Dear Oliver

MIRJANA MRKELA

Dear Oliver

Zadar, 2012.

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Dear Oliver, I’ve heard that your mother died when she gave birth to you!

I‘m sorry that it happened to you. If I were close I would‘ve helped you somehow for sure. (I mean, if I‘d been born before you.)

Nobody mine had died, only dad lost his consciousness when my legs peeked into the world. Luckily, there were enough doctors and nurses. Some helped my dad and some helped me, so we both fell into tears. Carmen, my mom, said to my dad: “Caesar, you‘re such a child!”

She fixed my hair because it was bristled, and her eyes were smiling. Everyone was running around me because they thought I‘ve stopped breathing. I flinched and hit someone in the chin, someone in the nose.

Later they showed me to the grandpa Greensy, as if I were a world wonder. He wanted to hold me in his arms and I was flitching again, with all my strength.

“A true Twisty!”, gladly said grandpa Greensy. “I’ll eat a billy goat roasted, plus horns, if this munchkin isn’t a true Twisty!”

That’s how I got my nickname, and grandpa dropped the stick, that was hanging on his arm. The stick smacked the bre-

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akfast trolley, so it squashed a couple of buns. The butters and the marmalades, in fear have left the plates. The teapot swung and spit a bit of hot tea on the stick, just enough to confuse him. They took me from the grandpa’s hands, and he grabbed the stick again.

“I’m sorry!”, said my grandpa to the butters, marmalades and the other garbage that he made by himself. “But it’s a real luck that I was deft and didn’t drop Twisty! I’ll eat a billy go…”

“Real luck!”, angrily said the nurse. “Because, don’t forget, sir, Charles Dickens said long ago that there’s no remorse so deep as that which is in vain!”

Dear Oliver, i‘ll write you again!

Hugs from Twisty

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6.

The boys were making cannons out of mud, and we girls were kneading cookies. And we asked aunt Kisspot for some flour and she said that she had just been beating her brains out about how she would give it to us. Having spent so much time beating her brains out she had no time to take a cup of flower.

That‘s why we took mud instead.

The guard Hipflask was careful not to dirty the uniform.

And he said that not even the devil would’ve eaten so many cakes. Then Hollylin said that God made husband and wife out of mud. So then we started making people. Fat Milka sang: “Huuubbyyy and wiiife, roast hen and kniiife!”

She sang badly, so the boys pushed her snout into the mud.

Fat Milka did not say anything, because they were always stronger. She only yelled at the girls, so she made Hollylin angry.

And Hollylin hit me with an unfinished man and shouted: “Here‘s your dad, ‘cause you don’t have him! Here‘s your mum! Here you go, here you go!”

“And who do you have?”, I started asking, so that I don’t start weeping.

“I have a grandmother!”, quickly responded Hollylin. „Grandmother has pictures and I have seen them all!”

“You’re lying!”, I attacked her, in order to defend myself. „If you had a grandmother, she would have brushed you all over!

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And you comb just the front part and from behind you look like an old sheep!”

Mud was flying all over the place and we have been fighting ‘till the teacher, called Commy, appeared. She wasn’t angry, she was laughing and told us we are cute. I used her good mood, so I asked: “Aunt Commy, why I have nobody of mine?”

“We-ell”, Commy got serious, “I‘ll have to think about it!”

I don’t like her havethinking about this just as much as the cook’s brainbeating about the flour. Sack full of thoughts, and no flour for the cake!

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