Shiny, Bright Red

Every evening before dinner, Rumble would stretch out on the living-room floor and take a nap. Often, to use as little floor space as possible, he put his feet next to me on my chair. A couple of nights after the peanut butter and jelly incident, Rumble stretched out on his back, put his feet near my thigh, and went out like a light.

I finished painting my fingernails a lovely pearl pink, then I capped the polish bottle and put it away. As soon as my nails were dry I reached back into my cosmetic case, and took out a bottle of fire engine red fingernail polish. This I uncapped. Then I carefully painted each of Rumble’s toenails on both of his feet.

Gram was sitting in her chair right across from me. Softly she said, “That’s bound to make him mad you know.” I grinned at her and whispered back, “I’m counting on it.” One side-effect of living in a house no bigger than a postage stamp, is that you get used to people being around all the time. You lose that inner sense of “being watched”. That’s likely why Rumble slept through what I did next.

I eased out of my chair, taking care not to jostle his feet, and knelt besiode him on the floor. He lay with one hand on his stomach, and the other flung out beside him on the floor. I carefully painted each of his fingernails bright, shiny red.

Again Gram whispered at me, “He’s not going to like that!” I nodded my head and smiled.

About 20 minutes after I put the polish bottle away, Gram called us to the kitchen for dinner. We bowed our heads, Gram asked Rumble to say grace, then we all reached for our utensils. Rumble froze with a forkful of mashed potatoes half way to his mouth. He sat there, staring at his hand.

Slowly he raised his eyes to mine. “You have fingernail polish remover, right?”

Smirking at him, I shrugged.

He said, “I have a date with Kay tonight. I can’t go out with Kay wearing red fingernail polish.”

I said, “Why? Will she be jealous?”

Rumble started to get out of his seat, and Gram assured him I had fingernail polish remover. Spoil sport.

It was Rumble’s turn to do the dishes. He told me that I’d best have the fingernail polish remover ready for him as soon as he was finished.

I did have it ready. I’d gone in my bedroom, poured most of the bottle’s contents in a water glass, and diluted the bit I left in the bottle with rubbing alcohol. I presented it and a package of cotton balls to Rumble. He spent half an hour and all the polish remover scrubbing at his nails. Most of the polish came off, but his nails remained decidedly pink.

He tossed the empty bottle in my direction, gathered up the used cotton balls, and said he’d scrub the rest off in the shower with the Lava soap. He disappeared downstairs.

About 40 minutes later he came back upstairs, clean, shaved, combed and looking sharp. He carried his shoes and socks in his hand. “It came off,” he said, and showed me his au natural fingernails. I smiled at him.

He rolled up his sock, propped his left foot on his knee — and froze. I guess he didn’t wash his feet in the shower, because he was just noticing the toenail polish. His head snapped up and he demanded, “Polish remover!”

I tossed him the empty bottle. It landed in his lap. “It’s empty!” He shrieked.

“Hmm.” I said. “Most girls can clean a whole hand with just one soaked cotton ball, but you had to go and use it all.”

“The polish wouldn’t come off!” He shook the bottle at me. “Get me more!”

“That was it,” I said. “I don’t have another bottle.”

Rumble was sitting in the easy chair on the west side of the living-room. I was sitting on the curved sectional sofa across from him. Gram sat, also on the curved sectional, on the South side of the living room, following our conversation like a ping pong match. She studied each of us as we spoke, but she didn’t say a word.

Rumble stared at his red toenails. “I have a date with Kay,” he repeated. “I can’t go out with Kay wearing red toenail polish.”

“Where are you two going?” I asked.

Rumble shrugged. “The movies. Pizza Hut. The usual.”

“Oh,” I said, then sweetly asked, “And why is it you would need to take off your shoes at either of those places?”

Gram made the faintest little choking noise. Rumble turned bright red. He bent down, snatched up his shoes and socks and stalked from the house. I looked at Gram grinning and asked, “Was it something I said?”

She told me I ought to be ashamed of myself. Then she cracked up laughing.