The Springs on His Steps

I heard cries of protest and shock from outside as I typed my response to the KJRT reporter, and I rose from my desk only to find that two officers from the Saint George Police Department were so kind to pay me a visit – and walking straight through my locally-renowned art exhibit.

“Are you Mr. Gruben,” asked the taller, mustachioed one, Officer Port.

“I am,” I replied, brushing my platinum hair gently out of my eyes. “Come to admire my work?”

“I’m not sure what’s to admire,” said the wider one, Officer Manteau. Egads, the pair were akin to a Saturday morning cartoon. “But Mr. Gruben, you are drawing a large crowd outside of your home.”

“Oh, it’s not too large,” said I, before looking to the sidewalk in front of my house. “Actually,” I realized aloud, “it would seem I have!” I dashed back to my computer. “Oh, this puts such springs in my steps!”

But the officers followed me. “Mr. Gruben,” said the Port man gruffly, “we are going to have to disperse the crowd, they’ve been blocking traffic for hours.”

“Well, that explains the enraged honking I’ve heard for an hour,” I said in jest. “I thought it had been a discontented goose!” I turned around, and the two officers’ brows were furled with displeasure. “Oh, good heavens, you can’t turn those people away now, things have just gotten interesting!”

Officer Manteau looked through my doorway, and he must have seen the coils in action. Oh, how I hoped he had not harmed any of them! “Look, Mr. Gruben,” he said, “if you take this… display down now, I’m sure someone in city hall might be able to get you a permit to do this elsewhere, where it’s not in the way.”

“But Officer, if I may inquire, are you aware of the art that I have brought forth into our lovely little town?”

“Art,” said Officer Port, incredulous. “You call a bunch of Slinkys rolling down your front steps art?”

“It is a living study of the beauty of chaos, thank you very much.”

Another honk blared outside, along with a salvo of foul language that left me, and I am sure the mothers of all the children out there, dreadfully aghast. Manteau, the devil, was unshaken. “Really, Mr. Gruben, you’re going to have to take down the Slinkys, and whatever else you have out there. It’s getting dangerous.”

“But you don’t understand,” I protested.

“Alright, fine,” said Officer Port, stroking his follicular upper lip. “You can tell us all about it at the station when we take you in for being a public nuisance.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem necessary,” I said, “why don’t I save us all a trip and tell you right here?”

“Oh, what the heck,” grumbled Port.

“Thank you, officers.” I got up and walked to the doorway again. I smiled as I watched those lovely toy springs tumble down the staircase and into the agitator below. They seemed to be very cautious as they walked behind me. “Where do I begin?”

“How about where in the world you got the idea to do this,” Manteau suggested brilliantly. And so I began there.

“I’ve been staying in this house for about two weeks, in place of my father who has just moved into the nursing home in Rock City. You know how it is. Well, anyway, while I was planning out my next project – a living statue!” I chided myself internally for interrupting. “While I was planning that out, I took the opportunity to clear my head by doing some much-needed cleaning. I couldn’t stand for the rest of my family to see this place as a sty; we grew up here, after all. I started with the basement, to get the hardest part done first. There, I made the most extraordinary discovery – or rediscovery, I should say.”

“The Slinkys,” asked Officer Port.

“Why, yes, the Slinkys!” I watched a few more climb their way down the steps. “It reminded me of how my father had ended up with so many in the first place.”

“How was that?”

“You see,” I said, turning back to them, “my father was a prototypical toy collector. Like any prototype, though, his method needed work. He eventually became successful, but his first effort was investing in these Slinkys. Yes, gentlemen,” I said as I cut the air with my hand, “these Slinkys are originals from the 1940s. Anyway, I was carrying them up the basement steps – I was sure the antique mall in Rock City might be interested in them – and I set them down at the top because I was simply exhausted from the work I had done earlier. That was when my artistic muse came to play.”

“What,” asked Port, but Manteau shook his head to kill the question.

“The box, quite unexpectedly, tipped over, and the Slinkys began to tumble out of the box and down the stairs! My, what a sight.” I caught myself glancing dreamily into the past. “That was when I decided to create the exhibit you see now.”

“How long did it take you to set it up,” asked Manteau, his brow loosened now with curiosity.

“Not too long,” I replied. “It took me about three days to design and build the agitator and conveyer belt, but that is probably the least time I have ever spent on a project… yes, that’s right, the wall of toast took five,” I whispered to myself.

“Okay, look, it’s charming and all,” said Port, “but it’s gonna have to come down.”

“What a shame,” I moaned. “All these people, they will be so… hm, disappointed.” I looked outside, and it seemed that the street had indeed been filled by people parking in front of my house.

I looked back to the officers. “And I had just come up with a name for it, in honor of its origins.”

“What,” asked an apparently cautious Port.

“Spring Cleaning!”