It took Roy a while to realize why he was sitting in a place that smelled like cheap perfume and Joe Cocker singing "You Can Leave Your Hat On." He realized that he was there on the day that his father died.
Saturday night, Roy was in a grungy strip club in Jersey. It was the same joint that his father took him to as a boy. He remembered how uncomfortable he felt watching naked women slide down a pole, and seeing his dad’s creepy grin as he slipped a five-dollar bill down a dancer’s g-string
It took Roy a while to realize why he was sitting in a place that smelled like cheap perfume and Joe Cocker singing "You Can Leave Your Hat On." He realized that he was there on the day that his father died. The BBC-reporter on TV announced: “The Queen to be evacuated if Brexit turns ugly.”
From her second-floor veranda Ms. Brown looked at the Ganges River, while drowning in memories. Sixty years ago in Oxford, she fell in love with a brilliant Indian scientist, married him, and moved into holy city of Varanasi. To locals, she became “England-ki-Ranee” (British-Queen). Gaining freedom from colonialism, India just began rebuilding. She joined and remained in the effort till to date. Since then, Varanasi witnessed all kinds of strife: religious, political, and caste-based. But she never felt any danger to leave, still remaining local’s “England-ki-Ranee” He struggled to navigate through the website. He’d struggled to find the website in the first place – so many links to follow from such a simple search. And now that he’d gotten there he wasn’t sure what to do next. Books were so much easier – he knew how to research in a book and going to the library seemed, to him, like he needed a degree in computer science. What happened to the card catalogue? That nice thing with all the drawers and little index cards. Too much work. Better to go to bed and try again tomorrow. Goodnight computer.
“I never meant no harm.”
“Yeh, I know.” “I wouldn’t intentionally do nobody harm, lest they done something to me first.” “Yeh, I know.” “What’d they take it that away for? No way, I meant that.” “Yeh, I know.” “No reason to do nobody ill, I got what I need, nobody owes me.” “Yeh, I know.” “Where’d they git the idea I was after them? Why I was just saying my piece, not trying to bruise they’s feelings.” “Yeh, I know.” “Hells bells they’s just touchy.” “Yeh I know.” “Jeez, I’m truly that sorry I hurt their feelings.” “Isat so?” Brittany sat in the darkened interior of her black utility vehicle. Low-lying clouds offered a blanket of darkness and tinted windows provided privacy.
The engine of Brittany’s vehicle’s was off, so there was no heat. In desperation, she buried herself deeper into her spring jacket. She licked her dry lips but refused to look at her thermos of coffee. She needed to stay alert and focused. Several hours later her subject’s car remained parked in the driveway, and Brittany still had to go to the washroom. It was also the last time she agreed to work surveillance on Valentine’s Day. The fragile peace that had been established between the two siblings remained unbroken for two weeks as each pursued their projects, but only lasted until the presentation at the science fair when the younger sibling won first prize and the older second.
Oliver stared at the ever-growing pile of dirty plates in the sink and sighed, mum normally took care of things, mum took care of everything and now he was on his own.
He didn’t like to admit it, not to himself, not to anyone: he missed her. Six weeks now and they said it would get easier. When, when would it get easier? You’ll cope in time they said, stand on your own two feet, make her proud. He hoped he made her proud, he glanced at his watch, maybe it was time. He picked up the phone, “hello boy.” I smelled a fresh dampness before I felt it. I felt icy needles light on my face before I heard it. I heard a growling rumble before I saw it. Flying, unhooked from the earth , I looked up and saw the absence of sky. Pure white, the absence of light. A whiteness which smelled wet; a whiteness that tingled; a whiteness that was sound until hearing stopped. Silence, then stillness. Movement is over. Arms cannot lift. Fingers cannot open. Mouth cannot speak. Eyes cannot close. They see nothing. I feel nothing. Without words, the avalanche covers me.
Karalee jumped at the podium, “N” she said, only pronouncing it “Ian.” She drove Aletha nuts. Karalee had fallen on hard times. Aletha proposed competing on the “Hang Man” show.
“You’re a shoo-in to win, I watched you play “Wheel of Fortune”, you are amazing!” Karalee’s submission to appear was accepted. The winning prize, one million dollars, losers were hanged. Now Aletha watched her neighbors’ fate. “I’ll solve the puzzle Zip!” Karalee shouted. She couldn’t believe when the buzzer told her she had guessed wrong. The noose dropped around her neck. “No!” shouted Karalee as she was lifted up. George faced Rockefeller Center and wondered at the statue of Hercules holding the world. How could anyone hold the world on his shoulders? He must be very strong, George thought, and asked his mother about how someone could get strong enough to hold the whole world.
“It’s a metaphor, Darling,” his mother answered. George looked at his mother, confused, but didn’t want to ask what a metaphor was. He didn’t know why, but thought that he’d better not ask. Maybe one day he’d be big enough to know those big words too. He let his mother lead him away. Candlemas: the elderly man looked out from his cottage window at the cold, grey sky, hoping that winter's end wasn't far away. Five weeks had elapsed since anyone had called other than the postman or someone delivering supermarket groceries. His daughter in Australia phoned occasionally, but it wasn't the same.
Going anywhere was impossible on days like this. Living two miles from the nearest bus stop, and no longer able to drive, he was trapped, alone. His late wife had always wanted to retire to a quiet place in the middle of nowhere. It had seemed a good idea then. Right on schedule, the lake’s bald eagle returned to his usual tree and the noon sun. Regally surveying his arena, something down below compelled attention.
Small and helpless, that tiny dog would be an easy victim. The raptor left his perch, zooming across the water. The pup appeared unaware as the bird completed his brief journey and barreled straight for the shore. Then, sensing trouble, the dog broke into a surprising run, though no match for the eagle’s speed. A strategically parked Land Rover, however, was as far as the dog needed to go. Safe underneath, he caught his breath. That’s it. Move that arm. Ahhhh! The pain is charley horse harsh. Pay attention to the left leg. There’s a bit of vice-like agony there. Wiggle them toes. Give them a good workout. Stretch like you’re made of rubber, like you’re a sapling bending in a warm ocean breeze.
“You getting up?” she asks. Damn! There goes my concentration. “Maybe,” I say. I’m in no mood to make promises. She rolls over and gives me a shake. “You’re not dead, are ya?” “Not now. Can’t speak for later.” “Fine. You stay in bed until you’re sure.” “Thanks, Lovey. Excellent advice.” Outside, it was a dark winter night. The Iron Lady looked at all the notes scattered on her mahogany table. Everything she had attempted to separate her country from a bigger union was fruitless. Initially, she thought it was the chauvinism of her male-colleagues. Now, a noted scholar, across Atlantic coined it “The Malign Incompetence of the British Ruling Class,” additionally opining “who drew borders from India to Ireland getting a taste of their own medicine.”
She looked at the picture of a former Iron Lady on wall, murmuring “What she could have done?” A nearby church-bell announced midnight. “You’ll hang tomorrow.” the sheriff said.
Gage did not reply. What could he say? He stared, apathetic, between the iron bars. “I never hanged someone as young as you.” Silence. “Turnt yellow boy? You wouldn’t be the first.” When the determined mute only shook his head, the sheriff decided to go home to bother his wife about dinner. He extinguished the lamp, gave a final insult, and left the jailhouse. When the sheriff’s bootsteps faded from hearing, Gage peered ‘round the corner to make certain he was gone. Freedom calling, he spit the key into his open palm. When stopped at a traffic light, I can’t help but think of Fred. Every Friday, my father would pick me up from school. At the main intersection, Fred sold bouquets of flowers. If we ended up caught by the red light, Dad would always buy Mom some roses. Fred also handed out pins of St. Francis to all buying customers. Over the years, I developed a nice collection of pins. Then one Friday, Fred was gone. My parents later separated. Now grown, I still wish for Fred’s flowers and the look on Mom’s face those happy Fridays.
They say all the world’s a stage.
So it is. And here am I. Spotlight on me, solo turn High above the rapt audience standing below. I know what should happen next, I’ve rehearsed it enough. In my mind. But I’m frozen in time. Stage fright? Maybe. There is a voice stage left But I am deaf to its words. Wrong script, wrong time, wrong cue? Possibly. I stand up. Look around. And fall. I don’t recall any applause. Just the onlookers’ concerted groan, A single cry, my own. Exiting the stage, my life. After every birthday and special occasion when lovers exchange gifts, Ms. Porter, the Vice President of Design, would come into the office sporting a new bauble from her "brilliant" companion, Mr. Ryan.
Her display of happiness would quickly turn into a disposition of orneriness. This baffled her colleagues. They felt Fortune had smiled upon Ms. Porter with her having a prominent position, a commensurable salary, plus perks. What a bunch of clueless clowns. Ms. Porter wanted, no, coveted what Mr. Ryan had never given her - the ring for her left hand, and, being "brilliant", he probably never will. Rust, noun: a reddish brown substance that forms on iron and steel when it comes into contact with water. Rust also refers to a fungal infection of certain plant species, resulting in reddish-brown patches on the leaves. When iron and steel rust they lose their strength. Rust flakes when you run your hand over it, leaving sharp needles of decay on your fingertips. It builds over time, creating mottled layers of burnt umber hues. I brush the flakes away on my jeans and wonder how many dips in the lake it took before the layers began to build upon us.
Shivani suffered from anger, Shashank from the lack of it. While she lost her temper at the smallest of things, even an earthquake could not ruffle Shashank's composure. It is said "Opposites attract" but in their case, their differing temperaments were the cause of their marriage woes. They decided to separate. "Don't think I'll miss you," screamed Shivani, as he moved his boxes out. She flung a vase at the wall. It shattered. A sharp shard ricocheted off the wall, cutting Shashank on the forehead. Wiping the blood, he looked back at her and said, "I'm glad it missed you."
I returned with the shopping to find my flatmate using the laptop.
'What you looking at Linda?' 'Gym membership.' 'Gym membership? Why?' 'A young lad on the bus offered me his seat.' 'So?' 'He pointed at my belly!' 'Pregnant? Well, you have put on a little weight lately,' I said, as I unpacked the food. 'Well, it's humiliating and I'm taking action right now.' Her eyes then fell onto the packaging on the side. 'Ooh, chocolate eclairs, they're my favourite.' 'I know, but what about the gym?' Her mouth was already crammed with cream. 'Tomorrow', she said. 'I'll start tomorrow.' |
"Classic"
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