Those Who Spoon

Prologue

On the fifth of May, 1995, Ebenezer Soon was born.

He came into the world with the best looks the town of Cutleriville had ever seen. And not only was he handsome, he was healthy, strong and clearly intelligent. Within three months, Ebenezer, Ben for short, was crawling. Within six, he could walk. Within ten, he could say, “Crockery” and jam a fork into his father’s nose. Since Cornelius Scrooge topped 6’5”, this was a considerable achievement. Even more impressive was the fact that, at age four, he could hit spoons together to create a rhythm that reminded everyone awfully much of Mozart’s Moonlight Sonata. Everyone who knew the Moonlight Sonata, at least.

At age six, Ebenezer insisted on watching cooking shows with his mother, Dolly. At age seven, he made his first omelet. At age eight, he would throw a fit every time one of his parents wanted to wash the dishes and would only stop when they allowed him to help.

At age sixteen, Ben was tall and lanky, and often seen wearing naught but shorts in the summer. With a great fluff of dark hair and wide blue eyes, he soon robbed the heart of everyone under twenty (and above, admittedly) in Cutleriville. Despite the many sloe-eyed and sweet glances that were given him, there was only one girl he wanted: her name was Debbie Dork, and she was destined to cause him a lifetime of misery. She had hair the color of a dark night, eyes mild as chocolate and skin that both smelled and looked like coffee. Her hips were wide; her waist was slim. And oh, how pretty she was to Ebbie.

What made her so desirable wasn’t her pretty face. It was the fact that no one could come near that pretty face – especially not Ebenezer – without risking a split lip. Debbie Dork acted prude as a nun, and 79.8% of the town was convinced she was a virgin and would remain so until marriage. The other 21.2% had been in bed with her and knew the truth, but were smart enough to zip their lips.

Ebenezer soon became obsessed with Debbie’s chocolate eyes; the dimple in her cheek; the smell of her feet in gym. He followed her around like a lost puppy and refused to give up. 21 nosegays, 4 boxes of chocolate and 33 love letters later, Debbie was impressed enough to give him a shot at a first date. After Ben paid the 120 dollar bill that their dinner had cost without complaining, she decided to give him another chance . . . and another, and another, and another, until one day, Ebenezer and Debbie became names that were automatically associated with each other by the citizens of Cutleriville.

Debbie was the first person Ebbie kissed. Debbie was the first person Ebbie ever felt up. Debbie was the first person Ebbie was ever touched down there by. Debbie was also the first person Ebbie ever had intercourse with. Debbie was also the last person whom he did all those things with – although we will get to that part of the story later.

At approximately 5 in the afternoon, Ebenezer made his way over to Debbie’s house, excited by the thought her parents were on a holiday. They could do whatever they wanted, wherever they wanted . . . whenever they wanted. His feet carried him down the street, and he didn’t need to think twice before turning left. In a gesture that had become a natural habit to him, Ben stroked the faded red mailbox and strolled down the path that led to the simple three bedroom house of the Dorks. Honeycomb and lavender grew plenty in the garden, filling the already thick summer air with scents so sweet and sharp that it made him feel dizzy.

Ben entered the house without knocking, since the door was open (in a town such as Cutleriville, there was no reason to lock your door; the very notion of such a thing was ridiculous to everyone). Inside, it was stiflingly hot. He could hear the crackle of the hearth from the entrance; for some ridiculous reason, Debbie had lit a fire in the midst of the day.

Ebenezer unbuttoned his shirt and made his way up the stairs slowly, dropping things as he went along; the short-sleeved blouse he’d been wearing; his belt buckle; his pants; his – let’s skip that part.

He was so involved in his own thoughts and ideas of what was about to happen that he didn’t hear the moans and bangs, nor the continues creaking of the bed, as he approached his girlfriend’s room. And so when Ebenezer threw the door open, stark naked and excited, the last thing he’d expected was Debbie’s legs straight in the air, Freddie Flicker’s sweaty buttocks positioned in-between them.

Without thinking, Ebbie blurted out, “Oh, fuck.” Then, just as they stopped creaking and moaning and whatever else they were doing, he turned and fled the room in a blur of speed. In fact, his legs carried him so fast that the balls of his feet barely touched the cold wood below him. The briefest of moments when they did, unfortunately, caused a disastrous chain of events. Because instead of there being a solid floor, there was a spoon; a simple spoon, that would change his life forever.

Ebenezer, after spending a solid second in mid-air, was forced to obey gravity. His feet came down, but instead of meeting the hardwood floor he’d expected, they landed on something slippery and cold. As a result, Ebenezer slipped.

His hands clutched for support, but could find none. In a moment filled with primal fear, one that he would always remember, Ben toppled over and rolled down the stairs, one painful step at the time. Somewhere halfway, he felt a snap and such horrible pain that he could not think; for a moment, could not breathe. Then everything became wonderfully numb, and he lost consciousness.

Later, doctors and nurses would praise him lucky for that. He could have died . . . or felt the tormenting pain of his body burning; smelt his own charred flesh; witnessed his own skin decaying before his very eyes.

Really. Lucky is a relative term.