A Quest for Breakfast

Timothy finagles a decent breakfast out of unsuspecting campers, much to Q's chagrin.

This is a short story adapted from an early version of my story-in-progress, Timothy’s Monsters. More like this to come; I like the idea of creating a collection of short stories based on scenes and ideas that won’t end up in the final draft.

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“Well, Arthur,” said Timothy as he licked his free hand and used it to smooth his hair down, “I’m going to get in trouble for this, but I can’t do another breakfast of overcooked eggs. Over-medium really isn’t that hard, I’m not sure why Q can’t get the hang of it.”

In his other hand was Arthur, the banana slug, who didn’t try to talk Timothy out of his elaborate plan for acquiring a decent breakfast. He never did. He supported Timothy in all his endeavors, never ratted on him or tried to discourage him in any way. It was just a few of the reasons Timothy considered him one of the best friends an eight-year-old could have. 

Timothy woke up especially early that morning. Q had been out most of the night and hadn’t returned to the Tree until dawn was already tempting the horizon. This meant that Timothy was reasonably certain his guardian would sleep longer than usual, which would give him time to finish his mission and get back without being missed.

He peered through the trees into the campground beyond. He was in luck. A lime green tent was pitched in the campsite nearest to him, and a woman was rummaging in a big plastic bin. As he watched, she pulled out a spatula, then walked over to a camp stove situated on the picnic table. She used the spatula to check on what looked like pancakes. 

“Perfect,” the boy whispered.

He gently set Arthur down on a log nearby, then stared at the slug for a few seconds.

“You’re right, good call,” he said. He bent over and pulled the knee-high socks that were crumpled up around his ankles back to their full height, re-tied the laces of his hiking boots that had begun to come loose, then tucked his sky blue polo shirt into his khaki shorts, straightened his glasses, and adjusted the fanny pack at his waist so it was nice and centered.

“Better?” he asked Arthur. The slug made its way in a slow circle on the log. 

“You’re the best,” said Timothy. With a great, strengthening breath, he turned and started towards the campsite.

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully as he approached.

“Good gracious, where did you come from?” gasped the woman. She quickly flipped the pancakes and rushed over this young boy who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. He was small for his age, but he made sure to stand tall and to smile, showing off his large front teeth.

“Goodness me, are you alright? Where is your family?” she asked. She grabbed him by the shoulders and checked him all over for injuries. Satisfied he was indeed alright, she searched his face for an answer.

“Oh, well, I was just out exploring this morning and I got a bit turned around. I found the trail again and I’m headed back to my camp. It’s the one on the other side of town. I wondered if I could maybe just sit down by your fire for a minute? I’m a little tired.”

The woman stared at him. She still clutched the spatula. Her frizzy hair was wrestled into a bun on top of her head and the remnants of lipstick smeared the edges of her mouth. Her silent incredulity was broken by the sound of the tent zipper. 

“Oh, Frank! Frank, look, we have a visitor!”

A middle-aged, surly man made war with the tent flap as he struggled to climb out of the bright green shelter. He, too, looked quite unkempt. Timothy knew the type. They came to the woods for fresh air, to “get away from it all.” This was probably the first time either of them had ever been camping. The sheer amount of gear and food scattered around the camp was evidence enough that they were over-packed amateurs.

“Frank!” scolded the woman, as he ignored Timothy and fumbled around in the bin.

“Morning,” growled Frank. He finally found a coffee cup, then started looking around for the coffee. The woman smiled, obviously unsatisfied but unwilling to make a scene in front of a guest.

“Come sit down, dear,” she said sweetly, pulling Timothy to the bench next to the table. “How about some pancakes?” 

Just then, a small fire burst into life on the camp stove. The woman shrieked and ran over to put out the flames with her apron, which nearly caught fire itself. 

Half an hour later, Timothy served up a lovely breakfast of crisp hash browns and scrambled eggs cooked, not overcooked, over the fire.

“Bon appetit!” he said with a pleasant smile before digging in. He tucked a paper napkin into his shirt under his chin and deftly picked up the knife and fork. After a few moments of staring at the strange boy, the campers also began to eat, with immediate exclamations of “delicious!” and “how did you learn to do that?” 

Belly full, Timothy thanked Frank and Sylvia for their generosity and told them he could feel his energy coming back to him and he was ready to press on to his own camp. He glanced at the leftovers in the pan. Sylvia noticed and insisted he take them with him. She wrapped them in tin foil and handed them over with more thanks for the meal. He left them with an enthusiastic wave, and walked purposefully back into the woods.

Out of sight of the campers, Timothy scooped up Arthur, who waited faithfully on the log.

“Too easy,” he said to the slug. He put the leftovers in the fanny pack, zipped it up, and started back towards home. 

About half an hour later, he came into a familiar cluster of particularly large redwoods. He stopped short and ducked behind one of them. Several yards ahead, a massive, hairy, man-like creature was sitting on a stump wider than Timothy was tall. It had a crude knife in one hand and was carefully carving a piece of wood it held in the other.

Timothy leaned the back of his head against the tree as he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. With a slow exhale, he opened his eyes, put Arthur on his shoulder and crept carefully and silently closer. He barely made a sound as he darted from tree to tree. He hid among the ferns and behind fallen tree trunks until he was crouched on the other side of the stump the creature was sitting on. Then, suddenly, he leapt up onto the stump.

“Gooooood morning!” he hollered loudly, throwing his arms out to either side.

The creature didn’t move. It didn’t stop carving, it didn’t turn around. It was like it didn’t even notice the boy. Timothy waited several awkward seconds before dropping his arms to his sides.

“Are you mad?” he asked. 

With a sigh, the creature put down the knife. It turned and glowered at him.

“Annoyed,” it said in a low growl.

“Why are you awake so early?” Timothy asked, his own annoyance showing.

“It’s almost noon, Tim. Where have you been? Why did you leave without telling me?” 

Timothy cringed.

“Noon, huh? Sorry, Q. I didn’t realize. I just…went for a walk.”

Q’s brow furrowed deeper and he looked like he was about to give Timothy the scolding of his life.

“I brought breakfast!” Timothy said. He pulled out the crumpled tin foil bundle from his fanny pack and handed it to his guardian. Q eyed him suspiciously.

“Where did you get this?” he asked in a stern, steady voice. Timothy shrugged.

“Some campers. Don’t worry, I didn’t steal it. They gave it to me.”

“I’m sure they did,” Q replied, glaring at him. “Didn’t they ask you questions? Like, what were you doing in the woods by yourself? Where was your family? Did you need help finding them?”

Timothy’s countenance fell and his shoulders drooped.

“Yeah, they did, but I just...”

“You lied, right? Which is what I’ve taught you to do, when you have to. But you didn’t have to. You didn’t have to talk to them at all. We have food here. I always have food for you, Tim, you never have to worry about that. You were reckless.”

Tim reached over and unfolded the tin foil. A faint wisp of steam floated up and Q looked down. 

“Ah, hash browns. My favorite.”