The Shape of Nightmare to Come
"I waaaant ice cream," the littlest Wordsworth girl screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing an almighty tantrum. The four year old could really project her displeasure. Her Dad had once observed that little Ally could be the next big Opera star. Why not? She could easily put Kiri Te Kanawa to shame. The Kiwi Soprano Superstar was also well known in the cultured world of classical music for her tantrums.
Dad was a gentle giant. Kevin "Wordy" Wordsworth was a 25-year police veteran, now a Detective at the Gun and Gangs division of Toronto police department. He started his long career as a beat cop, years later he joined Toronto's elite police unit, the SRU, or Swat as some people called his unit. Two years ago, he moved to Guns and Gangs, not by choice because if he had any say in the matter, he'd retire from the SRU. He was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease a couple of years ago which made staying with the elite police unit untenable. Wordy was the shortened version of his last name a moniker bestowed upon him by colleagues early on, he long suspected it was for the sake of irony, an indirect reference to him being a man of few words.
Wordy was home today, a rare day off. Even though Guns and Gangs had been extremely busy of late what with the non-stop deliveries of drugs and arms from across the border into Toronto, he wished he was at work instead. Upon hearing Ally's third holler of "I waaaant ice cream," he thought it'd be more restful at the precinct. Shell had gone to the supermarket by herself, a once a month day out without the four year old nipping at her heels. Unable to tolerate it anymore, Wordy got out from under the car where he was checking for oil leak to give the little girl a talking to.
When little Ally did this sort of "performance" as her mother called it, she got lots of attention from her family and from the next door neighbours on both sides and even the dogs across the street. Sometimes her parents wondered if people thought they were belting her.
He went inside the house and followed the sound to the kitchen whereupon he chanced on Little Ally standing on a stool, placed strategically in front of the refrigerator. Bags of frozen vegetables were on the kitchen floor; peas, corn, broccoli. And, then there were also the boxes of ready made meals. Shell, his wife and mother to three headstrong feministas had resorted to hiding the ice cream to the back of the freezer.
Wordy looked at his youngest daughter who was a mini-Shell in all but temperament. Shell was sweet and sanguine. Little Ally was sweet and well, choleric. She didn't take any prisoners. If there was one born to lead it was this little firebrand.
He crossed his arms on his chest and asked the bleeding obvious, "Exactly what are you doing, Ally?" The fast thinking four year old answered without blinking, her bright blue eyes sparkling, flashing an enigmatic smile, "I'm cleaning the fridge."
Wordy couldn't quite believe it. She was caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar but she wasn't going to own up to any wrong doing, and why should she? Her mom always told her she's cleaning the fridge when all she was doing was hiding the ice cream.
He wasn't going to let her get away with it "Ally, you knew in your little head you were not cleaning the fridge." The little girl pursed her lips, crossed her arms across her chest mirroring her Dad, "Well, I was actually," she paused for emphasis, "If you fed me the ice cream we would have less to clean."
Wordy turned around casually to hide the smile that begun to cracked on his face. The logic was a little skewed but it made sense. He tried his best to hold it in but the little girl knew instinctively that she had the upper hand, "Can I pease have an ice cream?" The way she said 'please' melted his heart.
"Seriously Ally, do you know how cold it is today? It's so cold. It's not time for ice cream."
"Yes, it is," she insisted. "Everyday is for ice cream."
He sighed. Whose rule was it anyway that children can't have ice cream when it's cold? He lifted Ally down, they picked up all the frozen bags and boxes of food off the floor, "Thank you" he said. "You're welcome," she replied anticipating a reward.
Wordy sat her down on the kitchen bench and handed her an ice cream cone. He took one for himself. Father and daughter licked their ice cream peacefully until Ally piped up with, "Dad, you're like this ice cream."
"How's that?" he asked curious at what his youngest had thought of now. Ally had been the surprised package of the family from the word go.
"Cos you are good for me."
"Thanks," he said amazed at the wisdom of the little girl. He was bowled over by the fact that Ally understood the difference between you're good for me and you're good to me. Ally followed this up with, "Can I call you my Daddy Ice Cream?"
"I'd like that," he said. He mused to himself that he was a Daddy Ice Cream in more ways than one, the main one being he's soft towards to his girls. His heart melted easily and he tended to be sweet to them.
The ice cream cone gone, wordy asked Ally if she wanted to go out for a play in the park. "Yes, Daddy," she answered with a squeal.
Father and Dad got on their bikes and pedaled to the nearby park. His eyes, ears and mind were focused on Ally. He didn't notice a car parked across the street, it had been there since early this morning, since before his two eldest daughters caught the school bus.
He didn't noticed the two eyes that were shielded by dark wrap-around shades. He especially didn't noticed that the SUV didn't have a registration number.
It's just the sort of thing nightmares were made of. And he would have to rely on good friends to wake up from it still breathing.
