Mitchell Is Moving by Marjorie Weinman Sharmat

Mitchell ran through his house. “So long! So long, everything,” he shouted. Then he ran next door to Margo’s house.
“I’m moving,” he said.
“Where?” asked Margo.
“Two weeks away,” said Mitchell.
“Where is that?” asked Margo.
“It’s wherever I will be after I walk for two weeks,” said Mitchell. “I have lived in the same place for a long time. It is time for me to go someplace else.”
“No!” said Margo. “You have only lived next door for fifty years.”
“Sixty,” said Mitchell.
“Fifty, sixty. What’s the difference?” said Margo. “I want you to stay next door forever.”
“I can’t,” said Mitchell. “I do not want to wake up in the same old bedroom and eat breakfast in the same old kitchen and brush my scales and clean my nails in the same old bathroom. Every room in my house is the same old room because I have been there too long.”
“Well, maybe you are just tired of the same old friend,” said Margo.
“Who is that?” asked Mitchell.
“Me,” said Margo. “Maybe you look at me and think,
‘Same Old Face.
Same Old Tail.
Same Old Scales.
Same Old Walk.
Same Old Talk.
Same Old Margo.”
“No,” said Mitchell. “I like your face, tail, scales, walk, and talk. I like you.”
“I like, like, like you,” said Margo.
“I like, like, like you, too,” said Mitchell.
He walked to the door. “I must pack,” he said.
Margo sat down in front of the door. “You can’t get out,” she said. “I will sit here for another sixty years.”
“I still like you!” shouted Mitchell as he climbed out the window.
Margo called after him, “I will glue you to your roof. I will tie you to your front door with a thick green rope. I will scotch-tape you, paper-clip you to your house. Then I will get a gigantic rubber band and loop you to your house. I will not let you leave.”
“I will unglue, untie, untape, unclip, and unloop myself,” said Mitchell.
Mitchell ran around his house. “I’m moving, moving, moving,” he shouted.
Then he gathered up some of the slimy moss near his house and wrapped it in silver foil.
“Just in case there is no slimy moss two weeks away.”
Mitchell scooped up some mud from a ditch.
“Maybe there is no mud two weeks away. Or no swamp water,” he said as he filled a plastic bag with water from his swamp and mud from his ditch.
Mitchell went into his house and put the slimy moss and mud and swamp water into his suitcase. The telephone rang. Mitchell answered it.
“I will cement you to your ceiling,” said Margo, and she hung up.
“I am beginning to think that Margo does not want me to move,” said Mitchell as he went back to his packing. He packed the cap and mitten set what Margo had given him. “Maybe it will be cold two weeks away,” he thought.
Mitchell heard a shout. He went to his window. Margo was shouting.
“I will take you to the laundromat in my laundry bag and I will wash away your idea of moving.”
“Margo is a good shouter,” thought Mitchell. He remembered when Margo had sent him a Happy Birthday Shout through the window: “I’M GLAD YOU’RE THERE. I’M GLAD I’M HERE. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOUD AND CLEAR.”
“I wonder if there are any Happy Birthday Shouters two weeks away,” thought Mitchell.
Mitchell held up the T-shirt that Margo had given him. It said, “Mitchell, friend of Margo/Margo, friend of Mitchell.”
“This shirt makes me feel sad that I am moving,” said Mitchell. “But if I put it on, I won’t have to look at it.”
Mitchell put on the T-shirt. “If I don’t look down at my chest, I will feel all right.”
He closed his suitcase. “There. I am all packed. I am ready to go.”
Mitchell walked through his house. “So long, same old rooms,” he said. Mitchell took his suitcase and went to Margo’s house.
“I am all ready to move,” he said.
“I will stick you to your house with chewing gum,” said Margo.
Mitchell picked up his suitcase and ran.
“Good-bye!” he called. “I will write to you every day.”

Mitchell stopped running and started to walk very fast. “I am a moving Mitchell,” he said.
Mitchell walked and walked.
When night came, he sent Margo a post card that said, “Dear Margo, greetings from one day away.”
The second night he wrote, “Dear Margo, more greetings from two days away.”
The third night he wrote, “Dear Margo, more and more greetings from three days away.”
“I am not much of a post-card writer,” thought Mitchell. But he sent more and more greetings to Margo each night.

At last Mitchell reached two weeks away. “I made it!” he said. Mitchell built a house and moved in.
“I will go to bed right away so I can wake up in my new bedroom,” he said.
“Mmm. New sleeps better,” Mitchell said the next day. “Now I will eat my first meal in my new kitchen. Mmm. New tastes better.”
Mitchell went outside and sat down in front of his house. “This is a good house,” he said.
“But there is something missing. There is nobody next door. What good is a good house when there is nobody next door to it? I am lonely. I miss Margo.”

Mitchell wrote a post card to Margo: “Dear Margo, the most greetings ever from two weeks away. The slimy moss is nice and slimy. The mud is nice and thick. The swamp water is nice and mucky. But I miss you. Please come to see me.”
Mitchell waited and waited. And waited.

One morning he woke up and aw a bottle of glue, a thick green rope, a big roll of Scotch tape, a huge paper clip, a gigantic rubber band, a laundry bag, a sack of cement, and a package of chewing gum.
Then he saw Margo.
“Mitchell!” said Margo.
“Margo!” said Mitchell. “I am so happy to see you. Here is my new house and my new everything.”
Mitchell showed Margo his new house and everything around it.
“Two weeks away is terrific,” said Margo as she and Mitchell ate breakfast.
“No, it isn’t,” said Mitchell. “There is nobody next door.”
“Oh,” said Margo. “I have the same problem where I am. There is nobody next door.”
“I have an idea,” said Mitchell, and he got some twigs and mud.
“I have the same idea,” said Margo, and she filled her laundry bag with more twigs and mud.
Then she got her bottle of glue, thick green rope, big roll of Scotch tape, huge paper clip, gigantic rubber band, and sack of cement. “We can use these, too,” she said.
Mitchell and Margo built a house next door to Mitchell’s house.
“Do you like it?” asked Mitchell.
“It’s perfect,” said Margo.
Margo moved into her new house. She shouted, “I’VE COME TO STAY TWO WEEKS AWAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”
It wasn’t Mitchell’s birthday. But he was happy anyway.

8:07 am • 2 May 2012 • 43 notes

(Source: southdallasscum, via bloodxlust)

8:35 am • 30 April 2012 • 109 notes