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11
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Shortly, Kathy arrived home from the store. She walked up to Ed and dropped the paper bag, which contained the typewriter ribbon onto his lap. "Here you are."
"Thanks, Kathy."
"Yeah, yeah. Now don't ask for anything else."
Ed looked down at the bag and clutched it in his grip. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, sugar dumpling."
Kathy walked out of the room to continue her laundry. Meanwhile, Ed fumbled with the packaging of the ribbon. Finally managing to get it open using one hand, he attempted to put the ribbon in the slot.
He was unable to, though, and furrowed his brow. Then he realized why: Like an idiot, he had forgotten to remove the old ribbon first. Ed placed the new ribbon off to the side, then reached his hand into the machine to remove the old inkless typewriter ribbon. After a few tries, he was successful, and pulled the old thing out.
He held it up and looked at it scornfully. "That's the last time you try to undermine my writing."
The ribbon did not reply.
He tossed it into the waste bin and reached for the new ribbon. He tried once again to place the new ribbon into the machine and managed to complete the task. He sighed in relief.
He typed a few practice sentences on the machine just to warm up the new ribbon. When he was satisfied that everything was in perfect shape and there would be no smudging or anything on the paper, he tossed the test sheet into the wastebasket and stared at the typewriter, wondering what to write.
Ed impatiently began to play with his face, thinking and thinking for an idea... But it was useless. Nothing came to him. He couldn't write anything knowing that Mr. Brinkley's notes were missing.
Ed began to throw a tantrum. "Why is everything bad happening to me!" He cried. "Why can't anything just happen without any problems?" He squealed and slammed his good hand down on the table.
His hand interacted with the stack of typewriter paper that was lying out on the table, and it knocked over onto the floor, sending white sheets fluttering down. He growled girlishly, bent down and got on all fours under the table so that he could gather all of the paper.
After he had re-organized the sheets back into a neat little stack, he placed the stack under his arm and began out from under the table. As he raised, he hit his head on the wood of the table. "Ahh!" He screamed, losing the stack of paper from under his arm and letting it flutter all around him again. He grabbed his aching head with his injured hand, forgetting about the burn. On contact, both the bruise on his head, and the burn on his hand stung intensely. Ed began to cry.