Volunteer the Blame

As she hoisted another bulging box onto the overhead shelf, Ellie’s shoulders ached. Her mother stood beneath her, overstuffed tech boxes beside her.

The full storeroom made Ellie asked, “Who is to blame for this?”

Her mom passed the next box. “I think that guy said they piled it in here when they switched offices. I don’t know that it’s just one person.”

“Well, I don’t like them, whoever they are.” Ellie slid creaking cardboard into place.

“I don’t think any of us do.”

After she stacked the last container, she climbed down the step stool. On it, she’d felt like She-Hulk but on flat ground, her muscles limpened and shook.

She held up her trembling limbs. “Look, I’m spaghettlenoodles.””

“Yes, you are.” Her mother gestured at the much more organized room. “But look at all that you’ve done.”

“I still want to know who’s to blame. I really don’t like them,” Eliie grumbled.

A couple hours later, she recognized how much they’d accomplished. The storage room had been so packed, they’d shoved boxes around to make walkable paths. Now, only the floor needed to be swept.

As they admired their work, her father walked in and said, “Brian said to take ya’ll out to dinner as a thank you.”

“Hear that, Spaghettlenoodles, you at least get dinner out of it. Better?” her mom asked.

Ellie flexed and poked her sore bicep. “Only a little bit. I still think we should get to kick whoever did this in the first place.”

Her dad laughed. “Be careful, Brian might hear you.”

“Why? Is he the one to blame for this?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said.

She stuck out her bottom lip in thought. “Fine, as long as it’s good dinner, I guess no kicks. Though I don’t think I like him still.”