“A Story for Morrie”
By Sarah Quelland
Copyright 2010 Sarah Quelland
Smashwords Edition
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A Story for Morrie
The mighty dragon was stalking his prey. He was just about to move in for the kill on an unsuspecting cricket when ...
tap tap tap
tap tap tap
A pair of big round eyes appeared.
tap tap tap
tap tap tap
The cricket jumped on the dragon’s head.
Not again.
The child laughed cheerfully at the sight then raced to his seat as the bell rang.
Morrie is a bearded dragon who lives in Mr. Lagarto’s third grade classroom. He is a proud beast of Australian heritage and finds the indignities put upon him by a class full of noisy children insufferable. All the tapping and laughing and pointing and touching is too much for a dragon to bear. Morrie spends a great deal of time sulking under his hollow log. But every morning, the bright hot light beckons to him and he crawls on top of his log and basks joyously in its warmth.
For the most part, Morrie is a happy dragon. Mr. Lagarto feeds him crickets and greens and slices of sweet apple. Sometimes the teacher sprays a fine mist of water on him and he luxuriates in the hydrating moisture.
But each morning the kids shuffle in with their backpacks and stop to stare and tap tap tap on his tank leaving buttery smears of gooey jelly on his clean, clear glass. Usually this happens right when he’s stalking his morning breakfast, causing no small amount of humiliation as the crickets escape and taunt him.
In the afternoon, hands smelling of Play-Doh and paste reach in to paw at him and he ends up sitting on grass stained knees or crayon colored desktops as the kids remark on his sharp spikes, black beard and amber eyes. Morrie has only two days of dignified peace each weekend and then it’s back to being a plaything for a class full of third graders. It is miserable. By Friday, he’s had all a dragon can stand. When the kids rush out for the weekend, he’s happy to see them go.
For the next two days, Morrie revels in his solitude. The light for his tank is timed with the daybreak and from his home in the classroom, he watches the colors of the sky turn from a cool blue to rich shades of purple, orange and pink as the sun comes up. Once he’s warmed, he stalks the few crickets that have hidden in his tank, munches on leftover greens and attacks the peppery leaves of his fresh basil plant. Then basks on the cool succulence of the jade plant and enjoys the springy feel of its juicy leaves beneath him. Sometimes he watches the birds and squirrels playing on the grass outside. He’s never been outside and the world beyond his fascinates him. When he gets too warm, he soaks in his shallow wading pool or ducks under his hollow log for a nap. Then basks again in the radiance of his heat lamp until night falls and the moon’s silvery light lulls him to sleep.
There are no grubby hands or noisy kids. He’s the king of all dragons in full command of his noble dragon kingdom.
Then something strange happens. Two days pass and no one comes. Then three. Then four. The bright hot light still beckons but no big round eyes peer at him. No chubby hands reach in to grab him. Nobody comes and Morrie gets lonely. Where did everybody go?
Mrs. Aster flips on the light switch and sets her workbooks down on Mr. Lagarto’s desk. She plops down in his worn chair with a sigh and unwinds her summer scarf. She’s already exhausted and class hasn’t even started yet.
Mrs. Aster is teaching night school while the kids are out on summer break. Tonight is her first class in 20 years and she’s nervous.
She takes a deep breath and looks around the classroom. It’s a cheery space that smells like peanut butter cookies and bubble gum, the remnants of the last day of school. One whole wall is decorated with colorful pictures. She gets out of the chair to take a closer look and sees the students have used crayon and construction paper cutouts to share their plans for summer.
Jason made a picture of a sailboat. Judith drew a picture of a horse running through a field. Meanwhile Susie did a self-portrait of herself as a ballerina and Winston fishes with his dad by a lake. They remind her of art projects her children brought home from school so many years ago. Mrs. Aster is impressed.
She hears something scrabbling around inside the classroom and jumps, knocking over a chair. Her eyes dart to the sound and she remembers the lizard. She agreed to take care of Morrie for the summer but had yet to be introduced. She takes cautious steps toward Morrie’s tank and peers inside. Morrie stares up at her with wise amber eyes.
“Oh dear, you’re a rather scary looking creature,” she says.
Morrie doesn’t answer, but cocks his ear intently at the sound of her voice.
Mrs. Aster never had a lizard. She’s never known anyone with a lizard. She never particularly cared for lizards. What on earth made her think she could take care of a lizard for two months? She was evaluating the severity of the sharp-looking spikes and scaly tale when Morrie scurried off his log to the food bowl, which is all but empty.
Mrs. Aster shrieked and clasped her hand to her chest.
“Oh no no no,” she thought to herself. Mr. Lagarto’s on a cruise ship somewhere in the Pacific Ocean right now. There’s no way she can change her mind. “What am I to do?” she asks.
Morrie just looks at her with wise amber eyes and a shred of wilted lettuce hanging out of his mouth.
Mrs. Aster finds the instructions Mr. Lagarto left for her right where he said in his top left drawer. After reading them over, it seemed simple enough. Finely chopped veggies and fruits and fresh water daily, crickets at least twice a week, spritz occasionally and clean up the waste.
“My kids had hamsters and goldfish and cats and dogs. Surely I can take care of you,” she said.
In the back of her mind though, she was desperately hoping one of her new students would take an interest and volunteer to help. The thought of reaching her hand into the tank with that creature was unthinkable.
Knowing it had been days since the lizard’s last proper meal, Mrs. Aster, being a kindly sort despite her fears, knows she has to feed it. She has an apple for good luck on the first day of class. She slices part of it into small pieces and walks back over to the tank. Morrie looks up at her, again with those wise amber eyes.
Steeling herself, she darts her hand into the tank and dumps the apple in Morrie’s bowl with lightning speed. She felt a quiver of fear in her stomach as she did it. The dragon just looked at her.
“Well, I might have to take care of you. But I don’t have to like you,” she said huffily, returning to her desk for final preparations before the students arrive.
Mrs. Aster felt a little rusty but all in all, her first class went well. She went home feeling excited about the next three months.
A few weeks passed and she continued to take care of Morrie to the best of her ability, but didn’t develop a particular affection for the creature.
What she did have an affection for were her dahlias. Her big, beautiful, colorful dahlias. And they were in bloom.
She picked a bouquet from her garden to brighten up the classroom. She had her arms full and briefly set the dahlias by Morrie’s tank while she prepared for the next class. She’d meant to find the perfect spot to display her prized flowers, but class began before she had a chance.
When the students left, as she was gathering up her things, she remembered the bouquet.
Walking over to Morrie’s tank, she was surprised by what she saw. The lizard was standing on its hind legs with its scaly belly pressed against the glass. It had a dreamy look in its eye and was staring hard at the dahlias. She watched for a long while, but the lizard never moved, just gazed longingly at her beautiful flowers.
“You like my dahlias?” she asked and Morrie cocked his ear at her as if to say yes.
Mrs. Aster picked up the bearded dragon care manual Mr. Lagarto had left for her and put on her spectacles.
“Mmhmm, mmhmm,” she said, carefully reading over the recommended feeding. “It says you like flowers and dahlias are safe.”
She pulled the most perfect flower from her bouquet and, holding it by its long green stem, stroked the lizard’s head with its purple petals. Morrie closed his eyes in bliss.
“My word,” she exclaimed.
After that, Mrs. Aster brought Morrie a fresh dahlia every evening, stroking his head with its soft petals and leaving it in his tank for him to enjoy.
For a proud beast of Australian heritage, it was a wonderful luxury to have something so colorful and so beautiful in his tank. Sometimes he would nibble on the sweet petals, but mostly Morrie liked to simply rest his chin on the flower's soft shape. Mrs. Aster still fed him crickets and greens and slices of sweet apple. But his favorite gifts were the dahlias.
Realizing they had something in common, Mrs. Aster began to warm to the lizard and even picked him up on occasion, marveling at his sharp spikes, black beard and amber eyes.
Still, despite Mrs. Aster’s affection, Morrie missed the hands smelling of Play-Doh and paste and the tap tap tap of small fingers on his tank and sitting on grass stained knees and crayon colored desktops. The days were too quiet, too lonely, and he missed the noisy children in Mr. Lagarto’s class.
Morrie continued to view the world outside from behind his glass. The trees turned colors and lost their shape, dropping fragile leaves to the ground. The squirrels were busy, collecting nuts and scurrying off to places unseen. The colors of the sky continued to turn from cool blue to rich shades of purple, orange and pink as the sun came up and the moon’s silvery light often lulled him to sleep.
Then one morning, Morrie cracked one eye open, awakening to find dozens of big round eyes staring at him. The children were back!
He allowed himself to be picked up and passed around as Mr. Lagarto introduced him to the new third grade students who remarked on his sharp spikes, black beard and amber eyes. The fierce dragon never thought he’d be so happy!
But now that the kids were back, where was Mrs. Aster? He’d grown so fond of her and her beautiful flowers. Every night, he waited for the sound of her footsteps in the hall, the flip of the light switch, the gift of fresh dahlias. But she didn’t come.
Then one evening as Morrie was dozing off, he heard something. A clacking of heels, the flip of a switch. Suddenly light scattered across the classroom.
Mrs. Aster walked straight toward him with the most perfect dahlia in her hand.
“Hi creature,” she said fondly, stroking him with its burgundy petals. “They’re keeping me on for the fall. I’ll be here every night.”
Mrs. Aster continued to teach there for years and years and even when her dahlias weren’t in bloom, she brought a fresh flower for Morrie every night.
His was the most magnificent kingdom and the king of all dragons couldn’t have felt more content.
###
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
My background is in journalism. I graduated from Mills College in Oakland with a degree in Communications/Journalism emphasis. I went on to take a full-time position at Metro, Silicon Valley's weekly alternative newspaper, where I was the music columnist and reviewer. There, I not only covered local music, but interviewed national popular artists and contributed other entertainment-related features as assigned. After seven years with Metro, I was hired by the Santa Cruz Sentinel, where I spent five years working in the newsroom. In 2009, I took a position in radio, but I remain passionate about writing. I have been writing creatively from a young age and, since 2004, I’ve written a number of children's stories that I’m working to get published and developing as ebooks.
If you enjoyed “A Story for Morrie,” look for “The Storm King,” “The Rodeo Dog” and other titles by Sarah Quelland at Smashwords.com.
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