Emma and the Magic Card
A Christmas Story for 2010
by
Hubert O'Hearn
(Every year I write Kimberly a Christmas Story. 'The Walk-Ins' is elsewhere on this site. As our thanks for all the love that has come to us this year, I wanted to share this year's edition with you and your families. I hope that by your sharing it, this story can be a gift to the world. I'm taking no direct money for this, but if you happen to click on an ad if you enjoy the story ... well, I won't mind a bit.
- May your hearts be as warm as a comforting hearth
H)
It would be nice to say these things happened Once Upon a Time, but that would not be strictly true. Rather, these things happened every day. Let's just pick a day at random. Here, I'll just pick up this Ledger of Storytelling I keep by my desk and … (leaf, leaf, leaf)ah yes, this will do. October 27th. It was a Wednesday which is fitting, for it was full of woe.
We'll skip ahead to the evening. At 7:52 PM Mrs. Kimberly Darling looked over to her eleven year-old daughter Emma and either smiled or grimaced as she asked to Emma to please put down her storybook and go wash her face for bedtime. Emma's expression was much easier to describe. Definite grimace; not a whit of smiling to be found.
A bit of background might be needed. The storybook in question was 'Persuasion' by Jane Austen. Emma was a precocious child, was able to describe herself as such, and was therefore quite capable of appreciating the social commentary of a 19th century novelist. This was a part of Emma that Mrs. Kimberly Darling and her husband Mr. Kenneth darling loved about her.
Of course there were lots of things they loved about Emma – more than you, me or a roomful of caffeine-charged accountants could count!
They loved the way she laughed.
The y loved the way she swam in the bath.
They loved the way she'd stand on one hip
They loved the dimple at the corner of her lip.
They loved when she would frown and pray
They loved at the new words she'd say -
- (well most of new words anyway.)
Emma had even be named for a Jane Austen novel anyway, so her interest was natural. Both the senior Darlings knew their way around a bookshelf so when she popped into the world eleven years ago, proud Mother all full of sweat and joy, and proud Father all full of dreams and some fears looked at the little pink baby stretching about and said:
Kimberly: “I think she's an Austen.”
Kenneth: “Not a Bronte?”
Kimberly: “Definitely not a Bronte. She looks more wise than … wanton.”
Kenneth: “Good. Heathcliff would make for a terribly awkward son-in-law. All that raging about the moors.”
Kimberly: “She's just been born! We have years – decades I hope! - before we have to start planning the wedding! Could you be a darling, Darling and get me some ice chips?”
Kenneth: “Of course … so which Austen then? Elizabeth is a good name. Comes with options – Liz, Beth, Liza, Queen of England. You know?”
Kimberly: “No, I think she's an Emma. What do you think, little girl?”
She whispered to her daughter.
Kimberly: “Would you like to be Emma Darling?”
Emma: “ - - - “
' – !
Her face looked about as much like a smile with a dimple as that bit of typing, but new parents can be prone to a bit of forgivable over-interpretation, so Emma she became and Emma she remained.
Little did the Darlings know – (and by the way, writers like me love the words 'little did so-and-so know' for it makes us seem smarter than our characters) – that in naming Emma for 'Emma' they had set a match to flash paper.
That, also by the way, is what we call a metaphor. Do not go setting matches to flash paper unless you're a properly trained and licensed magician! For magic used without proper training can get you in trouble, as you shall see presently.
No, the Darlings were in for an unfortunate outcome. As soon as she could read, Emma Darling was naturally curious about Emma Woodhouse this Other Girl for whom she was named.
There are many wonderful lessons to be learned from wonderful books if you take the right lessons from wonderful books. Sometimes, rarely but true enough in this case, one can take away the wrong lessons, Because from reading 'Emma' and the other Jane Austen novels, our Emma Darling learned to be:
Impetuous
Stubborn
A bit self-righteous
More than a bit accusatory
And quite enamored of fancy things
That stubborn business literally raised its head from its book at 7:52:15 PM, stuck out a lower lip like a pirate thrusting a dagger at a frightened hostage and said, “I want to finish my book!” The stubborn head the snapped downwards back towards the book and two blonde pigtails with little pink bows shook like twin scorpions warning the invader back, back, back away now or feel our wrath.
And so began the nightly battle as Mother and Daughter would fight it out for the WWE Title. No, they did not wrestle. The letters WWE here stand for Who Wins the Evening?
It usually took somewhere up to forty minutes to get Emma from the living room to her bedroom via the bathroom. October 27th was relatively an easy evening. At 8:18 PM, an exhausted Mrs. Darling trudged into the living room, hot-tagged Mr. Darling by tapping him on the shoulder over the back of his recliner chair and saying, “Okay, I've done the hard part. Now you make her go to sleep.” And with that Mrs. Darling moved around to the front of the recliner chair and stood on one hip, with the clear intent of imminently taking over that chair and not moving from it for many hours, as many hours as she pleased. Sir.
Mr. Darling took the hint. He went up the long carpeted staircase to the second floor, feeling like Billy Bigelow ascending to eternity at the end of Rgers and Hammerstein's 'Carousel'. Yes, he was preferring to think about old Broadway musicals than the fight he knew he would eventually win but not without cost to a lost generation composed of, um, himself.
He stood outside Emma's bedroom, adjusted his sweater and swept a hand through his greying hair, wanting to look as Official Proper Daddy as he could, put on his biggest smile (Everything's Coming Up Roses!) and said to himself, 'It's showtime folks.' Kenneth Darling then stepped over their snoozing border collie Monsoon and entered the arena, er, bedroom.
It would do neither you or me any good to go through all the details. I don't need to recall all the grisly arguments and you don't need to hear them repeated. The first two lines will suffice:
Kenneth: It's sleepy time little girl!
Emma: No.
Your imagination can now run wild for ten minutes and I'm sure you'll manage to guess all the high points.
Anyway, after that time Mr. Darling tucked the warm light bulb from Emma's reading lamp into his left pants pocket, realized that wasn't the most comfortable place for it, put it into his sweater pocket – he was a cardigan kind of guy – kissed his daughter on the forehead rather than stabbing her in the neck, turned to leave and … tripped over her Big Red Bear causing him to land in a nest of tossed about stuffed animals.
Removing a Beanie Baby Bunny from his mouth, Mr. Darling said to Emma, “Tomorrow – as soon as you get home from school – you're cleaning this room.” This leads us to the important bits.
Emma said, “I will not clean my room. I will not clean my room. You can ask and ask until your face turns blue, but I will not clean my room.”
Kenneth: And why's that … dear?
Emma: These are my things and my room and I know where each and every thing is so why should I clean my room? No one comes into my room but me -
Kenneth: And me. And Mom.
Emma: And Monsoon too, but nobody important comes in my room, so why really should I be bothered wasting my valuable after-school hours organizing some place that is already organized to its owner's satisfaction?
Did I mention that Emma was a precocious child?
Mr. Darling was working on a rebuttal when Emma concluded with, “And besides, it will look exactly the same as it does now in no time at all so why should we bother with this fruity argument?”
Kenneth: I think you mean fruitless.
Emma smiled broadly. Her trap had been sprung. “There,” she said, “even you agree Daddy.”
There are certain very special moments in a man's life when sailing alone across the Pacific seems an appealing option to present circumstance. This was one of those moments in Kenneth Darling's life. And, there are certain very special moments in a man's life when his spirit is seized by some unknown voice and he finds the inspiration within him to speak words as wise and as eloquent as anything Pericles ever spoke. This was not one of those moments in Kenneth Darling's life.
For a brief flash of thought, Mr. Darling imagined a cartoon coyote with steam whistles sounding out its tufted ears while block letters spelling TILT replaced the pupils in its eyes.
Back to reality.
Kenneth: All right then. Until such time as you can tell your Mother and I – don't tell me, I know it should be your Mother and me but right about now I don't care. Until you can tell us that this room is clean and ready for inspection there will be no tucking in and … and I'm keeping the light bulb so no reading in bed. Good night dear. I love you. (exit)
It was the best he could do. It's not like a parent can retire to chambers like a superior court judge to mull and deliberate. Justice must be meted out quickly at a drumhead trial. But having set sentence, it could not now be broken. To do so would be to invite chaos.
Leaving, Mr. Kenneth very nearly tripped again, this time over the still-snoozing Monsoon, so he said to the little dog, just starting to grow into her wintertime fluffy black-and-white coat, “You talk some sense to her. I can't.” And away he went back down the stairs.
Monsoon yawned a squeaky yawn, stretched up her hind legs, then nudged open the bedroom door and curled up on the nest of stuffed animals. It was 9:05 PM and peace reigned for the rest of the night.
Eight. Weeks. Later. It was now December 22nd. A Christmas tree had been bought and decorated, stockings hung, most of the presents bought and there was a massive turkey sat like a mountain in the middle of the freezer.
Emma had not cleaned her room. She obeyed the orders to empty her actual garbage bag and to leave dirty sheets outside the room and exchange them for clean sheets left outside her room, same thing with laundry, but neither Mr. or Mrs. Darling had entered this dangerous frontier since that night in October.
From time to time, the senior members of the family of Darling Darling & Darling would miss the good part of bedtime where they would snuggle up next to their little girl for a time until her eyes started to close and they would see all the sweetness inside Emma flow across her face like a warm summer breeze across a field of freckles.
And yes, she hated having freckles.
But, every now and then Mr. or Mrs. Darling would launch an appeal and ask Emma once more to clean her room, but every time she would say as she had said before:
I will not clean my room
I will not clean my room
You can ask and ask until you're blue in the face
But I will not clean my room
She seemed pretty definite in her opinion.
But here we are two nights before the night before Christmas and Mr. and Mrs. Darling were going over the final arrangements for the explosion of wrapping paper and cranberry sauce that was about to arrive. Had everyone been accounted for? Were all presents organized? Was the lock on the storage cabinet where the presents were hidden? Do you know where the key is? Well where the hell is it then? I thought you said you'd looked there already? What about the stocking? Do we need more stuffers?
Kenneth: I got something in the mail the other day … it's here on the desk … right, here it is. This is one of those swipe and pay card things – The Magick Card. It has $10 pre-paid on it. I could throw that in the stocking so the next time Emma's out with you at the mall she can pick out a little something. That would be more fun than just giving her ten dollars.
You know that line about a butterfly fluttering its wings in China and causing a typhoon in Kansas – or is it the other way around? Anyway, I'm pretty sure that butterfly had to have been sitting on Mr. Darling's head when he came up with that bright idea. For Mrs. Darling agreed, the Magick Card was slipped into a red ticket envelope and placed near the toe of the stocking, next to the toothbrush and resting on the mandarin orange...
On Christmas morning, the Darlings sat around the Christmas tree that had been whimsically decorated with old ornaments from Kimberly and Kenneth's childhood, new ornaments picked out by Emma – including a miniature snow globe of two Victorian ladies having tea; why they would have tea in a snowstorm is beyond my understanding – and on the top of the tree, an ornament of retired Boston Celtic great Larry Bird shooting a jumper. It seemed like a good idea at the time but loses some of its charm when you see it in print.
Next to Mr. Darling was a green garbage bag that had tipped its load of torn wrapping paper onto the floor, where Monsoon alternated tearing more of the paper held between her paws and gnawing at a gigantic bone the size of a softball bat. Mrs. Darling was resting on the couch in her feature present: a custom-made robe sewn from the softest green fabric that could be found, with Nature Girl scrowled across the back in a gold silk thread picked to match her gold silk hair. Emma was sat on the small plastic stool that came with her new music keyboard, reading a new book: 'Curiosity' by Joan Thomas, set in the time and home county of Jane Austen herself. There were cookies on the coffee table, two half glasses of champagne and one glass emptied of ginger ale and orange juice and you know everything might just have turned out okay if Monsoon had waited just another few seconds before snuffling up the red ticket envelope and drawing it to her mouth with one paw.
If it had been a few seconds later, Mr. Darling might have not seen Monsoon and the envelope and he then would not have said 'Mon-Soooooon! No!' in that stern dog owner voice he hated to use. The envelope would not have been swept away in Mr. Darling's hand and given over to Emma who would not have used it as a marker in her book.
And so too, if 'Curiosity' hadn't been such an intriguing read for Emma, who loved the story of young Mary Anning bringing fossils up from the coasts of Dorsetshire, she might not have insisted on bringing the book along with her when she and Mrs. Darling in a fit of madness decided to drive to the mall for the Boxing Day Sales.
But none of that didn't happen; therefore all that did happen, did happen.
Now, Emma and Mrs. Darling didn't really drive to the mall for the Boxing Day Sales. No, they got about as close as the next postal code over and hiked the remaining two blocks or so. They made a lovely picture: tall Kimberly Darling and tall for her age Emma, hand-in-hand with matching berets and scarves tossed over one shoulder – purple against a gold coat for Mrs. Darling and stripey candy cane over a pea coat for Emma. Emma's left hand clutched a canvas New Yorker book bag with 'Curiosity' wrapped inside. Mr. Darling didn't get to see that picture. Liverpool was playing Blackpool at 10AM and an earthquake wouldn't move him from his chair and television. Mrs. Darling understood – they referred to the Boxing Day football fixtures as Daddy's unwrappable present.
Because Mrs. Darling and Emma weren't dropped off at the mall and because they had to walk two blocks on a snappingly cold day, they headed straight for the food court when they arrived. So had most of local humanity, but they were able to drop down and capture a table, smiling like two cats who had caught a large fish.
Kimberly: Okay, now Emma I don't want you to move from this table and don't you talk to anyone while I go and get us something.
Emma: No, Mummy. You don't move from this table and don't you talk to anyone while I go and get us something. And it's my treat. So there.
Kimberly: Are you sure? You'll be all right?
Emma: Oh Mother, I am eleven years old.
Most definitely eleven years old, but this was one of Emma Darling's charming qualities. She actually was a quite generous little girl and she enjoyed doing little extra things for her parents, with the important proviso that these benevolent acts were at a time and form of Emma's choosing. On this day, Mrs. Darling wasn't going to argue. She would need all her strength to charge the lines of the stores that surrounded the sunken food court like massed armies about to sweep down the hills.
Emma went to get two crullers and a large hot chocolate for her and a large double-double coffee for her mother. And then Emma reached into the canvas New Yorker book bag to take out her embroidered clutch purse when she noticed the red ticket envelope sticking out from page 183 of 'Curiosity.' It was page 183 because Emma made sure to note the page number when she withdrew the red ticket envelope and the Magick Card inside it. 'I think I'll use this,' she said and swept off into the crowd of gnawers and sippers, smackers and slurpers to purchase the snacks.
Including the Harmonized Sales Tax, the bill paid on the Magick Card came to $4.83. This is reasonably important, which is why I point it out. And while under normal circumstances with a normal credit card, Emma would not have been able to use it. She was a minor, although she would dispute the slightly demeaning terminology. But the Magick Card existed in a hazy financial island somewhere between credit cards and debit cards and so the banking authorities allowed anyone to use it. That too is reasonably important, which again is why I point it out.
After two hours of shopping which produced exactly one sweater (that neither Darling was wildly keen on but fit Mrs. Darling, so what the heck it was 75% off the ticket price), a small bag of Mrs. Darling's favourite skin cream and blush, and a box of festive water glasses that would be forgotten in a basement cupboard when the decorations were put away and would never see the light of day again … after all that effort for so little result, Mrs. Darling and Emma decided to get out while the getting was good. They headed for the entrance but … there was a kitchen store there so Mrs. Darling wanted to take just a quick peek in the window.
Kimberly: I won't take a second!
Next to the kitchen store was the Interac money machine. Bored, Emma stuck her Magick Card in and entered the pin number. The screen offered two choices: withdrawal or account balance. Emma chose account balance.
Whirr whirr whirr whirr flicka flicka flicka flick Out came a white ribbon showing Emma's remaining balance.
Emma: Mummy?
Kimberly: Yes dear?
Emma: the account balance is what you have left to spend, correct?
Kimberly: That's right. You know, I really like that water jug. It'll go well with the water glasses. I think maybe we'll just drop in here.
And yes, the loyal water jug keeps the water glasses company to this very day. The ribbon of paper was dropped into a litter bin so Mrs. Darling never saw that Emma's account balance was at $14.83 and not the expected $5.17. Emma had managed to turn a profit on coffee, hot chocolate and crullers...
School resumed early that year. Everyone was back at their desks on Monday, January 3rd. Nothing at all important happened at school that day, so we can skip over the events between 9AM and 3:15PM, except that Miss Manley had the children take down all the Christmas decorations which eliminated any doubt that the fun was over and this year was going to be just as bloody awful as the one just passed.
On the way home. Emma stopped at Alley's Corner Store, mostly to just break the walk up a bit. If Boxing Day had been snappingly cold, January 3 was shearing cold, which is much worse I'll have you know. But as long as she was there warming up, Emma thought she might browse a bit. There were Wunderbar chocolate bars on sale 2 for 1.49. Well, why not?
She actually hadn't considered the Case of the Mysterious Magick Card since Boxing Day. There had been more pressing concerns, like just what to pack for the annual holiday visit to Grandma and Grampa's home two hours' drive away. And the packing had been up to Emma as her parents were still not entering That Bedroom.
Yes, it had become That Bedroom in the family lexicon.
So Emma reached in her coat's zippered pocket and pulled out the Magick Card and gave it to the nice old man who ran Alley's Corner Store. He swept it through the debit and credit card terminal – beep beep … beeeeep – and Emma had her chocolate bars.
Emma: Can you tell me what the balance is on this card?
Nice Old Man: No, but the Interac machine behind you can.
Emma: Thank you!
She put the card in the Interac machine, entered her pin, asked for balance and …
whirr whirr whirr whirr flicka flicka flicka flick
$16.51
$16.51!?! Emma thought excitedly. Now the cost of the chocolate bars and the Harmonized Sales Tax had been added rather than subtracted.
Now at this point you might be thinking that Emma was being dishonest, scurrilous, a right proper little reprobate headed right for a future composed of bad waterfront bars and dubious associates for not immediately forming the first responsible adult of what was going on. But Emma truly didn't think she'd done or was doing anything wrong for two reasons:
Reason A): The Magick Card might build up to a pre-ordained amount and maybe the Magick people had sent a card with $100 on it rather than $10 as Daddy thought. Good deal and finders keepers.
Reason B): The news had been full of governments and 'stimulus packages.' Maybe the government was giving out money to people so they'd buy things and put the economy straight, as Daddy would say. Another good deal and another finders keepers.
Emma did not even consider that the Magick Card might actually be a – a – a – A – A – A! (deep breath) Magic Card!!!!!!! She didn't consider it and neither should you. That would be silly. Magic cards, never heard such folderol …
Anyway, Emma knew she was on to something that required exploring, much like Mary Anning and the fossils of the Dorsetshire coast of England. Emma would provide the same effort as Mary did, minus the hauling of massive prehistoric creatures in wheelbarrows up cliffs and sandy paths.
“Hmmm,” Emma thought, “The hobby shop down the street sells dinousaur models.”
One purchased plastic model later costing $14.79 on her Magick Card and Emma now had a balance of $31.40 to spend. How much and how far could this spending reach?
Pretty far as it turned out. After she had returned home and put the tissue box size modeling kit in her room, Emma came down the stairs and sat at the computer. There was a bay-sitter present at the house from 3:30PM until Mr. and Mrs. Darling came home from work around 5:20 or so, but Mrs. Palmerston was old and was honestly much more interested in catching up on what products Oprah was flogging than in what her young charge was actually doing. Therefore, when Emma started logging on to:
eBay
Amazon
The Shopping Channel
Sears
Toys R Us
among others, Mrs. Palmerston was oblivious to what the young girl was getting up to. Specifically, Mrs. Palmerston was oblivious to Emma setting up a PayPal account with her Magick Card and was starting to buy and buy and buy.
By the end of the first day, Emma's account stood at $678.30. And no, it didn't stop there.
Within two weeks, packages started to be delivered to the door in brown trucks, blue tricks, red-white-and-blue trucks. Conga lines of delivery drivers started high-fiving one another as they passed on the house steps as padded envelopes, boxes and even the occasional carefully sealed insulated pack from Omaha Steaks were dropped off in the front porch. Mrs. Palmerston started to feel a bit sorry for Emma, what with the poor child having to haul her parents' luxuries (so Mrs. Palmerston thought) up the stairs and off to the … oh look, Tom Cruise is on 'Oprah'.
At the end of two weeks: Emma's Magick Card balance was at $34,678.89. In other words, she had enough to buy a comfortable car, which was duly delivered to the curb right outside the Darlings' tall, skinny white house.
Kenneth: The nerve of those neighbours. Why do they have to park their car right outside our house?
Kimberly: You should talk to them dear.
Kenneth: I will! … Next time I bump into them.
Three days later.
Kenneth: I was just talking to Haroun next door. You know that's not even his car?
Kimberly: Then whose is it then?
Kenneth: He doesn't know.
Emma: I'm going to take Monsoon out for a walk, woof and widdle!
Kenneth: What? Oh, all right Emma.
Monsoon: Woof squeak yawn woof.
So where was all this stuff being kept?, you might ask. It all went in Emma's room. All of it, except the car of course. At night, Emma would open her door and climb a small mountain of – stuff! - until she was able to squeeze between the ceiling and the pile where she would snuggle in to her very cozy new sleeping bag guaranteed thermal safe up to (or down to) – 50 degrees Celsius.
Here are some of the things Emma had bought:
(deep breath) a shelf of Barbie dolls dressed as classic sitcom characters, a leather bound set of the works of Jane Austen, a silver tea service, two dog beds, Laura Ashley's spring collection, yes all of it, parasols, floppy hats, shoes in three styles and in three colours, a saxophone, a clarinet, and something called a clavinet, clocks and crocks and Elton John singing Crocodile Rock, the sunglasses Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast at Tiffany's, the Bible Katharine Hepburn carried in The African Queen, bracelets and necklaces, rings for her fingers, bells for her toes, and a snazzy pink iPod so she could have music wherever she goes, porcelain french hens, crystal turtle doves and a portrait of a pear tree.
That was some of it.
January's balance: $163,000 exactly and to the penny. Emma was impressed that it ended on such a round number. Fancy that.
But she kept buying. Emma Darling was becoming the eleven year old saviour of the North American economy.
She bought a knighthood.
She bought a plot on the moon.
She bought the rights to name a star. (“I shall name it Monsoon, a brand new dog star.”)
She bought the rights to 'Monday, Monday'.
She bought the autograph of Tuesday Weld.
She bought a Mayflower, a June bug, a bust of Augustus Caesar and if the month of February had a product associated with it Emma would have bought that too.
On February 13th, the day before Valentine's Day, Mr. Darling and Mrs. Darling were in the kitchen preparing dinner when Mr. Darling looked up and commented -
Kenneth: You know, I think we're going to have to get someone in to check this ceiling. It's starting to look a bit warped to me.
And yes, Emma's room was right above the kitchen. Emma's room was filled to the gills with (oh dear) $1,054,988.81 worth of -
Stuff.
At a certain point, if you have enough things they cease to become individual things and it all just becomes a great big pig pile of Stuff.
But where was Emma? Mrs. Darling called from the kitchen -
Kimberly: Em-ma! Dinner's ready!
Mr. Darling called from the base of the stairs -
Kenneth: Emmm-maaaa! Time for dinner!
Monsoon called from the top of the stairs:
… well you know the sounds a dog makes.
Mr. Darling walked to the kitchen as Mrs. Darling walked to the living room and meeting in the middle they said simultaneously, Where's Emma?”
Ding dong!
Oh now who in blue heck could that be?
Ding dong!
Mrs. Darling went to the back door to see if her daughter was out playing in the snow while Mr. Darling went to see what annoying person was ringing their doorbell at 6:30 at night. There stood a tall man with a neat military mustache and carrying his homburg hat in one hand and a sleek black leather portfolio in the other. He shifted the portfolio under his left arm and held out his hand for a dignified handshake. “I am Harley Davidson (no really) of Barkley's Bank of Boston and Bermuda and I'm here to see a Miss Emma Darling. Would she be home?”
Mr. Darling looked at Harley Davidson with the puzzled look of a man who has just seen a shadow run across the corner of a darkened room.
Kenneth: Emma? Our daughter? Well we're not sure just where she – is – and – is there some kind of problem Mister Honda?
Harley: Davidson.
Kenneth: Sorry.
Harley: May I come in?
Kenneth: I suppose you'd better.
By this time, Mrs. Darling had returned from her unsuccessful search of the backyard and the three of them sat together around the dining room table, Harley Davidson sat at its head like it was a board room meeting. To spare you a lot of back and forth and how people liked to take their coffee, let's jump to what their guest told the Darlings.
Harley: You see, we've made a bit of a banking error. They happen. Not often! Barkley's Bank of Boston and Bermuda was been established and well-established at that since 1958 and I assure you we have an error rate of a mere .0001% of all transactions. We take pride in that. Great pride. But, well, heh heh heh, there is always the human factor to consider. While our banking programs are perfect and our security unmatched in the industry, we do on occasion promote a junior member of our institution to take on added responsibilities.
He continued.
Harley: It seems that our junior was tasked with promoting our Magick Card, the easy and quick solution to everyday consumer needs. Well – heh heh heh – it seems that one of those promotional cards was programmed in error. And that card would be, well, yours.
Kenneth: The one I gave Emma for Christmas?
Harley: Aha! Christmas! We thought as much. That explains the timing of the purchases.
If Mrs. Darling was not a person and instead was a lioness, peacock or wiggly desert lizard, her fur, feathers and spinal scares would have been erect and threatening. Instead, being a person and a Mom person at that, she spoke with the Angry Mom voice that can turn any man into a weeping bowl of warm strawberry jelly.
Kimberly: What. Purchases. Are you. Referring to?
Harley: You see, our $10 promotional cards are actually set to -
Kimberly: What purchases!?! Answer me NOW!
Both Harley Davidson and Mr. Darling simultaneously thought they saw a machete appear in Mrs. Darling's hand before it became invisible while still retaining its formidable imaginary presence across the dining room table.
Harley: I will Mrs. Darling! Right now! These cards are supposed to be set at not just $10 but actually ten point zero zero zero zero zero zero one dollars, just to be sure that covers any ten dollar purchase. Its technical but it works well. Well, it's programmed to work well. But, ahem, our junior made a small error. He thought the decimal point should be set after the last zero instead of after the ten.
Kenneth: So … ?
Harley: So the card you gave your daughter actually has an approved limit of $10,000,000.10 you see. Not ten. Ten million. And Emma has spent over a million dollars of that. So we'd like to collect what we're owed.
In life, there are certain times when time stands still and everything and everyone freezes as though waiting for an old 19th century picture to be taken. Those times seem to last forever, but actually they pass by quote quickly in real time.
Kenneth: WHAT?
See what I mean? The frozen moment had passed. And the freeze had been replaced by heat - lots and lots of heat - heat such as would emanate from flamethrowers carried by parachuting dragons launched from a volcano kind of heat. Most of the heat came from Mr. Darling's mouth in the form of fiery words.
A brief pause.
Children – for I assume that children will at some point read this – it is never appropriate for you to use inappropriate language. This is why we refer to it as inappropriate language. All right, if a car door closes on your thumb, we'll let you get away with it, but just this one time mind you. But adults sometimes need to, shall we say, emphasize the argument they wish to make. It's sort of like writing in italics or in boldface. Mr. Darling was speaking in italicized boldface, metaphorically of course.
Besides words like 'newspaper' and 'lawyer' and 'wait'll the government gets hold of this', Mr. Darling made the emphatic point that as Emma was a minor and could scarcely be expected to know better, and as the error was the Bank's in the first place (what a beaver builds) it, then how in (hot undesirable place) did Harley Davidson get off suggesting he should pay, tell me that (place where poo comes out)?
Harley: Oh really Mr. Darling? Might I remind you sir, that you are an adult, the card was sent to you, and you irresponsibly gave it to a minor. How is that reasonably foreseeable by the BBB and B?
Mrs. Darling raised her hand and as she was a Mom and therefore had incredible powers over men – who really are still little boys who happen to have jobs – the argument ceased.
Kimberly: Where is Emma?
Everyone blinked at one another like cartoon cats. Where was Emma? Might she have hopped a plane to Tanzania? Or Tasmania? Or even Transylvania? Or good heavens, what if she's gone to – Detroit?
Of course it took the family dog to make sense of all this. Monsoon stepped lightly down the first few steps of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, peered between the banister rails, uncurled her long tail with the little white icing on its tip and said, “Ewe ewe ewe Ahh-ewwwwwwwwe!” She then went back up the stairs, before turning back, trotting to the same spot she'd been and gave the three adults a hard stare with her bright gold eyes as it to say, “Well? Do I have to send you a memo on this?”
Kenneth: She's in her room! That Room!
Mr. Darling ran up the stairs, followed by Mrs. Darling. Harley Davidson stayed sat at the dining room table, but had his Blackberry poised, his thumb over the speed dial to the Bank's retained law firm, just in case something truly awful was happening upstairs.
Monsoon scratched at the bottom of Emma's door.
Kenneth: I'll handle this! … Emma! Daddy's coming in!
He turned the door knob.
A giant deluging wave of gifts, boxes, wrapped things, rolling things, things with eyes and things to hold ice would come flowing over Mr. Darling -
- usually -
Except in this case, there was so much Stuff that it had all wedged together into something that looked eerily like the combining of modern sculpture with a Borg Cube.
Illustration 1: Artist's illustration of Emma's Room
Nothing moved. Nothing budged. Finally, after the Darlings had done a good deal of gaping, a tiny voice was heard.
Emma: Daddy? I'm stuck.
It was true. Either a passing truck or a low-flying plane or maybe just Newton's Laws of Thermodynamics had caused Emma's great vault of swag to shift against both the bedroom door and the bedroom window. She was stuck next to the ceiling, right beside the light fixture.
Mr. Darling said, “Honey, I think I'm gonna need some gloves and we're gonna need some crates.”
It took the better part of a half an hour to free Emma. It had to be done carefully for two rather important reasons. One, if there was the merchandise tidal wave Emma could really get hurt from broken glass, china and heaven knows what else was buried in there; and also there was still the possibility that the Darling's might have to actually pay for all this Stuff.
When Emma Darling was finally lifted off the now-dwindled pile she was none the worse for wear. There was not a scratch on her, nor a single thread pulled on her smart new lounging outfit of just the sort that Mrs. Darling had always wanted but never would spend on herself. Each parent Darling took one of Emma's hands in a gesture that was equal parts love, equal parts ensuring the prisoner didn't take it on the lam.
They marched her into the dining room where Harley Davidson stood, bowed slightly, and offered his handshake and business card to Emma. After the adults briefly explained the situation to Emma, she had stayed quite calm through it all, she put her right index finger next to her dimple and said simply, “This is a situation best resolved with tea. I'll put the kettle on.” She turned back in the kitchen doorway and added:
Emma: Mummy, there is a nice box of shortbread somewhere upstairs. Don't worry, the change from the original ten dollars would cover it and after all, what's a box of cookies in the greater realm of things?
Nobody was going to argue the point, because they were all exhausted by now. So Mrs. Darling went upstairs and came back with the box of shortbread in a green and red tartan box, followed closely by Monsoon who knew treat potential when she saw it.
I mentioned some of the things that the Darlings loved about their daughter, but perhaps above all they loved (and were occasionally terrified) by how wickedly smart she could be at times. Reading a book a week for five years will do that to you, or for you I should say. Once the tea was ready and served, Emma sat at the opposite end of the dining room table to Harley Davidson, her mother to her left and her father to her right. She absentmindedly swung her left foot back and forth as she spoke.
Emma: It seems to me I can fix this problem. First, you of course have my apologies for any distress this has caused. Granted, I did ask you Mummy about the account balance right at the start, but I suppose I should have tried harder. My bad. As for the money owed to the bank, well as you can see everything is intact, undamaged and can be returned. There's just three of us and you have a whole bank of employees so my thinking is that you are the best person to handle that. That will cover the bill.
Everyone looked quite relieved, to the point that Mr. Darling and Harley Davidson even gave each other chuckling Man Smiles and the latter said, “Quite a little girl you got there, Ken.”
Kenneth: Heh heh.
Kimberly: Oh Emma, what are we going to do with you?
Emma: However -
This was another of those frozen moments I mentioned earlier. Mr. darling broke the ice.
Kenneth: 'However'? What however? This situation is solved. Emma, we don't need any 'howevers'.
Emma: Yes we do Daddy. For you see, our problem is solved. Mr. Davidson still has a greater problem that we should help him with.
Harley: I do?
Kimberly: He does?
Kenneth: And we have to help him with it?
Emma: Yes, yes and yes. If – or should I say when – this scandal gets out the government will insist that you recall every Magick Card out there. Now what you will have to do of course is tighten down your product and don't go putting ten million dollars on cards that children might use. But in the meantime … Barkley's Bank of Bermuda and Boston -
“Boston and Bermuda,” Harley Davidson corrected.
Emma: Sorry, Boston and Bermuda – well, whether its in beanpots or Bermuda shorts your bank stands to lose quite a lot of money doesn't it? Plus – you really should eat with your mouth closed Mr. Davidson – what of the emotional trauma I've endured? There might be long-lasting effects? I feel a case of the vapours coming on …
Harley Davidson realized he may well have met his match. This little girl was capable of turning Donald Trump into a weeping shell of bad hair. So what did she want?
Emma: Not a thing for myself. If there's one thing I've learned from all this it's that there really is such a thing as having too much stuff, regardless of the opinion of conservative people on the news. So I want your bank to make a promise to build a school a year for ten years in Africa, Rwanda and Sudan in particular for girls. And I want you to name the schools for Mary Anning, because if she can do it – be a science pioneer – they can do it. You do that and mum's the word from us. Besides, it's tax deductible. Do we have a deal and may I pour you more tea?
She had a deal but Harley Davidson had already been teed up and driven over the fence. After three calls up the corporate ladder, Emma Darling had a deal. Ten schools over ten years.
And that was another reason why Mr. and Mrs. Darling loved their daughter.
That night, Emma peacefully went to the wash up and peacefully went to her room, and peacefully put on her nightclothes and peacefully waited in bed for her good night kiss. Mrs. Darling came in and sat at the foot of the bed, looking in wonder at her dear little girl. She noticed Emma's Big Red Bear sat in the corner with Emma's used socks from that day draped over its head. Mrs. Darling mentioned that the next day they should work on doing a final tidying of the bedroom, which no longer would be referred to as That Room. To which Emma replied:
Emma: I will not clean my room. I will not clean my room. You can ask and ask until your face turns blue, but I will not clean my room.
The End
