It was a special day; not merely because Bobby opened his eyes to an absolutely picture-perfect sunny surprise straight out of a travel brochure, but because he had been waiting for today for a long, long time. Rubbing the sleepy crust from his eyes, he swung his feet out of bed and ran nose first into a wall of sensory pleasure – the scent of still-sizzling bacon and eggs, browning toast, and Lord knows what else his parents might have conjured before dawn’s eruption.
Taking that as his cue, he jumped up, grabbed a clean shirt, and bounced out the bedroom door, practically flinging himself down the stairs.
“Good morning, Bobby!” exclaimed Mom, always the first to spot things.
Dad looked up from his newspaper and grinned. Winking knowingly, he motioned to the hot food simmering on the stove, he said, “Help yourself, son. It’s your day! We’re gonna spend some quality time together!”
And of all days, this one was shaping up to be the most perfect.
It was planned for months, a chance for Bobby and his parents to bond, to spend some quality time together. For once, Bobby was asked what he would like to do, where he would like to go… it was as selfless a gift as he could have ever received, and though it happened only once every six months or so, it made him feel valuable, loved.
After a most scrumptious breakfast, one during which Bobby thoroughly stuffed himself, he scampered upstairs to get ready to go. He was pleasantly surprised, though it was typical of his Mom on special days like this, to find a brand new set of clothes beside his bed. Ecstatic, he slipped into his new clothes, stormed down the stairs just as his parents were ready to walk out the door — and so the day began.
This frame in Bobby’s scrapbook, this 24-hour spectacular, was better than any previous special days in his life. It was as if all the most pleasurable activities in a lifetime were crammed into a compressed capsule of time and space, and Bobby existed at its very center. Amusement parks… miniature golf… sumptuous meals…. Yet, like the persistent lap of the ocean waves against the glistening beach sand, all things in time and space ebbed and flowed. And like the deceptively sturdy-looking sand castle Bobby built that day at low tide, all things must soon pass. As the sun settled lower against the infinite horizon, the waves grew closer and closer to the shore and etched larger and larger pieces from the structure, until it finally collapsed.
Bobby heard his parents calling for him. He looked out at the ocean wistfully, silently sobbing under the gulls’ screeches, then turned and solemnly joined his mom on the way back to the car, his head resting against her hip, her hands stroking his sandy hair.
He was weeping uncontrollably by the time he was inside the car, his face red and swollen. He knew what was coming… the consolation, the pleading, before the syringe was pulled from the purse bearing the CDS logo… Cryogenic Disposition Services.
“Why? Why can’t you just find some other jobs or something?”
“Son, we’ve been through this before. We’re working to give you the life you never had, so that someday you and your kids won’t have to go through this.”
Tears blurring his vision, he helplessly watched as they pulled out the needle and injected him.
As he slowly faded into blackness, he wondered what special kind of life awaited him in return for this.
Quality time, indeed.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
MEMORY, TWISTED
Twisted
Dark
Like tar, shiny with night rains
Blurring the light, sending it into oblivion
Asphalt collecting tears
Memories
Vampyric
Suck my soul to barrenness
Exposing the husk, conscience absent
Images forever burned
No regrets
Angel
Not cruelty, passion
Something out of reach, limitless
Eternity glimpsed
Dark
Like tar, shiny with night rains
Blurring the light, sending it into oblivion
Asphalt collecting tears
Memories
Vampyric
Suck my soul to barrenness
Exposing the husk, conscience absent
Images forever burned
No regrets
Angel
Not cruelty, passion
Something out of reach, limitless
Eternity glimpsed
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
POLESTOWN AT DUSK, PART 2
The first snowfall came, appropriately, on the day after Thanksgiving. Oh, and what a Thanksgiving it was! I had never heard a doorbell ring the number of times ours uttered its hollow bing-bong that festive day. Since the day we arrived in Polestown, I had an inkling of an idea of how friendly and accommodating the people of the town were, but was never prepared for a reception like this one.
Early in the morning, it started, like the first trickles of water through a dam approaching bursting point. The doorbell rang. Still in my pajamas, I answered the door, coming face to face with what appeared to be an older lady behind piles of dishes and trays… an assortment… no, make that a buttload of food and goodies!
And this soon became a pattern – a doorbell chime, or a knock at the door…. A curiousity, who could it be this time? A man, woman, family, sometimes pets, laden for food as if they planned to empty out their refrigerator on that day, bearing the fruits of their baking labor as Thanksgiving gifts… each one overly willing to welcome us for the umpteen thousandth time to Polestown, “I hope you’re doing well here,” “How do you like things in our town?” “Just a token of our friendship.”
Heh, friendship! It had to be some sort of conspiracy! But I liked it anyway.
Oh, yes, the snow. Well, the very next day we saw the first flakes, which multiplied and divided and begat more snowflakes, and soon we had our first true initiation to colder weather, and a full-on one at that… a genuine Tennessee white-out.
Mom flipped on the Weather Channel to listen to in the background as we struggled to find room in the fridge for the incredible excess of food (Did they sell box freezers in Polestown?she thought aloud). Incredibly, as cold as we were feeling it that day, the guy in the warm studio and the three-piece suit who I’m sure got his kicks out of the hurricanes we used to face yearly told us to BUNDLE UP because it was just going to get more DOWNRIGHT FREEZING. Oh, joy. And we hadn’t even gotten around to buying parkas and snowshoes yet.
Around mid-morning, we heard a low, distant rumble, which slowly got louder, soon making our windows rattle slightly. I stepped to the window and tried to peer through the blinding whiteness at our front yard and street beyond. I could make out, very barely, two lights, apparently headlights, progressing steadily and slowly down our road. The rumble led me to conclude that it was a pretty large truck, and as it grew closer I could see a gigantic plow attachment on its front end slicing through the drifting clumps of snow and forcefully shoving them to the streetside. Its driver must have spotted me, because the plow stopped in front of our house and a short, plump man crawled out of the truck and waddled up to our front door, face thick with stubble and crusted with half-melted snow. The doorbell rang.
Oh no! I thought. More dang food!
I opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief. The man was empty-handed. He wore a huge frozen grin and waved. I cracked open the door, goosepimples breaking out all over from the extreme chill.
“Hiya there, “ he offered, extending his hand to shake mine vigorously, “Name’s Joe. Joe Cotton. You the man of the house?”
I sighed… it was obvious the guy didn’t know about my dad and all, and how incredibly ironic his statement turned out to be. Gritted my teeth, I replied, “That I am. I’m Jim.”
“Nice ta meet you, Jim…. Say, I know yous all are new here, so I thought I’d let you know we do something special after our first snowfall… kind of a celebration.”
I wasn’t really fond of cheesy community events, but listened politely as my mom approached Joe and I, placing her hands on my shoulders. Joe looked up at her and smiled broadly, revealing several gaps where dentists quite possibly could have intervened a lot sooner. “Howdy, maam,” he said, “Your son, was just tellin’ him about our snow fair.”
I wasn’t all that interested, but my mom sure sounded excited. “Really? How nice! Is it like a fair?”
“That and more, Miss. That and more. We have all kinds of fixins, and games, and the big event is settin’ up for our holiday snowman display.”
Mom leaned forward. “Snowman display? That sounds unique.”
“Sure is, ma’am. Only one I know of. All shapes and sizes, too! And if y’all want to come by, celebrate with us, everyone’s invited… and we love newcomers, so we can show off and all!” He tipped his grimy baseball cap backward in satisfaction.
I groaned inwardly. My mom’s ecstatic interest meant only one thing – I was probably going to be forced to attend.
Early in the morning, it started, like the first trickles of water through a dam approaching bursting point. The doorbell rang. Still in my pajamas, I answered the door, coming face to face with what appeared to be an older lady behind piles of dishes and trays… an assortment… no, make that a buttload of food and goodies!
And this soon became a pattern – a doorbell chime, or a knock at the door…. A curiousity, who could it be this time? A man, woman, family, sometimes pets, laden for food as if they planned to empty out their refrigerator on that day, bearing the fruits of their baking labor as Thanksgiving gifts… each one overly willing to welcome us for the umpteen thousandth time to Polestown, “I hope you’re doing well here,” “How do you like things in our town?” “Just a token of our friendship.”
Heh, friendship! It had to be some sort of conspiracy! But I liked it anyway.
Oh, yes, the snow. Well, the very next day we saw the first flakes, which multiplied and divided and begat more snowflakes, and soon we had our first true initiation to colder weather, and a full-on one at that… a genuine Tennessee white-out.
Mom flipped on the Weather Channel to listen to in the background as we struggled to find room in the fridge for the incredible excess of food (Did they sell box freezers in Polestown?she thought aloud). Incredibly, as cold as we were feeling it that day, the guy in the warm studio and the three-piece suit who I’m sure got his kicks out of the hurricanes we used to face yearly told us to BUNDLE UP because it was just going to get more DOWNRIGHT FREEZING. Oh, joy. And we hadn’t even gotten around to buying parkas and snowshoes yet.
Around mid-morning, we heard a low, distant rumble, which slowly got louder, soon making our windows rattle slightly. I stepped to the window and tried to peer through the blinding whiteness at our front yard and street beyond. I could make out, very barely, two lights, apparently headlights, progressing steadily and slowly down our road. The rumble led me to conclude that it was a pretty large truck, and as it grew closer I could see a gigantic plow attachment on its front end slicing through the drifting clumps of snow and forcefully shoving them to the streetside. Its driver must have spotted me, because the plow stopped in front of our house and a short, plump man crawled out of the truck and waddled up to our front door, face thick with stubble and crusted with half-melted snow. The doorbell rang.
Oh no! I thought. More dang food!
I opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief. The man was empty-handed. He wore a huge frozen grin and waved. I cracked open the door, goosepimples breaking out all over from the extreme chill.
“Hiya there, “ he offered, extending his hand to shake mine vigorously, “Name’s Joe. Joe Cotton. You the man of the house?”
I sighed… it was obvious the guy didn’t know about my dad and all, and how incredibly ironic his statement turned out to be. Gritted my teeth, I replied, “That I am. I’m Jim.”
“Nice ta meet you, Jim…. Say, I know yous all are new here, so I thought I’d let you know we do something special after our first snowfall… kind of a celebration.”
I wasn’t really fond of cheesy community events, but listened politely as my mom approached Joe and I, placing her hands on my shoulders. Joe looked up at her and smiled broadly, revealing several gaps where dentists quite possibly could have intervened a lot sooner. “Howdy, maam,” he said, “Your son, was just tellin’ him about our snow fair.”
I wasn’t all that interested, but my mom sure sounded excited. “Really? How nice! Is it like a fair?”
“That and more, Miss. That and more. We have all kinds of fixins, and games, and the big event is settin’ up for our holiday snowman display.”
Mom leaned forward. “Snowman display? That sounds unique.”
“Sure is, ma’am. Only one I know of. All shapes and sizes, too! And if y’all want to come by, celebrate with us, everyone’s invited… and we love newcomers, so we can show off and all!” He tipped his grimy baseball cap backward in satisfaction.
I groaned inwardly. My mom’s ecstatic interest meant only one thing – I was probably going to be forced to attend.
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