station.
âIâm sure you can guess the rest. Funny thing is, at least a dozen women have offered to play Laird and Captive with Henry in his room since then.â
âI donât understand. Why is he moping?â
âWell, Iâm not sure, but the rumor is, his doctor wonât allow him to have his Viagra.â
âPoor Henry.â Lia didnât know whether to shake her head or start laughing. âAnd they say seniors donât know how to have fun.â
T he Watcher leaned back in his chair, swiveling absently, the twelve-inch square of aluminum foil in his hands reflecting the glow from his monitor. He lightly creased the sheet in thirds, then unfolded it. He folded it in half in the other direction, creasing one end up to the first of the faint folds. He opened the sheet back up and split it along the fold, stopping at the middle third. He flipped the sheet around and made two creases in the opposite side, splitting this section into thirds, again stopping at the middle section. Once these creases were split, he had his doll template.
He held the foil up so that the section split in two was at the bottom. This would be the legs. The middle section was the body and the top would be the head and arms. He carefully brought his hands together, causing the foil to crumple inwards, stopping when his fingers touched. He moved to the legs and the arms, working slowly so that the foil would crumple in different directions, creating volume as he brought the edges closer together.
He twisted the arms and legs gently to give them strength and help them hold their shape. To make the head, he crunched the end of the foil piece, then slowly rolled it in upon itself, rolling and crunching, down to the body. He left the final bit smooth so he could manipulate it with a dulled toothpick to create features.
He frowned at the blank figure, wondering what he should make it do. Sometimes he let his hands speak and tell him unexpected things. Today his hands were silent, waiting for him to make a decision.
He turned around, looking at the walls of foil dolls playing soccer, hugging, eating, dancing, fighting, making love, lurking in the dark room, their tiny facets reflecting fragments of shattered light from his computer screen.
Desiree wasnât getting his message. It never got through. In the past, he believed the woman wasnât the right one if she didnât understand his messages. It would hurt, but he would say good-bye in his own special way and move on.
He couldnât do that to Desiree. He had to make her understand, but how? The tiny multitude of emissaries stared at him, mutely taunting him with their inability to truly speak for him. He looked down at his clenched fist, at the shapeless ball of foil inside. He threw it against the wall, knocking a dozen of his creations off their perches
----
L ia fixed her eyes firmly on her monitor as Desiree rushed into the scoring room, barely skimming inside the grace period for latecomers. A colorful shiner graced her left eye and cheek. Lia fixed an impassive expression on her face, determined to stand her ground while maintaining the composure she had lost that morning.
Desiree walked past their row to Ericâs station. The two conversed in tones too low for Lia to make out what they were saying. The confab ended and Desiree brushed behind Lia on the way to her chair. As her computer loaded the scoring program, she pulled five foil figures out of her tote and arranged them on her monitor and tower.
Lia watched her out of the corner of her eye. Desiree pouted as she fussed with their positions, turning them to catch the light on their foil angles and pretending the entire scoring team was not glued to her in fascination at the moment.
Five figures. One more had appeared that day, then. This one stood in an aggressive pose, chin down while clenching tiny fists in front of his face in a boxing stance. Lia wondered if Desireeâs
âIâm sure you can guess the rest. Funny thing is, at least a dozen women have offered to play Laird and Captive with Henry in his room since then.â
âI donât understand. Why is he moping?â
âWell, Iâm not sure, but the rumor is, his doctor wonât allow him to have his Viagra.â
âPoor Henry.â Lia didnât know whether to shake her head or start laughing. âAnd they say seniors donât know how to have fun.â
T he Watcher leaned back in his chair, swiveling absently, the twelve-inch square of aluminum foil in his hands reflecting the glow from his monitor. He lightly creased the sheet in thirds, then unfolded it. He folded it in half in the other direction, creasing one end up to the first of the faint folds. He opened the sheet back up and split it along the fold, stopping at the middle third. He flipped the sheet around and made two creases in the opposite side, splitting this section into thirds, again stopping at the middle section. Once these creases were split, he had his doll template.
He held the foil up so that the section split in two was at the bottom. This would be the legs. The middle section was the body and the top would be the head and arms. He carefully brought his hands together, causing the foil to crumple inwards, stopping when his fingers touched. He moved to the legs and the arms, working slowly so that the foil would crumple in different directions, creating volume as he brought the edges closer together.
He twisted the arms and legs gently to give them strength and help them hold their shape. To make the head, he crunched the end of the foil piece, then slowly rolled it in upon itself, rolling and crunching, down to the body. He left the final bit smooth so he could manipulate it with a dulled toothpick to create features.
He frowned at the blank figure, wondering what he should make it do. Sometimes he let his hands speak and tell him unexpected things. Today his hands were silent, waiting for him to make a decision.
He turned around, looking at the walls of foil dolls playing soccer, hugging, eating, dancing, fighting, making love, lurking in the dark room, their tiny facets reflecting fragments of shattered light from his computer screen.
Desiree wasnât getting his message. It never got through. In the past, he believed the woman wasnât the right one if she didnât understand his messages. It would hurt, but he would say good-bye in his own special way and move on.
He couldnât do that to Desiree. He had to make her understand, but how? The tiny multitude of emissaries stared at him, mutely taunting him with their inability to truly speak for him. He looked down at his clenched fist, at the shapeless ball of foil inside. He threw it against the wall, knocking a dozen of his creations off their perches
----
L ia fixed her eyes firmly on her monitor as Desiree rushed into the scoring room, barely skimming inside the grace period for latecomers. A colorful shiner graced her left eye and cheek. Lia fixed an impassive expression on her face, determined to stand her ground while maintaining the composure she had lost that morning.
Desiree walked past their row to Ericâs station. The two conversed in tones too low for Lia to make out what they were saying. The confab ended and Desiree brushed behind Lia on the way to her chair. As her computer loaded the scoring program, she pulled five foil figures out of her tote and arranged them on her monitor and tower.
Lia watched her out of the corner of her eye. Desiree pouted as she fussed with their positions, turning them to catch the light on their foil angles and pretending the entire scoring team was not glued to her in fascination at the moment.
Five figures. One more had appeared that day, then. This one stood in an aggressive pose, chin down while clenching tiny fists in front of his face in a boxing stance. Lia wondered if Desireeâs
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