Class Interrupted

 

When I came back from Enrichment, the room was dark.

Some teacher came in

In the middle of something I can’t remember.

She held conference with my teacher

And then the TV was on –

You know the one:

The big black thing,

With the huge, wheeled base.

We saw buildings on fire.

Or maybe just the smoke.

I can’t remember registering what was happening;

I just remember going home.

It’s funny how one day can change a nation

And a phone number.

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What Bothers Me About Soap Operas

Monday, July 1, 2013

Trifecta: Week Eighty-Four

CRUDE

1: existing in a natural state and unaltered by cooking or processing

2 archaic : unripe, immature

3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity 

4: rough or inexpert in plan or execution 

5: lacking a covering, glossing, or concealing element : obvious 

6: tabulated without being broken down into classes 

There’s nothing more unsettling than watching your mother, father, sister, grandmother and grandfather clustered around the television, all watching the same soap opera. I don’t know what disturbs me the most: one, that of all things possible, this is what brought the family together, two, regret that they choose to spend their leisure time (and sometimes their un-leisure time as well) so utterly unproductively on a regular basis, or third, that we as a people fall pray to the networks’ crude play on emotions so easily every time. The same formula of heartbreak, tears and gossip, and it works like a charm. Every. Single. Ti-

Oops, gotta go – he’s about to catch her cheating on him!

Long Days and Lullabies

This week’s Trifecta Challenge:

CLUB

1a : a heavy usually tapering staff especially of wood wielded as a weapon b : a stick or bat used to hit a ball in any of various games c : something resembling a club 2a : a playing card marked with a stylized figure of a black clover b : plural but sing or plural in constr : the suit comprising cards marked with clubs 3a : an association of persons for some common object usually jointly supported and meeting periodically; also : a group identified by some common characteristic <nations in the nuclear club>  

[See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2013/06/trifecta-week-eighty-two.html#comment-form]

Ray was exhausted. His top-level corporate job had paid for his lifestyle, but left him with very little time to spend with his son, Jason. He sighed. He’d have to make a better effort. Starting tomorrow. Today, all I want is a glass of…

“Oh, you’re home,” El called. She kicked her heels off and sank into the sofa.” Rick called today- he wanted to remind you about some concert thing planned for Saturday. Macklemore.”

Ray started. He’d forgotten entirely. He and Rick had spent their entire adolescent lives idolizing him. When they’d heard that this tour was to be his last, Rick had persuaded him to buy front-row tickets.

When he looked up, she’d fallen asleep. Poor thing. Covering her with a blanket, he headed for the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

Just as he reached, he heard noises from Jason’s bedroom. “Hey pal,” he said, finding him awake. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I had a scary dream…I want Mommy to sing a song,” he said, eyes wide.

“Well, Mommy’s asleep, so how about I sing you a lullaby tonight?”

“M’kay,” mumbled Jason, happily. “Now, what am I going to sing for you today?” he wondered aloud. Is it too late now to call Rick? The concert is on Saturday.

“Mommy sings me songs from when she was a kid,” Jason murmured.

I remember my first concert, thought Ray with a smile.  We used to sing along to “Thrift Shop” all the time back then.

Almost without realizing it, he found himself humming it. “I’m gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket…” He grinned; lowering his voice, trying to disguise it as a lullaby, he continued, “Walk into the club, like what up I got a big – ” Oops

“-cork,” he completed, flustered, darting a glance at his son. Had he noticed? But Jason lay still, already asleep. Ray felt his throat constrict. “I promise I’ll be home more often,” he whispered fiercely to his sleeping son.

—————————-

So this is the short version. Initially, I got carried away and wrote around 750 words before I got a friendly reminder (thank heavens for those!) that it was way over the word limit. Still, I have a soft corner for the original, so I decided to add it below, just in case anyone’s interested in reading it.

Turning the key to let himself in, Ray made straight for the living room and put his briefcase down near his favorite recliner. He was exhausted. His top-level corporate job had paid for his house, his cars, and (he suspected) had also had a small role in his getting his wife. Unfortunately it left him with very little time to spend either on his hobbies or with his son, Jason. At three years old, Jason was reaching that age when parental presence (or its absence) sets the tone for their lifelong parent-child relationship. He sighed. He’d have to make a better effort. Starting tomorrow. Today, all I want is a glass of…

“Oh, you’re home,” El called by way of welcome, standing in the doorway, laptop bag in hand. Her job in the media kept her, if possible, even busier than his kept him. Elizabeth kicked her heels off and sank into the sofa, flexing the soles of her feet and moaning with relief.

“Long day?” he asked.

“You bet,” she said, closing her eyes. “Right now all I want is some sleep.” She settled in deeper into the sofa. “Oh, by the way, your childhood friend Rick called – he wanted to remind you about some concert thing you had planned for Saturday. Macklemore’s Grand Finale apparently.”

Ray started. He’d forgotten entirely. He and Rick had spent their entire adolescent lives idolizing him. When they’d heard that this tour was to be his last, Rick had persuaded him to finally give in to impulse. Together, they’d bought front-row tickets for the concert. Right now all I want is some sleep, he thought, echoing El.

“…but I need to watch the LVBN ’26 Awards thing,” El was saying. “It’s supposed to be on tonight. I need to,” she yawned,”make sure…,” another yawn, “that….” yawning again, she drifted off to sleep.

He smiled. Poor thing. Getting a blanket from their linen closet, he covered her, dimmed the lights, and headed for the kitchen to pour himself a drink before calling Rick back.

Just as he was tilting the decanter, he heard the sound of something expensive (grimace) falling. Eyebrows furrowed, he put down his glass and stepped out into the hallway. He’d updated his security system just a month or two ago; it was a pretty expensive one too.Just to be on the safe side however, he grabbed a steel ladle from the kitchen before heading down the hallway.

Peeking into the living room, he saw Jason standing there, teddy bear dragging, blinking sleepily, and inwardly sighed with relief. “Hey pal,” he said, squatting down to his son’s level. “Couldn’t sleep?” He sheepishly tucked the ladle behind a wooden table nearby.

“I had a scary dream,” he pouted, looking up. “I want Mommy to sing a song,” he said, looking worried, eyes wide.

“C’mere,” said Ray, standing up and lifting his three-year-old into his arms. “Mommy’s asleep, so how about I sing you a lullaby tonight?”

“M’kay,” mumbled Jason, already burrowed happily into his father’s shoulder.

Laying him on the bed, Ray tucked Jason into his solar-system-themed comforter. The absence of Pluto still irritated him all these years later.

“Now, what am I going to sing for you today?” he wondered aloud. Is it too late now to call Rick? The concert is on Saturday. Two days away.

“Mommy sings me songs from when she was a kid,” Jason murmured, snuggling into his pillow.

I remember my first concert, thought Ray with a smile. I had to practically sign my freedom away to go see Macklemore, me and Rick both. We used to sing along to “Thrift Shop” all the time back then.

Almost without realizing it, he found himself humming it. “I’m gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket…”

He grinned, realizing how much he’d missed Macklemore. Lowering his voice, trying to disguise it as a lullaby, he smiled at Jason and continued, “Walk into the club, like what up I got a big – ” and stopped himself just in time. Macklemore isn’t for lullabies, what’s wrong with me?

“-cork,” he completed, flustered, darting a glance at his son. Had he noticed? But Jason lay still, already asleep. Listening to the sound of his son’s steady breathing, Ray felt his throat constrict. “I promise I’ll be home more often,” he whispered fiercely to his sleeping son. “I love you.”

Pulling the door closed, Ray went through his phone’s contact list till he found the name Rick.

To New Beginnings

The title of my blog, “Wind and Laughter”, is what makes me feel most alive – what makes me me. So I went looking for the perfect place to write an alive-y post, and landed up sitting at my dining table – right smack dab in the middle of the house. (and then wondered for a moment whether that has a deeper meaning, that I feel alive only in the middle of things. Seems highly likely.) Anyway, I wanted this über-happy first post to sort of set this really happy keynote for my blog. So, cliché as it may seem, I settled for writing about beginnings.

I love to write, but, for several years now, I’ve settled for just knowing the fact that I can write. Never really found an outlet. So one day, I was just talking about writing with a friend (who also writes), and we made a sort of pact – each of us would write a blog for atleast the next semester, and, at the end, we would give each friend about 30 different blogs from which to pick out our own. So, me being typically me, I opened an account on tumblr, figment and wordpress…in the space of about a week. Started using the other two actually, then got sidetracked reblogging stuff. Yeah….so anyway, then I decided wordpress was where I’d actually write write, so now here I am. The actual beginning. Of this chapter at least.

Lemony Snicket’s “The Bad Beginning” keeps running through my head relentlessly as I write this (some things just demand to be written down), so I will, to use the phrase, pen one of his quotes down.

“Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.” 
― Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

As I write this, I’m smiling to think how much I’ve changed as a person – almost ten years ago,  I opened a diary my best friend at the time had given me with another of Lemony Snicket’s quotes: “The sad truth is that the truth is sad.” Although maybe I give myself too much credit – time and circumstances are probably to thank for soothing old wounds. And for being kind enough to give me enough good to make me see life with bright eyes again.

I want to feel alive again. I want to feel in control and in charge of my life. I want to be happy and help happiness multiply, as overstated an aim as that may be. But I will try. So here’s to new beginnings and happiness. And to life.