From Sinks to Space (Weekend freewrite)

Are you familiar with the weekend freewrites? It's an interesting challenge, neatly explained here by @mariannewest. This is what I came up with today; the three prompts are in italics.

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My brother was doing that thing he did. That thing with the rag in the sink. First, he scrubbed all around the sides in a circular pattern, making sure he didn't miss a spot. Then he worked around the bottom of the sink, wiping in concentric circles that got smaller as he approached the center of the sink. Then he scrubbed the top of the drain meticulously, using his fingernails to get the bits of crud out of the little niches. He always cleaned the sink the same way after he washed the supper dishes. It was almost annoying. How could anyone be so fussy about an ordinary sink?

Sometimes I thought he must have OCD, the way he worried over the shine on that stainless steel sink. I didn't really think it was necessary to have it spotless every evening, especially when we could have been outside playing baseball for just a few more minutes if it wasn't for his crazy urge to clean. Personally, I was a lot more interested in pitching practice and batting practice than in cleaning sink. All the neighborhood kids got together every evening in the spring and summer to play a game of work-up in the empty lot just down the street. Harvey was always the catcher, though, because he couldn't see well enough to play outfield or one of the bases. He didn't seem to mind.

Only Uncle Bill thought that this was funny. The rest of us just took it in stride. That was the way it was. But Uncle Bill laughed every time he came to visit and followed us out after supper to watch the baseball games we played. Of course, it was difficult to know exactly what Uncle Bill was laughing at. He laughed a great deal. He laughed when the Dave threw a pitch that went over the batter's head. He laughed when Sam threw the ball from first to second and hit the shortstop by accident. He laughed when Hal slid into the home plate and got stickers in his legs from the thistles growing in the vacant lot. He even laughed when I hit a home run. Uncle Bill thought everything was hilarious.

Sometimes I wondered if Uncle Bill was a little strange. Maybe as strange as my sink-polishing brother. It seemed as though everyone in my family had some oddity. Not me, of course. I was as normal as I could possibly be. Except I really liked to have my Matchbox car collection lined up this one exact way. I could tell if anybody had been messing around with my matchbox cars because I knew right away they weren't like I always left them. Was this as weird as my brother and Uncle Bill? It couldn't be!

I told myself Uncle Bill was perfectly normal, and my brother was perfectly normal, and I was perfectly normal. The buzzing of the lies grew louder. Normal, normal, normal!!! We were all perfectly normal!!! My mother always cut the crusts off her toast and used exactly 1 teaspoon of raspberry jelly on each piece but she was perfectly normal! My sister practiced her piano pieces in the same order every day, and the scales, and the arpeggios, and it was perfectly normal! We were not crazy people!!

I shook myself free from all of these confusing thoughts. What had started it all, anyway? Oh yeah, my brother was cleaning the sink. But he was done now, and we could run down the street to play baseball. Uncle Bill followed us, as usual, and sat down under the big oak tree to watch. But wait! Harvey wasn't playing catcher! He was 'way out in right field! How could that be? Land sakes, he got glasses! He could see what he was doing out there!! Uncle Bill didn't laugh at him, either. Dave threw decent pitches. Sam didn't hit anybody with the ball. Hal slid into home plate with only a cloud of dust, and no encounters with thistles. And Uncle Bill had nothing to laugh at. We were a normal bunch of kids playing a perfectly normal baseball game and having an absolutely marvelous time.

And then we all saw the UFO hovering over left field, and Uncle Bill began to laugh uncontrollably.