Boy Outside The Window

Prince Charming perhaps?

✍️ Chapter Three �" The Boy Outside the Window

A few campsites away, a boy sat on top of a picnic table. He was drinking coffee from a large mug he’d bought years ago from a souvenir shop in Colorado.

Without even trying, he had captured the full focus of Chris’ attention.

“Prince Charming,” she whispered, pressing her finger against the window glass. “Finally�"you’ve come to rescue me from this dreadful place.”

“Oh, Grandma!” she cried out.

Mary was busy fixing breakfast and didn’t care much for interruptions at the moment.

“What is it, child?” Mary grumbled. “What silliness are you up to now?”

Mary was in her early sixties, a bit stocky, with long gray hair pulled back tight. She stood as tall and dignified as her frame allowed. She was headstrong, outspoken, and unafraid to share her views when the need arose.

Children, she believed, should speak properly, respect their elders, and mind their manners�"especially around adults. She held firm religious convictions and lived by what she believed were the inspired words of Holy Scripture. And she was not opposed to discipline; she would not spare the switch if a deed called for it. In her mind, no grandchild of hers would ever be accused of behaving like a heathen.

With Chris, however, things were another matter entirely.

This child was opinionated, outspoken, and blessed�"or cursed�"with a keen imagination. In many ways, Chris resembled her grandmother, but her chatter and boundless fancies were more than Mary could deal with at times. She could frazzle Mary’s patience to no end.

Chris had been orphaned at an early age when her parents were killed by a drunken driver on an old country road. No one knew quite what to do with her. Who wanted the added responsibility of another child?

In the end, the burden had fallen to Mary and Richard. They had taken her in, though reluctantly. Raising a child late in life was no easy task�"especially one as with Chris' disposition and imagination. She always found herself in some catastrophic conundrum.

None more so than the time she pretended to be Catherine, the Queen of Scots. She accidentally put her cat, Fluffy, in the dryer.

Mary had asked her to dry a pile of old white socks. Fluffy had discovered the same pile and curled up for a nap. Being white as the socks, he went unnoticed. Chris stuffed the pile into the dryer and set it to full heat.

The shock on her face when she realized what had happened was unforgettable. Fluffy was, tragically, quite dead.

Torn with guilt, Chris insisted on holding a memorial service for her now dead cat Fluffy. Mary, Richard, and Chris sat solemnly by a shallow grave as Chris delivered the eulogy:

“It was a perfectly horrible death, to be sure. But I suspect, in the end, what they say is true�"it is curiosity which truly kills the cat.”

Mary bit her tongue, trying not to laugh, but in the end she couldn’t help it. Chris’ glare was quick and disapproving.

Chris focused her attention on the boy outside the window.

“Grandma, are you coming?” she called.

“Yes, child. As soon as I can. You wouldn’t want me to burn Grandpa’s biscuits, would you?”

“No, but�"”

“But nothing. I’ll be there when I can.”

Chris fixed her gaze on the boy again. He was remarkably handsome�"or so she imagined. She couldn’t be absolutely sure because of the glare on the glass. But she would simply assume he was.

She was certain he was going to marry her someday. About that, Chris had no doubt. The fact they hadn’t met yet was just a minor detail she could remedy later.

Mary eventually made her way to the half-opened window and peered out.
“So… what is it, child?” she asked.

“Oh no, Grandma�"not it.” Chris pointed toward the boy. “Him. Don’t you see? Isn’t he just the most handsomest boy you ever saw?”

“Handsome,” Mary corrected, frowning. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”

“Oh, Grandma, you know what I mean. Isn’t he the most handsome boy?”

Mary’s eyes narrowed with concern. Whatever silly notion this little snippet had cooked up, it surely couldn’t be anything good.

Unaware that he was the subject of such plotting, the boy continued drinking his coffee and tinkering with his bike. Little did he know, his plans for the day were about to change.

Author's Note

Poor guy. He doesn't know what's about to hit him.