it.’
Alabaster then began to leave the room.
Arthur was so enraged that he now found it troubling to form full sentences.
‘YES- NO- I- YES, I KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED, NOW TELL ME WHY IT HAPPENED
RIGHT THIS INSTANT, OR I’LL, I’LL-‘
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Alabaster, completely unaffected by his father’s steaming ire.
‘It would seem that someone set a coffee mug on the ground instead of drinking it.’ he suggested.
Now, for the first time in what must have been months, Arthur Illing lowered his voice.
Now he spoke in a deep, hushed hiss.
‘Alabaster, I did not set the coffee there. Can we agree on this?’
Alabaster could agree on this, so he nodded.
Arthur was now growing pale, and his son feared he might collapse.
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Alabaster?’
‘Yes, Father?’
‘Does anyone else live in this house?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Than Alabaster?’
‘Yes, Father?’
Arthur now shifted from pale back to a concerning shade of red.
‘DID YOU SET THE COFFEE THERE?’
‘Yes!’ Alabaster said this as though Arthur should have just asked that in the first place.
Arthur let out a howling shriek, like steel rubbing against steel.
‘ALABASTER, YOU RUINED MY RUG!’
‘No!’ Said Alabaster ‘I would never do something like that.’ Arthur was now so
confused and overwhelmed by his son’s words that he just sat cross-legged on the floor,
right in front of the stain.
‘Alabaster,’ he said blankly ‘did you or did you not set the coffee on the floor?’
‘I did.’ Said Alabaster.
‘By doing so, my dearest son (his voice was drenched in sarcasm)
YOU RUINED THE CARPET.’
‘But I didn’t ruin the carpet, I just set the coffee down!’
It was at this point that Arthur Illing put his head in his hands and wept.
Now, at this moment, Alabaster Illing had something of a realization.
Two somethings of a realization, actually. The first was this: I love my father. The second was this: It hurts to see people I love cry.
Alabaster Illing loved his father. And no matter who had won the argument, it hurt to see
someone he loved cry.
So, Alabaster sat on the ground, in front of the stain behind his father,
and the two Illings took a deep breath in,
and the two Illings let a deep breath out.
‘It doesn’t look so bad, does it?’
‘No, no. I suppose not.’
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