Floor and Phone Colors Matched
Shut up I’m on the phone. Ju’, just a minute.
She covers the mouthpiece on the avocado wall phone.
Hard mounted on the kitchen wall on the side of the oven.
Do you know who I’m talking to? Do you? Listen to me! Do you know. Do. You. Know? Who. I. Am. Talking. To?
About right then I sensed she was talking to me. About right then is when I informed my sister she was a cross-sighted jack ass.
You mean cross-eyed. My sister corrected me. You are so cute!
Children! Please!
Cute means foolish and impudent. You are sooooo cute!
And you’re such a stupid dumb ass!
Kids! Go to your rooms! Now! If your father were here. This is when she takes her hand off the mouthpiece of the receiver, the coiled cord tangled around her wrist. She said, I said shut up… wait till I get hold of you! Why aren’t you here! Read More
Accidents can happen to anybody who happens to be occupying intersecting places (rightly or wrongly, depending on what happens) in space and time. Accident or not, scientists and historians would agree that moment was (one of if not) the most important historically. The moment was–more of a non-moment on account of the absence of time–so infinitely profound as to equal all time before and after, happened, was happening, at that moment, to him.
And there-in lies the symmetry of the project.
let the fire fall
and so, he did. I’m not sure who he was that let the fire fall, not like he had much of a choice in the matter. And he couldn’t let the fire do anything but burn. He couldn’t let the fire fall. He had to make the fire fall by artfully coaxing beyond a cliff’s edge the remaining embers from a scrap wood fire he’d lit two hours earlier after a day’s gathering and stacking.
Mom, Dad my sister and I must have been nearing the halfway point of a most wonderful of family vacations, a vacation of all vacations. This was the quintessential vacation for any and all American families of that or most other eras.
I was seven years old, cold, tired and absolutely sure we were there to witness the world ending.
Our 1961 Chevrolet Impala allowed us, encouraged us, practically begged our family to see this USA. We did so, for three weeks in late spring or early summer of 1962. I think. And I’m pretty sure, even. But, hey, this is no publication of record, here. It’s only me reassembling childhood memories made fifty years earlier, almost.
Maybe because I had never seen such beauty, so much of it, so quickly, so non-stop as was the journey, that I thought our live’s near an end.
We left Houston with some nice old lady sitting in the back seat with us kids. She was a passenger until we got to somewhere in North Texas, or New Mexico, or Colorado or probably Salt Lake City where we hung out with Dad’s sister’s family.1 The blending of the nice old lady’s incontinence with ripening of discarded banana peels forever staked its claim upon the near pristine scape of my childhood, marking that memory with its heavy scent. Fortunately, that combination has remained mostly avoidable since, else that eternity and cramped space be revisited, revealing details seemingly only awakened under influence of a similar smell.2 Read More »
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