The Question

Flash Fiction

The Question

“James,” Mom said to her five-year-old, “I’m going to ask you a question.”

“OK.”

“It’s important. You need to tell me the truth.”

“What’s “the truth” mean?”

“It means you have to tell me what really happened. Don’t lie to me.”

“What does ‘really happened’ mean?”

“It means when I ask you the question, you have to tell me the answer to that question. You have a tendency to ask another question when I ask you a question, instead of answering…”

“What’s a tendacy? Is it like tennis?”

“No, and this is what I don’t want you to do. I don’t want you to ask me a question right now, I want you to answer the question that I ask you.”

“What is that question?”

“Are you ready to answer it?”

“I think so… do I look ready?”

“Yes, I think you do!”

“What is your question?”

Mom stood there looking at James for a moment, and then she burst out laughing!

“What happened?” said James, a bit nervously.

“I can’t remember what I was going to ask you!” Mom laughed.

James watched her laugh, and once again thought grownups were very weird. Then he gave her a big hug, and went back to playing in the living room.

It was a lovely day at the Brown’s house. Well, until Mom went into the den, and stepped on the blocks strung all over the floor, and in her bare feet… Suddenly she remembered what she had planned to ask James about…