On right, the scene was from the Jallianwala Bagh Memorial in Amritsar, India, dedicated to hundreds of innocent victims of a massacre, perpetrated by a rogue army general of past colonial power. London’s current progressive mayor, born to immigrant parents was bowing his head, murmuring “Our country needs to apologize unconditionally for that historic horrendous crime.”
American John Hurdy was watching CNN International streaming simultaneous live events on a split screen from two continents. On left, a henchman to country’s current strongman was commenting on a militarily crushed peaceful protest in Washington. He praised “We have great Churchill in command.”
On right, the scene was from the Jallianwala Bagh Memorial in Amritsar, India, dedicated to hundreds of innocent victims of a massacre, perpetrated by a rogue army general of past colonial power. London’s current progressive mayor, born to immigrant parents was bowing his head, murmuring “Our country needs to apologize unconditionally for that historic horrendous crime.” Playing ‘It’s a Wonderful World’ with my flute out on the deck, I hear someone holler from the walking path, “Thanks.” Strange world this. Six feet away or six feet under is the new motto.
My niece telephones. She’s been visiting her daughter at a special-care facility near my town and needs the washroom. That place is in lock-down, and my niece is sixty miles from home. What can I say? So much for self-isolation, she’s in the door to the leu and right out again. It’s a wonderful world. But by God, it sure has become a strange one. The Earth department of Galactic Resources was shutting down, and only now were concerns raised about the humans. Concern for humans hadn’t stopped Galactic from draining the oceans, recycling the cities, and making a mess of the place, but it made it hard to leave. After all, the humans who had survived had only done so by evolving to feed off the radiation emitted by Galactic’s patented planet drills. If they stopped drilling, the humans would starve.
This dilemma agonised Galactic for an entire week. Then a resource rich plant similar to Earth was discovered nearby. Quietly, Galactic moved on. Adam stared at the shattered remains of his partner’s favourite china figurine. Upon closer inspection, he realised it would be impossible to fix. Although the figurine was not to Adam’s taste, the thought of deliberately destroying it had never crossed his mind. At over 100 years old, it would be extremely difficult to replace.
Scanning the room, he noticed that Colin had just woken from his afternoon slumber. Perfect, he thought. Colin glanced at the broken family heirloom before fixing his eyes on Adam. “It looks like you are taking one for the team, buddy,” muttered Adam. “Meow,” Colin replied. His world began to darken.
“No,” he screamed. “We’ve been together too long. Don’t do this!” He found his body heavy. His once perfect physique melting. The smell of burnt flesh and hot sulfuric acid stung his eyes and nose and rippled his skin grotesquely. He was dissolving before her eyes. “Don’t do this. We’ve been together too long.” He had done it all for her. Her world began to brighten. “Yes,” she screamed. We’ve been together too long. I have to do this.” Her body moved effortlessly. Lavender cautioned her awake. “I don’t need you anymore, my imaginary friend.” Perfection is a wonderful illusion as I discovered. You see, when you fall in love, that person can do no wrong. Everything is, well, always perfect. You consider yourself blessed to be sharing intimate moments with the most fabulous person in the world.
And then something different appears. Did I really see what I just saw? There he was trying to enchant another with his slobbering kisses and clumsy, pawing strokes. What a worthless excuse for a man. I wonder if she'll find out as I just did. Perfection – it's only a wonderful illusion. Walking down the street, I see a shiny, heads up penny laying on the ground.
When I was younger, Mom told me if I ever found a heads up penny, to give it to her, and it would bring us both good luck, and she'd do the same. Usually, nothing would happen, but occasionally finding one brought us some small piece of luck. This penny, however, chilled me inside. Mom's home in bed, where she usually stays now. She's told me she sometimes wishes God would just take her and end her misery. I walk on, leaving the penny untouched. ‘What’s a bucket list?’ Gran, as pale as the snow white linen on her hospital bed, frowned slightly.
I explained about the 2007 film. ‘Since then it’s become popular for people to make a list of things they want to do before they…’ I was saved from saying the word by a nurse coming to take observations. ‘Do you have one?’ Gran asked afterwards, drifting off to sleep before I could reply. Gran’s pain ended three days later. I collected her things from the ward including a painstakingly written list. My Bucket List – live them for me, darling Granddaughter. “Peekaboo!” Dad exclaimed. Sarah, one year old, giggled and clapped her hands.
“Peekaboo!” Dad repeated. Sarah again squealed with glee. Dad smiled at Mom. “She's so cute, isn't she?” Mom was glowing. “She's amazing. I have to wonder what's going on in that brain of hers.” “I'm sure she's just gaga for usual baby stuff,” Dad stated. Still cooing and laughing, Sarah darted her eyes to the kitchen. Her brother Jimmy, three years old, was standing on a chair, reaching into the cookie jar for both of them. “Treat to come,” Sarah thought. “Keep the big ones occupied for now.” Judith’s nightmare keeps repeating.
She’s a young bird tangled in a wire. In the dark. Winter’s gritty winds whip her about as she tries to dodge the sharp, shredding claws of her predator. Her struggle is painful and desperate. Near exhaustion, she finally rips free, winging slowly toward a light growing in the distance, hoping she’ll make it to Spring. Seconds later, bright sunlight slams her awake. Again. “Time to get up,” her mother’s fingernails grip her shoulder. This evening, at bedtime, Judith leaves open the balcony doors. And promises herself: Tonight. It’s 10:07 and I have yet to look in a mirror. A personal best.
In the kitchen the flat-mate watches TV. A woman picks over an awards ceremony. Her post-mortem is brutal. She knows which dresses killed, which celebrities slayed. I try not to watch but spot her almost immediately. She of the face that launched a thousand neuroses. I can’t resist airing the most treacherous compliment I’ve ever received. ‘A man in a bar told me I look like her.’ The flat-mate turns, squints and cackles. 'No such luck, mate.' It’s the 'mate' that does for me. One bottle left. His favourite, a Porter. Can he possibly share?
While mind debates, empty stomach takes to grumbling. He can visualize freshly harvested vegetables landing on his tongue. Baby carrots. Slender string beans. Steamed al dente and dotted with melting butter... the way mama had prepared. Cheapest beer. That’s what he’ll buy for them. Being down to earth, they’ll accept. Lapping up his hospitality. Drowning in happiness. He’ll need to act quickly though if he’s to taste the vegetables of his labour. Plan devised by a gardener to yield a crop of contentment. For him and his backyard slugs. I look out this window every morning. Sometimes it’s still dark when I get up and sit here with my coffee.
I like to watch the sun rise. I can’t actually see the sun from where I sit, but it doesn’t matter. I see clouds appear in the sky. I see trees — green, red and purple — shimmer in a light from the East. The trees and clouds were here when I awoke, and they’ll be here tonight when darkness falls. I won’t see them, but I’ll know they’re here because of the light of a sun I don’t see. Wilson knocked, Rose didn’t answer. He thought he saw movement behind a curtain, so he knocked again and called out her name. Again, there was no response. He dialed her number and thought he heard ringing inside. She’d said she’d be home. He was confused, unsure what to do. In desperation he left a yellow sticky with a handwritten poem asking her to marry him. Before shipping out to Afghanistan the following week, he left more messages, all of them unanswered. Five years later he bumped into Rose with two small children at Safeway. He said hi, she said hi.
“Heard you changed your will?” my son wrote on the slate.
“Yes,” I replied. “Bequeathing all your property to charities?” “True.” “Why? You had made me your sole inheritor,” he wrote, his hand shaking in agitation. “Now, I know what you and your wife think of me.” “What do you mean?” “Of late, you two have been mincing no words while talking in front of me, have you? I heard every word and decided others could use my money better.” “Heard?” he wrote furiously, “but the doctor had told me you had become irrecoverably deaf.” “Just an adjustment between friends.” On reflection the craft had been poorly made for such a hazardous trip down river.
As it had launched into the torrent, rolling and crashing against outcrops of rock, it had begun almost immediately to take on water; eventually becoming totally engulfed in the raging stream. Waiting to see what would happen next, he had held his breath. Then, after what seem like an eternity, the boat had emerged from the surging foam, bobbing and weaving into calmer water, before coming to rest by the river bank. “Too flimsy”. The boy sighed, looking down at his now drenched origami craft. I wish I could show you my discovery. Right under the kitchen window, in the holly bush, I have spied a robin nest. There is a broken egg in it. I fear the worst, as no robins and no hatchlings have been seen.
The bush is low. Possibly a squirrel or the neighbors’ noxious cat with that bobbed tail may have gotten in there. If only the robins had placed their nest in a higher spot, safety could have been achieved. By the way, I have resumed the consumption of caffeinated coffee. Without you, my health is of little concern. 5hriveled, oxygen tubes in his nose, he looked far different in the hospital bed from when I was a kid.
In Sound of Music and Mary Poppins, the authoritarian, law-and-order fathers were quickly softened after the pretty impetuous governesses entered their lives. Pop wasn’t like that. He beat me often when I did something wrong, until I got big enough to resist. When I asked this morning if he remembered those movies, he smiled, saying that long before Mom died, he had a crush on that girl singer. Why didn’t you come into our house, Julie, when I needed you? “Sit in the chair, please,” his gentle tone belies sinister intent. Instruments of pain gleam and glisten.
Under the intense glare of a bright, white overhead light the torturer’s shadow looms large, waiting to inflict unbearable anguish. “Please…I…don’t…” I force myself down onto the cold brown leather, eyes darting towards the door. Dare I make a break? Too late; his masked face hovers over my own and I feel the needle sting as he injects the drug. My fate is sealed. “Open wide.” The drill whines and the dentist begins to fill my tooth. It was winter. A manifesto was being written. The letters were closely knit to each other, but couldn’t feel each other’s warmth. One night they crept out of the cold castle, to search for fire in a distant forest. They never wanted to be found; only a warm heart could find them. Steadily they moved along the thick, vast sheet of snow, as though they were being guided by a compass. The stars watched intently.
Come here, everyone. The meeting is about to start. Here are a few suggestions:
Keep a lookout Priscilla. If someone appears to eavesdrop, bleat softly. Supply hay, grass and corn for snacking, Applejack. Your assistance is welcome. Curb your enthusiasm, Rockefeller. Your incessant crowing tends to give me a headache, and it attracts too much attention. The hens will have to wait. Focus on the matter at hand, Hamlet. Your squealing can be a distraction. Keep the noise to a minimum. Get back here, gang. We still need to vote. Should visitors wear a mask, yes or no? Standing next to Anni’s blanket with his acoustic guitar in hand, the well-groomed twenty-something asked, “May I?” strumming a little.
Anni frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m just not interested." The prospective suitor looked puzzled as if thinking: What woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to be serenaded? Anni thought: Who would fall for such a contrivance? She flipped over and turned on Metallica – Ride the Lightning. She was trying to obliviate an act of violence. The car door had been yanked open and three young men, one with a knife, had carjacked her. Her only love now was heavy metal music. The man could see a lady putting something inside a bottle, and throwing it away into the swirling seawater receding from the shore before going away.
He was just about to put an end to his miserable existence when he heard a soft thud by his side. It’s a bottle. He found a note inside: “Dear Sea, I came to wade deep into you with stones in my pocket. But I saw this man with a haunted look. I realised I’m not the only one who’s suffering.” Instantly his face lit up. He followed the footprints the lady left behind. Sometimes, I see her in distant crowds. I try to ensure she doesn't see me, but I suspect she's picked me out once or twice. I'm not sure who's likely to be more embarrassed by memories of our brief liaison, her or me. We simply needed each other at the time, but it turned out that her need for me was even more short-term than my need for her. And it was hardly ideal for morale to discover that I wasn't even her only one.
I'd still love to know what she saw in me during those few short weeks. Wiping away tears, we chop up fresh onions as the vinegar attacks our noses. Remember thick, thick tapering off, so the sandwich looks bigger. My teenage summer vacations ruined in a production assembly line.
By mid-morning, we take five. The gray metal folding chairs wobble, rubbing our sore feet and eating gooey jelly donuts in the breakroom. After work, my friends and I stop by the mouthwatering lake and jump in with a big splash before the sun starts to set. The oniony mustard smell fades on the sandy shore while eating sandwich cookies, licking the creamy centers first. |
"Classic"
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